Dear Dave - Extract 2

RECAP:

Because I had stopped laughing. But the laughing sound hadn’t stopped. My first thought was that the mansion was haunted and I was about to meet my end being killed by a ghost. I could picture it, my lifeless body splayed out across the half sofa. Would be just my luck.

It was all I could do to continue staring until the figure was a few feet away from me. I didn’t know if this was a normal reaction to have, but damn this ghost was hot...and kind of familiar.

I looked him up and down, purely for the purpose of seeing if he was breathing or not, but it was hard to think about something as trivial as breathing when I was in the presence of such gorgeousness.

Alive or not.

Oh god he was opening his mouth.

“I’m not much of a painter but if you get your tits out I promise I’ll give it my best shot.”

Uh what?

How does a girl respond to that? Especially if said girl is unsure whether the mouth it came from is purely a figment of her imagination. And I mean, even if this guy was dead and haunting me, I wasn’t about to let him get away with being so forward!

“Um…I, um…huh?”

Great start, right?

He continued observing me from a distance, beautiful hands in pockets, his smirk had faded to something more like kind concern now. I was concerned for me too; I’d totally lost control of my mouth.

Come on mouth, you have one job, please say something coherent.

“Excuse me?”

Better, I suppose…

He laughed out loud, maybe he found stupid girls with stupid mouths funny. God, I hoped so.

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually open with ‘get your tits out.’” He moved closer to me, my whole body seized up as he placed an outstretched hand in front of my face, I didn’t think it wise to be so close to him, “I’m Will.”

I looked at his hand, it looked even better up close, how was that possible? I looked at my own hand. It paled in comparison, literally. It was the middle of winter, how in the holy heck did this guy look like he had just come back from six months in the Mediterranean? Did I really want to put my very average hand into such a good looking one?

It was about this time that it occurred to me I had spent way longer than was socially acceptable, looking from my hand to his, like a very lost and very confused puppy. I was worried he may catch on that I wasn’t mentally all there if I didn’t do something that required a brain very soon.

I took a deep breath and shook his hand vigorously; I remembered hearing that a firm handshake was a good thing so I squeezed that beautiful hand with every bit of strength I could muster, “Splendid to meet you William.”

I know what you are thinking diary, what fresh hell. Of all the things I could have said…

He was unmistakeably laughing now, a real jovial belly laugh. I felt my cheeks heat up and wondered just how unattractive I looked gawking up at this painfully real man. To make matters worse, my brain had gone on strike and hadn’t thought to let my hand know to stop shaking his hand as though my life depended on it. Upon realising, I dropped his hand quickly and decided that the time was ripe to keep my gaze determinedly fixed on the floor until poor Will could make his escape from the crazy woman quoting titanic in deserted corridors.

I felt weight on the half-sofa next to me. He must be even crazier than me if he thought it a good idea to continue with this doomed interaction.

“And you are?” I looked back at him, up close I could see the blue in his eyes, dramatically framed by long dark eyelashes.

Great question…who was I again?

“Lily, Lily Taylor.” At least I remembered my name.

The smirk was back playing on Will’s lips. “Simply spiffing to be acquainted with you on this merry winter’s evening, Miss Taylor.”

I was sure I was turning shades of red never before achieved by humans.

“How long were you creeping on me for?” There was sharpness in my voice that said I was pretty pissed off at the intrusion of my newfound privacy. I mean, I didn’t know I was angry but I thought rolling with subtly pissed off was probably a more attractive option than cripplingly embarrassed and wanting to crawl into a hole and die.

“Oh I saw the whole thing.” There it was again, smirking back at me, completely unabashed. I was definitely annoyed now. Did this guy seriously think it was okay to hide away, perving on me from afar and then just smirk at me as though he had nothing to be sorry for? No way.

I wasn’t going to be embarrassed. He should be embarrassed about sneaking around the place like some sort of lurky lurker. “Do you often lurk in dark corners watching women, William?”

I was proud of my cutting response and awaited his embarrassed apology…needless to say, it didn’t come.

“Why, it’s my favourite pastime. Do you often re-enact movie scenes in strangers’ houses by yourself?” I wished he would stop staring at me so intently. It was impossible to focus on new witty responses when what I was really focusing on was wondering why this guy never blinked.

I crossed my arms and fixed him with my own unfaltering glare, “Whenever I get the chance, don’t you?”

The smirk was still there; maybe his face was just permanently arrogant, a bit like resting bitch face but resting cocky face. “Can’t say I ever have, I’ll give it a go though, looked like great fun. Any ideas for future monologue opportunities?”

He raised a perfect eyebrow at me. I didn’t think men were even allowed good eyebrows?

