The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty

Aidan stops walking and turns his head, then glances down my body before meeting my eye. "Depends," he says. 

"On what?"

"Are you wearing knickers?"

I frown. "Of course I am,"

"Good."

"So if I wasn't then it would be too short?" I ask as I look down at myself.  I'd have to agree.  It stops about an inch past my bum.  Wearing this dress without underwear would be brave, very brave. 

"No.  It is too short.  I just wanted to know if you were naked under it or not.  Didn't know if I could just come out and ask. This being a date and me being clueless. I'm still learning the basics here."

I smile at him. "You're doing okay so far,"

"That right?" He says as he pulls me into him.  His body is hard and warm and I press myself against his chest as he wraps his arms around me. Again I marvel at how perfectly my body fits inside his. 

"Yes, it is," I whisper as I stare up at him. 

How is it possible to be this comfortable with him, with a man I've known a few weeks?   For everything that we do to feel comfortable and natural and not at all wrong?  Like we didn't have this huge suffocating weight of reality hanging over us.  I know that what we're doing is wrong, and I know that I'll have to pay for the consequences of it sooner or later —but it just didn't seem to matter when I was close to him. When he was close to me.  When we were together.  

He looks into my eyes in such a way that it occurs to me that maybe he can tell what I'm thinking.  "You think we could just stay here forever?" He asks softly. 

I drop my eyes from the weight of his stare and focus instead on the open collar of his shirt. "Hmmm, I think there would be a few people who would miss us don't you?"

His hand comes round to skim the side of my face and his eyes glaze over a little, growing distant. "Miss you, maybe."

Because I can feel him slipping down into that dark hole again, something he does often which he thinks I don't notice, I lean up and kiss him. His mouth is hot and wet and he moans softly as I move my tongue against his.   I love how he kisses me.  How careful he is about it and how focused he is about it.  It feels practised, as though he's thought it out beforehand and perfected just how it should be.  

Of course, he hadn't — it was just something else he did in that precise way he had of doing things. He holds my face and pushes his nose against mine, his lips moving in smooth circular motions as his tongue laps at my mouth.  He tastes divine. Seductive.

When I pull back from his mouth I can't breathe properly but it doesn't matter.  He tastes his own lips and then nods, as though making a decision. 

"Let's get this fucking Irish pub out of the way and go home," he huffs and pulls me with him again. 

The pub is busy and there's a band sitting on a raised dais near the back. I say band, it's really just two men sitting on chairs; one with an accordion and the other with a guitar.  The music is upbeat and I guess what I'd call Irish music.  Though I suppose Aidan would know better than I would whether it was traditional or not.   

When I turn to him he rolls his eyes and throws me a look to signal he's in some sort of social hell.  I beam at him and pull him further into the cosy but somewhat dingy bar.  It's busy but we're lucky, and manage to find a high table with two stools close to the door.  As I hop up onto the stool Aidan puts his hand on the back of my neck and leans in.