Home > The Gentleman’s Guide to Getting Lucky(6)

The Gentleman’s Guide to Getting Lucky(6)
Author: Mackenzi Lee

21

 

“Ambiance,” he says suddenly. “Not ambivalence.”

“Right. Yes, that.”

“Well, well done, Felicity. And you, obviously.” Percy reaches for a tray and plucks one of the aniseed pastries he’s eaten his weight in since we arrived. “All this for me?”

“Yes. Well, except I know you don’t like the figs as much as I do, so I suppose those are for me.” He’s already finished his second pastry and is moving in for a third. I bat his hand out of the air. “Stop eating them.”

“I thought they were for me.”

“Yes, but listen to me first.” I grab his hands between us, then take a deep breath. “Percy.”

“Monty. May I have another pastry while you talk? Or are you going to give me something else to do with my mouth?”

“I mean . . . not no.” I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Am I supposed to say

something here? Something romantic and sweet and not maudlin? Hadn’t I planned something to say? If I had, I can’t remember it now. Dear God, why did I agree to make a production of this?

Should have gotten this big first over unceremoniously, with no pastries and no flowers and no big speeches, though I wouldn’t say no to a bit of wine. It’s so much easier to do this with someone I couldn’t give a fig over.

“This doesn’t change anything, does it?” I blurt.

Percy cocks his head. “Really? That’s what you want to lead off with?”

“That’s not what I . . . I just mean . . .” I reach up to scratch at my missing ear, but he catches my hand before I can. I let out a shaky breath. “You want to do this?” I say. “With me?”

“I do.”

“You’re certain?”

22

 

“Course I’m certain.” He weaves his fingers between mine and kisses my knuckles. “Why?

Don’t you want to?”

“No.”

“No?” He goes absolutely still, like an animal who has heard the first snapping twig beneath a hunter’s boot.

“No. Wait. I mean, yes, I want to. Sorry, I thought you were going to ask . . . yes. Of course, yes.”

“All right.”

“All right.”

And then we just look at each other. And not in the romantic we’re about to kiss sort of way.

It’s more of the what do we do now variety. Not the tender gaze you hope will preface a passionate embrace.

“Should we . . .” I start right as he leans in to kiss me.

And then we both stop. So now we are uncomfortably looking at each other from an inch apart. Which is worse. And then I start talking again right as he leans in. Again.

But Percy laughs as he straightens. “You go first.”

“I was just . . . do you want to go into the bedroom?” I regret it as soon as I say it. It makes me uncomfortably aware of how desperate I am to get this over with, and how little sense that makes. I have never in all my born days been this clumsy about getting tangled up in someone.

Perhaps it’s because it’s Percy, and he's the first person with whom I've ever made it this far that mattered. Or perhaps it’s because in the deepest, shadowed corners of my heart, I know I’m the sort of person you romp with for one fun night and then climb out the window before he wakes.

The sort of person no one wants to be around unless there’s some kind reward involved, 23

 

preferably of a sexual nature. Not the sort you bet all your chips on a life with. How long before he realizes that?

“Bedroom,” I say again, and somehow it lands with even more of a clunk than before.

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

No, wait, not yet! Stall! my brain screams at me, and I only make it a step before I skid to a halt. “Or.” I pivot to face Percy again. “Or maybe we just stay here and have a drink?”

He smiles, and my heart stutters unpleasantly. Which is new. “That’s good too.”

And then I reach for the wine and my brain screams at me again. No, don’t drag this out, get it over! Having a drink in awkward pre-fornication silence will not make this better! But also don’t go to the bedroom! And I stop. Again. With no idea what to do next.

My brain is an absolute arsehole.

“Actually.” I pause. “Yes. Upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” he repeats, and I realize I am still, confusingly, reaching for the wine.

“Yes.” I fumble around and catch his hand, like that was my intention all along. I’m shakier than I thought I would be, and I immediately wish I hadn’t touched him. My limbs feel like they’re made of smoke. Very panicked smoke. “Bedroom. Upstairs.”

Good, I’m reduced to single-word sentences. That will certainly turn him on.

I lead Percy up the stairs to the small room I’ve claimed on the second floor, blessing the narrow hallways that require us to walk single file if we still want to hold hands because it means I don’t have to look him in the eye yet.

I stop dead in the doorway of my bedroom, like I smacked into a sheet of glass, because suddenly everything about this room seems to proclaim, This is the place where you have sex 24

 

and start your life together! THIS IS THE PLACE YOU BEGIN TO DISAPPOINT THE PERSON

YOU LOVE!

I feel Percy stop behind me, then he says, “I’m disappointed.”

Which is so aggressively in tune with my panicked internal monologue that I swear I almost faint. “What? Why?”

“I thought there’d be more pastries.”

“Oh God.” I lean backward against him, bumping his chest with my shoulders. “You and

your stupid pastries. They’re not good, you know.”

“I know.” He wraps his arms around my waist and presses his lips to my neck and I can do this, I can do this, I’m fine, I can do this. “But I can’t stop eating them.”

“They’re hard as rocks. You’re going to break a tooth.”

“Would you still find me handsome if I broke my teeth on Greek pastries?”

“Depends which teeth.”

“Too late. You’re stuck with me.”

He leans over my shoulder to kiss me then. But my instinct is to duck away from it, which is unexpected. For both of us. Percy freezes, completely still for a moment, then his hands start to fall away from my waist.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I blurt out. It’s the first thing that comes to my mind. And it’s not excellent.

I turn to face him, and he quirks an eyebrow. “Safe?”

“For you. I mean. It’s not going to cause a fit or anything?”

Thank God he laughs at this. Though less in a how funny way. It rings more with are you actually this stupid? Or perhaps that’s just me assigning subterranean levels to every goddamn 25

 

breath he takes. “I know I’m new at this, but I’m fairly confident no doctor has ever confirmed that losing your virginity can cause an epileptic fit.”

“Just . . . thought I’d ask.”

I must look cowed, for his face softens. He steps into the room in front of me and takes my face in both his hands. “What’s wrong?”

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