twenty two || leslie's cooking

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Saturday couldn’t have come faster. Leslie found an angle by her window whereby she could just about see Greg’s flat and when she most definitely saw Greg standing outside it, waving off his mother and Jas’ children, she didn’t wait long to ring him up.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Leslie,” Greg said. His breathing was heavy from the eleven flights of stairs. The lift was broken. “What’re you up to?”

“Not much.” She swung her legs over the arm of the sofa and admired her toenails. She had just painted them that morning, in lieu of something better to do. It wasn’t even a colour she liked, a vague salmon pink when she was much more of a navy girl. “Just lying here, thinking about you,” she said, her voice light and dreamy. “You and your huge co-”

“Hold on a sec.”

“What?” Leslie sat up and frowned. She heard shuffling on the end of the line.

“I have to go.”

“Are you o-”

The line went dead. She stared at the phone and rearranged her position, crossing her legs before she put the phone down on the table and struggled to erase her frown. It certainly hadn’t been how she’d planned on the conversation going: she had envisaged a little dirty talk and an arrangement to meet up.

The phone rang. Leslie didn’t bother checking the caller ID before she picked up.

“Greg?”

“Uh, no. Try Cloe,” Cloe said.

“Oh. Sorry. Hey, Clo. What’s up?”

“Just checking you’re still coming to that wedding tomorrow.”

“I am.” Leslie tried to push Greg to the back of her mind but it was full, and his image lingered on her frontal lobe. “Why?”

“Just checking. Mum wanted to know.”

“Well, I’m your plus one, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess. You have to be here at ten.”

“Ok.”

“No later,” her mother called in the background.

“I won’t be late,” Leslie said. It was probably a lie. She was always late, but her mother surely knew that after nearly three decades.

“Ok. Well, see you tomorrow,” Cloe said. “Oh, and my period came, the little bitch.”

“Better late than never, I always say,” Leslie said. “Which is very true. So don’t go complaining when I’m late tomorrow.”

“Which you won’t be,” her mother shouted.

“Am I on speakerphone?”

Three affirmatives hit her eardrum and she laughed.

Fine. I’ll be on time.” She laughed, momentarily forgetting her odd call to Greg until her sister hung up and she was alone again, and it crashed into the realm of her memory. The deflation hit again and she stood to busy herself in the kitchen. It was almost lunchtime anyway, and she was sure there was something in the fridge that would need cooking before it went off. While she was raiding the drawers, however, the front door opened.

“What the fuck?” Leslie looked up. Greg, panting, was standing just inside her flat. “What’re you doing here?”

He pulled her from the fridge and kissed her, hard. A strong hand held the back of her head, forcing her lips to his until he released her.

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