Chapter 22

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"Do you fancy going for another drink elsewhere?" Ric asks me as we leave the quiz. I'm gratified to realise that he sounds nervous.

I nod, then realise he's not looking at me. "Yes!" I then say, far too loudly, and he flinches.

Dear God, Abby, way to play it cool!

"Somewhere in Ashton Lane, maybe?" He suggests. FYI, that's a street full to the brim with pubs, right behind Byres Road. Google it, you'll love it! Pretty, cobblestones, fairylights. Highly instagrammable! And, I guess, kinda romantic? We start heading in that direction, neither of us speaking for a few minutes.

"So . . . Lou and Mitch, eh?" I say awkwardly, in a bid to break the tension that's so thick I can practically see the smog surrounding us. "Did you see that coming?"

"Definitely not," he laughs. "But I'm somehow not surprised at the same time, if that makes sense?"

"I know what you mean." Lou and Mitch are both forthright and a tad caustic, and need someone to rein them in a bit. Maybe they're actually perfect for each other. "She only just broke up with Tam though, so I'm not sure if it can go anywhere."

It's Ric's turn to nod. "That's true," he says quietly. "Might just be a rebound thing." I can't help but notice a shadow pass across his face at those words.

"We'll see," I shrug. "I'm not sure I really want Mitch as a future brother-in-law anyway," I add, and he laughs again. His expression relaxes, much to my relief.

"I don't blame you." We've drawn level with the door into Jinty McGuintys at this point. "Jinty's okay with you?" He asks. We head inside and he goes up to the bar, while I find us a table. It's pretty quiet for a Thursday night, which I'm glad about. Having to scream over music or other people's extra loud voices -or, even worse, both of these things - is a pet hate of mine.

My nerves are fizzing. Is this a date? Or simply two flatmates getting a drink together, alone? Just last week he was very emphatic about not asking me out. But since the events of Saturday night, it seems the dynamic has very much shifted between us, plunging whatever our relationship was previously into uncharted territory.

I'm so caught up in my anxious thoughts that I barely even notice Ric placing a glass of wine in front of me. However, I do notice how he repositions his stool so he's closer to me. Our legs are almost touching.

"Cheers." He holds his pint glass up to my wine glass, and I tap mine to his before sipping, our gazes locking together. What the hell is going on here? The eye contact is killing me.

I return my drink to the table, clear my throat. "You're looking quite smart today," I observe, trying to make a joke of it. "You scrub up well when you want to!"

He's wearing a black shirt tonight, teamed with black jeans, and it's an amazing combination with his tanned skin and dark good looks. His stubble is still present, but more groomed than usual, as if he's possibly considering cultivating a beard. I shiver briefly as I remember it brushing against my own face, a prelude to that all-too-brief kiss on Saturday night.

Thinking back to our first meeting, I can't believe I ever doubted how handsome he was. He's absolutely delicious.

As if to highlight my point, that heart-melting grin lights up his face, and awards him several thousand more points on the Gorgeous Guy Scale. "I felt like I should raise the bar tonight, for some reason," he replies. "You always look like you've made an effort; you make me feel like a slob in comparison."

So he's dressed up for me? "I don't always make an effort," I argue with a nervous laugh, trying to dial down the pressure boiling up between us.

"Oh c'mon Abby, do you even own a pair of jeans?" He chuckles. "You just seem to have an endless supply of dresses."

"I was wearing shorts the other day," I counter in protest.

"Fair enough," he concedes. "But you had a kind of floaty, floral top on with them, which made it a smart outfit."

He notices what I'm wearing? I know I'm blushing. I hold up my hands in defeat. "You're right. I don't own any jeans. I'm the only person in my office who still dresses up for Casual Fridays."

(Technically that's not completely true. I own a denim pinafore dress, and a black t-shirt dress, and I alternate them as my casual office outfits. But I'm still the only one wearing a dress on a Friday.)

"I'm not slagging you off, by the way," he says. "For the record, I really like the way you dress."

My cheeks get hotter. I can't help but notice that his redden too. And I really like that. He blurted out that last sentence, and is now a wee bit embarrassed - it's not just a smooth line. "Thanks," I say softly.

