Call Me Back Again

CHAPTER 5

Anyway, when he was busy stuffing that napkin into a pocket, it occurred to John exactly how close his face was to Paul's. He couldn't help it, his eyes acted on their own accord. They'd locked gazes for several seconds, and John could swear he saw Paul's pupils getting bigger. That meant something good, didn't it? Up close, he noticed those eyes weren't just brown. No, that was only the middle. The outer edge was a deep emerald green, and there were specks of gold on there, too.

John's breath had hitched at the sight of those stunning colours, and he was sure the gap between them was getting smaller, even though he wasn't the one making that happen. It was a moment if ever there was one and John was absolutely sure they would've kissed if that bloody berk hadn't decided to choose that exact moment to find out the lasagna was 90% pepper. Talk about spoiling the mood!

The sound of someone gasping had broken the spell. Probably a good thing too, Paul mused, considering he'd gotten this close to kissing Giovanni. He couldn't prevent losing himself in those hypnotising eyes. nor from slowly leaning in. His body appeared to be completely out of his control at that point. Even his hand seemed to function independently, seeing as how it was already off the table and halfway to reaching that wonderful hair he so badly wanted to feel between his fingers. Saved by the bell, then, or by the choking girl in this case. It happened so fast, Paul didn't know what else to do but sit there and stare.

First, the girl had sat there, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. The next, she'd started drinking like one, draining first her own glass of water, and then Paul's. Apparently, it wasn't enough, since she'd grabbed the big carafe John had momentarily parked next to the smaller one so he could arrange the plates, and drank straight from that, pouring half of it down her front. Well, at least it seemed to do the trick. If only he hadn't laughed, things might not have spun out of control. Then again, wasn't that the idea?

He couldn't imagine why she took it so badly. It was only a joke. Paul thought it was funny. John could tell by the way he shook with suppressed giggles whilst clearly struggling to keep a straight face. A fat lot of good that did him. It didn't fool John, nor that girl, Natalie, who'd turned into some kind of banshee at the mere sight of their amusement at her expense. First, she threw her glass of wine at him - John - but she missed. Then, she'd grabbed Paul's glass, which John had just topped up, and repeated the same thing, only this time succeeding in hitting her target.

Paul had actually been doused before. Those things happened, it was an unavoidable part of student life for one thing. However, he'd never taken a full glass of red wine to the face, particularly from that angle. Most of it went straight into his eyes, and some went up his nose. Not pleasant, to say the least. "Fucking hell, that hurts," he groaned, throwing up his hands to ward off any further attacks.

Paul's head was reeling what the hell was going on, anyway? In the meantime, the wine stung something awful, and he could feel tears streaming down his face. Not from crying, mind you, but because his eyes were watering so profusely. Whilst he blindly felt around for something with which to ease the pain, the mayhem continued around him. He couldn't see since he had his eyes firmly shut, but he sure could hear.

He had to do something, John decided. Having completely lost control of the situation, he did the next best thing: leave the bird to stew in her own juices and help Paul instead. Without thinking, he reached for what was left of the water, meaning to wet a napkin or something like that. Maybe that would be useful. What he honestly did not plan, was to slip on the puddle of wine on the floor and lose his balance.

Next thing John knew, the girl jumped up shouting all sorts of accusations at him before disappearing to wherever it was she went, the cute yellow dress stained red from the lasagna that had fallen into her lap when John nearly fell over. He hadn't meant for his hand to come crashing down on the edge of that plate, couldn't have calculated the perfectly elegant way in which the abused dish had been launched, nor the wonderfully poetic place it fell: right on top of her lady bits. All of that had been utterly accidental. That didn't mean John didn't love every second of it because he did. Very much. Well, except for what it did to Paul. That, he didn't enjoy at all. Poor bugger. Could it get any worse for that lad?