The smell of salt water in my hair was mingling with the subtle scent of his skin. My heart was pounding, my senses felt heightened. On our way back to his auntie's apartment, he put his arm around me, a gesture that he'd repeated a hundred times, but this one it was different, more tentative, his fingers gently circling my sun-kissed shoulder. I remember how excited I felt, but also how frustrated I was that this was only happening now, the night before we went home. Suddenly we were quiet, the air between us heavy with expectancy. Every other night we'd been howling with laughter and taking the piss out of each other. I pulled my dress on before I was seen and we sat back down to finish our drinks, but the atmosphere had changed completely. If I hadn't seen the waiter walking over just then, well, I don't know for certain, but I felt sure he'd have kissed me. A wave of energy rushed through me, tingling between my thighs. I wanted him to look at me, I felt like it was the first time that he'd really seen me. Of course I felt self-conscious, but as his eyes flickered along my body, lingering on my hardened nipples, I almost forgot my embarrassment. I hadn't been wearing a bra and, as I clambered up to him, I realised my tiny knickers were see-through from the water. Reaching down to pull me up out of the water, he gripped me in his tanned arms and a wave of electricity ran between us.
The water was freezing and I rushed to the surface, squealing. I knew he thought I'd never do it and I was more than a little tipsy so I pulled my strapless dress off there and then and jumped straight in. We were sitting on the pier where one of the restaurants had placed a few tables up by the water's edge. The night before we went home he dared me to go skinny-dipping. In fact, I was only there to stand in for a girlfriend he'd broken up with days before. It was one of the only times in eight years of friendship that neither of us were in a relationship. We had so much fun spending long, lazy days on the beach, sipping cold beers with countless bocadillos. We'd been on holiday together to stay with his aunty in Spain. "There's nothing between us, we're just friends, but try telling my ex that"Īlright, there was one time when I wondered whether anything would happen between us. But even then I guessed that my partner in crime would be a friend for life. Little did I know that my weekend job would inspire my future career. He made me laugh on my very first shift and we were inseparable from that moment on, always slinking off on our breaks with bottles of half-finished wine and tasting each course, "just to make sure that it's OK for the customers". I met him at my first Saturday job, waitressing at his Dad's restaurant. Nicki's my oldest friend, but Tom was my closest. It got so bad that I stopped wanting to see my closest friends – even a night with Nicki would result in a fight.īut the worst sacrifice I made was losing contact with Tom.
If I went out without him I'd have to 'forget' my phone to avoid getting fifty arsey texts and having to reassure him that no, I hadn't danced with any guys, and yes, it was a crap night without him. He'd always been jealous, but the further we grew apart, the more suffocating his possessiveness became. Now that I've finally bagged a serious job, it's time to have a place of my own as well. I've craved this opportunity for so long that I don't mind forking out the extra rent for a studio flat. I've been couch surfing ever since I moved out and it feels incredible to finally have my own space. To a stranger, it might look pathetic, but to me it's perfect.Īfter a relationship that should have ended a lot sooner, I finally broke up with my boyfriend of three years three months ago. This is my new studio flat containing everything that I own in the world. A second hand sofa acts as a divide between the 'bedroom' and the 'kitchen', consisting of a coffee table, three deep purple floor cushions (borrowed from the café where I work) and a 1970s kitchenette that I can't wait to repaint.
A bed, two stacks of books and a bulging clothes rail make this half of the flat look overcrowded already. The plant that Nicki bought me as a moving in present sits next to an empty bottle of Cava and two ancient champagne flutes, remnants of our celebrations last night. Propping a photograph on the window ledge by my bed, I glance round at my new flat.
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