And the eye contact is back.

The anticipation is crowding us in now. I might suffocate before anything actually happens at this rate.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, finally. I feel like one of us needs to address this, whatever this is.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip thoughtfully. Those lips are as soft and inviting as a pillow, and I want them all over me. "Practicing?" He suggests, one eyebrow arching upwards. "Continuing where we left off on Saturday night? We need to make a convincing couple at the wedding, after all."

"Is that all this is?" I swallow hard. "Practice? Acting? I thought you said you couldn't act."

He puts his glass down and takes a deep breath, and suddenly I have a feeling we're about to well and truly cross a line. There's a truth bomb about to drop.

"I really can't act," he confirms, looking briefly away from me and running a hand through his hair. "However, I'm pretty good at playing it cool, and not showing when I'm into someone. Like when a pretty girl shows up on my doorstep to look at the flat. Or when I see her in her underwear by accident. Or when she jumps on me twenty seconds after crying over her ex." His dark gaze finds mine once again, full of meaning.

Oh my god.

"You've liked me all this time?" I ask, my pulse racing. Almost still doubting myself even as the question involuntarily escapes my mouth.

He nods solemnly. "Pretty much smitten, from the moment you told me off for leaving you outside the flat for fifteen minutes."

Smitten?

"Wow. I honestly had no idea," I manage.

"I didn't want you to know," he admits. A seemingly careless shrug. "I didn't plan to let you get under my skin the way you have. But by the time Saturday night came around, I couldn't resist anymore." He winces briefly. "I . . . snapped. And used the excuse of play-acting as a cover for my actual feelings."

God, I really hadn't been expecting this level of honesty from Ric. Although I can't help but wonder why he'd been clearly trying to fight the feelings. Is it because we live together? I suppose that would make sense. It could get really awkward if things didn't work out.

"So why did you stop the kiss?" I ask now.

"I panicked," he says simply, staring at the ground. "It felt too real . . . and it was real. For me, at least."

His eyes lift to meet mine again, and I realise just how vulnerable he is letting himself be right now. I also know there's a silent question in his words; I need to answer it before anything can happen.

"It was real for me too," I whisper.

And that's all it takes to bring the two of us together.

Ric closes the small gap between us, grasping the back of my neck and pulling me closer. His lips skim mine lightly, as if testing me, and they're every bit as soft as I remember. His other hand caresses my cheek as he briefly breathes me in.

"Kiss me properly," I mutter impatiently against his mouth. I'm fine with a bit of teasing, don't get me wrong, but this is a bit too reminiscent of our first two kissing attempts and I'm keen to close the deal this time. He laughs and draws back, those gorgeous eyes twinkling.

"You're really fucking bossy sometimes, Abigail," he tuts, pulling my stool closer. He traps my legs between his before he lowers his head to mine again. And that's when I realise that my brief tasters of Ricardo Parker's lips have barely even hinted at how good a kisser he actually is.

I think it's something to do with the intensity. I've noticed when Ric focuses on something he gives it all his concentration. And right now he's doing the same to me. That fire, combined with definite technical ability and, of course, the mutual attraction, is producing something truly magical.

He runs a hand down the side of my neck as he tangles his tongue with mine, and I inhale a gasp of sheer want, edging as close to him as I can. I need this guy to kiss me forever, or I might actually just die.

So dramatic, Abigail!

Someone pointedly clears their throat behind us, breaking the spell, forcing our lips to part ways. We're probably getting a bit too hot and heavy for a public place.

I fully expect Ric to pull away first - that's his modus operandi, after all - but he doesn't. Cupping my cheek in one hand, he keeps his face close to mine. His eyes flutter shut, and he brushes one final kiss softly against my mouth. "Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is husky, and thick with longing.

He doesn't need to ask me twice . . .

Ah . . . So the truth is starting to come out.

And . . . it looks like Abby and Ric could be headed for the bedroom.

But will they make it there???

Hmmmm . . . Stay tuned!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Were you surprised by Ric's confession?


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