‘So what shall we do?’ He runs a finger gently down my cheek and I hear myself gulp. Mason smiles, turning on the full wattage.
I’m suddenly feeling the excess of prosecco and my long shift at work. I’m clearly not as young as I like to think I am. ‘You could drive me home,’ I say. ‘That’s really all I’m fit for.’
‘Really? The night is young, Brown.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not.’ I unleash a yawn that I’m not able to stifle.
‘I get the point. So you just want to go home?’
‘Yes, please.’
He sighs at me. ‘OK. My pleasure.’
‘No funny business though.’
He laughs. ‘None at all.’
I settle back in the plush leather seat and give Mason my postcode for him to tap into the Satnav. Then I text Charlie to let her know that I’m going home and she sends me back two kisses. She’s in safe hands with Nice Paul who I’m sure will see her into a cab.
I close my eyes and lay my head back as Mason speeds along the deserted roads of Milton Keynes. His car is comfortable and warm, and I think I may have dozed off as, sooner than I imagined, we reach my estate and he pulls into my road. The moonlight shimmers on the lake. It looks positively romantic.
‘Nice area,’ he says.
‘That’s my place.’ I point out the granny annexe.
‘You could invite me in for coffee.’
‘Nooooooo,’ I say. ‘That would be a really bad idea.’ I think of Gary Barlow standing in the corner of my bedroom and know without a shadow of a doubt that Mason would think that was weird.
‘We’ve got some chemistry going on here, Brown. I know that you feel it too.’
‘You’re my boss,’ I remind him. ‘Bad idea. Very bad idea.’
‘You don’t fancy a walk by the lake in the moonlight?’
‘There are usually drunks down there.’
‘Ah. We could sit here and look at it,’ he says. ‘I can do romance if that’s what you’re looking for.’
‘I’m not looking for anything.’
He turns on the music and flicks through his playlist until something suitably smooth serenades me.
‘Huh.’ I try to sound unimpressed. ‘Music to make babies by.’
‘If I’m lucky.’ Then he leans in and kisses me and my head spins. I think his lips must be supercharged, as the touch of them makes me tingle all over. Despite my earlier resolve, I feel myself responding. I can’t even begin to tell you what a good kisser he is. So we kiss and soon it intensifies. Mason’s hands become more bold. They slide up inside my ra-ra skirt, they travel down over the canary yellow top, maybe a bit inside it. And like it. I like it a lot. I haven’t had decent sex for soooooo long. Or even indecent sex.
We move closer together and the kissing goes to another level, but then gearstick gets in the way and breaks the moment.
‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ Mason laughs. ‘Sports cars aren’t made for lurrrrrve.’
To be honest with you, that stops me short and makes me realise what we’re doing. I push Mason away and, slightly breathlessly, say, ‘This is wrong on many levels.’
‘Why?’ He looks perplexed. ‘I thought we were just getting started.’
‘For one, I’m wearing a ra-ra skirt and a rainbow wig. Two – I haven’t had sex in a car since I was about seventeen,’ I tell him. ‘It wasn’t great then. And it was only because I had nowhere else to go.’
‘But you have to admit that it felt great,’ Mason says. ‘In a slightly sleazy and ridiculous way.’
Pulling down my ra-ra skirt to cover my … ahem … modesty, I say, ‘We should call it a night.’
‘We could move into your place. That would be a lot more comfortable.’
‘I don’t think so, Mason.’ My head is clearing slightly. I don’t want to wake up in the morning full of regrets and needing to hand in my notice. ‘I should be going. Thanks for the lift home.’
‘Don’t go, Brown.’ He puts a hand on my arm. ‘Let’s talk about stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know.’ He looks at me, a teasing smile on those kissable lips. I should get out of the car. I should get out of the car now. Then he says, ‘I do know! Let’s go away somewhere. Come to Paris with me.’
I laugh. ‘Paris?’
‘I’m going shortly. A work trip. Once the club is running smoothly, my next project is to open a chain of French-style cafés. I’m going over there for research.’
‘Nice work if you can get it.’
He acknowledges my jibe. ‘Come then.’
‘I don’t have “Paris” money,’ I point out. ‘I barely make my rent each month. I don’t have anything left over for holidays.’
‘It’s my treat. If it makes you feel better, I can put it down on business expenses. We can check out some great restaurants and cafés. You can give me your valued opinion. It would be so much better with you by my side.’ That little bit of flattery brings a flush of colour to my cheeks and Mason clearly sees me wavering as he presses on. ‘Then, when our work is done, we could take a romantic stroll along the Seine, go and see the Mona Lisa, climb the Eiffel Tower. Tourist stuff.’
‘I don’t do heights.’
That doesn’t deter him. ‘We can sit at pavement cafés and watch the world go by. Then we can make love all night with the French doors open onto a little wrought iron balcony and the lights of Paris beneath us.’
It is actually sounding rather appealing.
‘Have you been to Paris?’
‘Never.’
‘Ah, then you don’t know what you’re missing, Brown.’
‘I can’t come to Paris with you, Mason. That would be stupid.’
‘OK.’ He shrugs. ‘But I could come in and discuss it further.’
I push him away. ‘Nice try.’ Then I kiss his cheek, a friendly peck. ‘I’m going now. My bed is calling.’
‘Your bed’s calling me too.’ He gives me pathetic eyes.
‘I know bed language,’ I tell him, firmly. ‘And my bed is very definitely saying “Stay out”.’
He grins good-naturedly and starts the engine of his car. ‘I know when I’m beaten.’
I open the door and get out. ‘Goodnight, Mason. Thanks for the lift home. I do appreciate it.’
‘Think about Paris,’ he says, then he roars off into the night and I check round to see if any of my neighbour’s curtains are twitching.
‘Paris,’ I say with a scoff as I open my door.
In the bedroom, cut-out Gary Barlow is waiting for me. I throw myself onto the bed and sigh. ‘What do you think about me going to Paris with Mason, Gazza Bazza?’
But, as always, Gary keeps his opinion to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlie and I are on the late shift together the next day. She looks as rough as I feel. We are sitting on what we’ve christened ‘our’ bench half an hour before we have to start work. Me with a coffee, Charlie with an e-cig and a hangover. The industrial bins hide us from the customers who are enjoying the sunshine in our beer garden, so we’re not likely to be asked, inadvertently, for menus or something. We skulk here while we have our obligatory pre-shift natter.