“I don’t think you’ve got the talent to pull it off.” I glanced away from him trying hard to ignore the feeling that he was still watching my every move. I was sure he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

He laughed again, was it normal for one person to laugh so much? Was my sass amusing to him? “You’re probably right, I’m sure you’ve put years of hard-work into that Kate Winslet impression.” He shuffled closer to me on the half-sofa.

I was certain now he was completely aware of the effect his close proximity to me was having. I crossed my legs over and moved further for him.

“Actually no, it just comes naturally when you are this talented.” I couldn’t help but to laugh at myself and the part of me that was pissed off was even more pissed off that I was engaging in such ridiculousness.

Will was laughing too and I allowed myself to turn back and face him on the half-sofa. I noticed his eyes had moved from mine, they were scanning me now. I wanted to squirm under his inspection; no one had ever looked at me so purposefully. I felt an unfamiliar uncomfortable feeling as his gaze met mine again, but there was no hint of discomfort in Will, he kept staring, no sign of stopping.

I couldn’t handle the silence and blurted out the first thing that came to my head.

“So what do you think about the half-sofa then? Can’t make much sense of it myself, doesn’t seem to be the best design idea.”

I’m sorry diary, I know I am an embarrassment to myself and, by extension, to you. However, I can’t be held accountable for the madness that exists inside my mind. In fact, thoughts on half-sofas are fairly normal in comparison to some of the goings on in there.

“The what?” He looked confused. I thought his confused face was cute. I also thought I was an idiot for letting myself be further drawn in by his cuteness.

“The half-sofa.”

I wasn’t sure what there was to be confused about but he continued looking very endearingly clueless.

I patted the back of aforementioned half-sofa, “This! What we are sitting on! The half sofa!”

“Ohhh,” He was smirking again, maybe I just liked his confused face because it made a change from the smirk. “You mean a chaise longue!”

Well I didn’t know what the hell one of those was, but I definitely wasn’t asking about them.

“Uh no, I mean this half-sofa, I’m not sure why you are confused, is there a language barrier here or something?”

His eyes sparkled as he laughed, “Yes there is, you see, I am using the correct and widely used French term for this piece of furniture and you are, very delicately, referring to it as a half-sofa.”

My face turned bright red again. No man had ever made me blush before. Well, apart from Mr Brown in Year 8 when he asked me why I needed to take my bag to the toilet with me…not my fondest memory, and I’m sure definitely not his either.

“Well, I don’t care what the French call it, it is a half sofa.” I retorted, arms crossed indignantly.

I knew I looked like a two year old who had been told they couldn’t have cake for breakfast, but it was hard to act dignified when my stupid mouth kept betraying me.

Will smiled at me, a genuine, sweet smile that made me feel all sorts of funny tingly things in my nether regions. “You know, I think I like your name for it more anyway.”

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, wondering why the hell he was still sitting there staring at me, when I heard footsteps.

I know what you’re thinking diary, what is it about a nice secluded corridor that draws people to rock up and ruin the peace?

We both turned our heads to get a good peek at our newest guest to this episode of fourth floor corridor fun with Lily and Will. However, the newcomer didn’t look as though he was much up for conversing on French furniture and titanic re-enactments. He wore a well fitted and evidently very expensive suit, a flashy watch poking out from his sleeve, however, he didn’t look to happy about it all, he was rather huffy and irritable by the look of it. Maybe his big watch was giving him a sore wrist or something.

Will jumped up from the half-sofa, his confident smirk was dead and he now looked every bit as flustered and uncomfortable as I had felt since his arrival. Quite satisfying really.

“What are you doing up here William? You’re not here to bugger off upstairs; you’re being paid for this for god’s sake!” The angry man spat at Will with venom I had not seen before, I nearly stood up and told him to back off there and then, I mean who was he to stroll into our little soirée and start yelling!?

But I never did get my chance to defend the beautiful stranger I had known for all of five minutes, he mumbled something unintelligible and scuttled off behind the angry man before I had even had time to register that he was leaving. I watched as he tugged at his sleeves and ran his hands through his hair as he walked down the steps, stopping to smile back at me (looking as attractive as ever with my mouth agape and face still flushed) just before he disappeared from view.

Thus, leaving me back where I started, sat god knows where on god knows what, wondering what the evening ahead could possibly throw at me next. All I really knew was that nothing was off limits.

After ample staring at the blank space that Will had occupied just minutes before, I decided I had nothing better to do but venture downstairs once more. Maybe I could try striking up conversation about chaise longues, no one had to know I only learnt what they were tonight, and it might make me look cultured if I start blabbering in French to the posh folk.