Twenty-seven ~ Temptation

                                    

                                          
Twenty-seven ~ Temptation
                          
On Saturday, Mia's point rang increasingly true. It felt like a date. It was ironic, really; the whole purpose of this evening was to ease any potential awkwardness between us—yet as I stood in front of my mirror, examining the seventh outfit I'd tried on so far, the nerves whirred through my veins.
                          
That in mind, I decided upon the first combination I'd chosen, opting for the logic that I should trust my instincts. And after all, it didn't matter because this wasn't a date. Shimmying back into my ivory lace shorts, and then pulling a plain chiffon cami over my head, I hurried to find a pair of shoes that would match.
                          
With neither of us wanting to face my mother, we'd agreed to meet at the bottom of the driveway. Brent was already there and turned around upon hearing the crunch of my sandals against the loose gravel. 
                          
I couldn't help but do a quick assessment of his attire, trying to work out how much effort he'd gone to. Wearing beige chinos and a navy-blue shirt, he looked smart. Smart equalled effort, surely? Especially for someone who spent most of their time in swim shorts. 
                          
"You look nice," he said, catching me off guard as we started the stroll towards town.
                          
"Oh. Thanks. So do you."
                          
"I always wonder if people mean it when they say that," he replied, "or if it's just an automatic response to return the compliment."
                          
Truthfully, it had been an automatic response, but that didn't make it any less true.
                          
"Well, I can't speak for everyone else, but I certainly meant it."
                          
Just as I looked up to gauge his reaction, he happened to glance down at me. I smiled, and the edges of his mouth curved upwards. Did this count as flirting? Not the best start to our not-a-date date, if so. 
                          
"So, where do you fancy going?" I asked. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"
                          
"I hear you once paid your way into getting served while out with Mia. Let's avoid there. I refuse to be emasculated by you."
                          
"Let's hope you can hold your alcohol, then," I shot back.
                          
"Actually, now you mention it, I've never seen you drunk before..."
                          
I sighed at his jibe. "That's your comeback for everything. Get some new material..."
                          
"Maybe I'll get some tonight."
                          
Awkward pause.
                          
"Material," he added with haste. "Some new material."
                          
"I knew what you meant," I said equally quickly.
                          
We fell into silence, the only noise being the rhythm of our footsteps against the pavement. Despite it being a Saturday night in the height of summer, only a few other people milled about the town. London would be heaving. Granted, the two places had limited traits in common.
                          
"So, have you lived here all your life?" I asked, deciding to broach the topic. 
                          
I knew so little about him, and yet I'd never felt able to ask, despite his past clearly shaping him into the person he was today.
                          
"Yeah."
                          
At that moment, he wrapped his fingers around my wrist to—quite literally—grab my attention. My heart leapt at the sudden contact, his touch an instant reminder of my birthday kiss. Almost as fast as he'd touched me, he let go, as if realising that could be misconstrued, too. 
                          
"Um, this is a good place," he said, nodding his chin towards the building in front of us.
                          
Despite the quiet streets, inside the bar bustled with activity, yet without being too noisy. Nothing was worse than having to shout to make yourself heard—especially when we were supposed to be using this evening to talk.