Page 9 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘Lee?’ I say, knocking on the door.

‘Go away,’ comes the miserable response, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. Lee says something that my brain can’t make sense of.

‘Are you… speaking Japanese?’

‘It wasn’t me,’ her voice is forlorn. ‘It was the toilet.’

‘The… toilet?’

‘It shouts at you in Japanese,’ she mumbles. ‘I think it said something about warming the seat for me.’

‘You speak Japanese?’

‘Nico, is this really the time to get into my CV?’ she asks, and then there’s more retching.

‘Daisy, let me come in and hold your hair for you,’ I try.

‘Nico Hart, if you come in here right now, I will murder you.’

I rest my forehead against the cool, cool door for a moment. ‘Fair enough.’ Making my way (slowly) back to the bed, I lift the phone on the bedside table to call room service.

‘Coffee,’ I beg. ‘Please. All the coffee. And dry toast. And ibuprofen.’

‘Certainly, Mr Turner-Jones.’ The voice on the other end of the phone is unfathomably perky. ‘Can I also interest you in a couple of our vitamin blast smoothies? They’re just the thing if you’re feeling… under the weather.’

‘Sure,’ I reply wearily, too exhausted to correct her on the name thing. ‘Whatever you’d recommend to raise the dead. Thank you.’

I hang up the phone, managing to get it back in the cradle on my third attempt. There’s something dangling from the lamp beside it, and my fingers close around the scrap of shell pink lace, untangling it.

It’s a bra, the silk slipping cool as water between my fingers. I close my eyes. I could definitely live without the knowledge that my best friend’s little sister wears expensive French underwear.

The door to the bathroom opens, and I jump guiltily, throwing the bra up in the air.

Smooth, Nico. Really fucking smooth.

Lee’s face is clean of any makeup, and that tangle of gold hair has been ruthlessly subdued and coiled on top of her head. She’s still bleached of colour, but she looks back in control. She gestures for me to use the bathroom, which I do as quickly as possible, basically sticking my entire head under the cold tap in an attempt to clear it, and when I emerge she’s still standing in the same place, looking pained.

‘I can’t get out of this,’ she says, and it takes me a minute to realise she means the flannel pyjama top that’s trying to throttle her.

‘Right.’ I clear my throat. ‘Turn around.’

Lee spins and I stand behind her. She smells of soap and toothpaste and I start to undo the line of buttons running down her spine. As each button is released it reveals another inch of skin. There is a constellation of small, dark freckles on her back. With a sinking heart, I realise that she could hardly have put herself into this shirt backwards, and from the rigid way she’s standing it’s a conclusion she’s probably already reached.

Finally, the last button is undone, and she turns, holding the fabric to her front, even though the sleeves mean it’s not going anywhere. ‘I’m going to shower,’ she says. ‘And then we can… talk.’

‘Great,’ I agree as she snatches the bra up from the floor where I’ve thrown it. There’s a touch of pink in her cheeks and she avoids meeting my eye as she heads back to the bathroom, turning the lock with a click.

I’ve made her uncomfortable, and a generous dash of self-loathing is added in to the potent cocktail of regrets rushing through my system.

I’ve known Lee since she was five years old and she’s the most by-the-book, rule-following, straight-laced person you can imagine – there’s no way this night of hard drinking was her idea. I’m the wild one, I’m the one who gets blackout drunk in Vegas, the one who wakes up hungover in strangers’ beds. (Admittedly, that hasn’t happened recently, but let’s say I’ve got form.)

Lee is the one who makes pros and cons lists about having a one night stand. She thinks I missed that one last night, but I didn’t. The words five months float through my mind, but I shove them away. Lee’s sex life is absolutely none of my business.

What is my business is this mess. She’s the most unflappable person I know, and one night with me has her hiding in the bathroom, embarrassed.

Jack would kill me for putting his sister in this position. Forget Jack, Gran is the real threat – even before she started doing Taekwondo. Hell, I want to kick my own ass.

I take a deep breath. I can fix this. First thing’s first: I’m going to put on a shirt. Then I’m going to make sure Lee has breakfast. I’m going to crush any weird physical responses I have that are not those of an old, loyal friend. I am basically about to go full emotional support animal on her. She will feel nothing but safe and comfortable.