A Girl Like You by Gemma Burgess

Author:Gemma Burgess
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-04-27T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty Three

‘Hello.’

I open my eyes. It’s a second before I remember where I am.

I am in my bed in my parents’ house in Autignac. Very naked. With Dave next to me. Also very naked.

‘Hello,’ I whisper.

We’re lying side by side, facing each other, in my little bedroom. The house is totally quiet: no one else is up yet. My chin feels hot and chafed – damn thee, stubble rash – and my breath is, I suspect, kittenesque. But I can’t bear to move. I’ll just breathe through my nose.

‘I was magnificent last night, wasn’t I?’ he whispers.

I start to laugh. Hell of a way to break the morning-after ice.

‘Come here,’ he murmurs, and pulls me towards him for a kiss.

‘Gently,’ I say. ‘My lips are swollen from all the snogging.’

‘I’ll kiss them better,’ he whispers, moving me underneath him and placing his hands on either side of my face.

And now, I must briefly draw a veil over your eyes, or perhaps cut to a scene of a rocket launching, a flower coming into bloom in fast-forward, or train pistons shunting back and forth. We all know how great sex is (unless you haven’t had sex yet, in which case: don’t rush, the first time sucks, and remember to play it safe). So just imagine it with a smooth-skinned, flat-stomached, very enthusiastic man who you fancy so much that you want to grab and paw and bite every inch of him. That’s what this is.

My God, sex is amazing. To think that I used to actively try to avoid it when I was living with – no, no. Don’t think his name. Just think about Dave. Concentrate on the now. (How zen I am.)

‘Ahh, la belle France,’ says Dave, an hour later, as we lie on the seriously rumpled sheets.

‘My poor childhood books, seeing this sort of activity. They’ve led such sheltered lives,’ I say. ‘What time is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Dave.

I grab his watch from the bedside table. ‘It’s 10 am. I’ll go to the bakery,’ I say. ‘I wonder if everyone is awake. I hope Sophie and Luke made up. I’ve never seen them fight . . .’

‘Of course they made up, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Do you think everyone drinks coffee? Maybe I should get some orange juice, too . . .’

‘Who cares what they drink? Come here, angel. I’m not done with you yet.’

‘No,’ I say, wriggling out of his grasp.

‘Abigail. I said come here,’ he says.

‘I’m not steak. You can’t just order me,’ I say. It’s a quote from Working Girl. I wonder if he got it. I shuffle off to the tiny en suite off my room and try to ignore the inevitable ‘he’s-looking-at-my-naked-arse’ thought.

Remain in control of this situation, Abigail, I think, turning on the shower.

‘Do you have any soap to drop?’ says Dave, stepping into the shower with me, and the next second he’s kissing me against the shower wall and well, again I must draw a veil over your eyes.

When I finally get downstairs, leaving Dave upstairs ‘to make some calls’, only Sophie and Luke are awake.

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