Will finally makes an official announcement hoursss later, declaring the game ‘over’. Whew. I use the excuse of catching up on some breath to steal a glance of the time.

”Oh. 9:16…” OK, maybe one and a half hours is not hoursss—but tell that to my overworked lungs and limbs. I’ve visited some Pilates classes with Matteo before, but mainly to spend time with my friend and do something physical while gossiping in a tracksuit. Basketball, however, is a whole another planet.

Besides, it’s hot, and I would rather every inch of my (Alistair’s) Puma shirt not be glued to my chest from perspiration. I definitely need to step it up in the sports department ASAP. I’ll talk to Matteo; he’ll know what to do.

That said, beneath those sweat-laced short-winded expressions of mine, I sense a lingering smile. I can’t deny that the experience has been fun. Probably the most ‘fun’ a game could ever be to my not-so-sporty self. After all, Will’s a right riot, with more jokes up his sleeve than I guessed he had—spewing wisecracks, teasing my non-existent game.

A notification beep on my mobile drags me down to Earth, and to the quiet dark streets of Reading that lie ahead. Wait a sec. I flick open my mobile. It’s late. Trains. When’s the next one to London? The station close to home is notorious for its eleven p.m. drunken brawls and I generally avoid the late-night services so I don’t end up becoming a statistic.

“Hey…” Will nudges my elbow. “Come, crash at my pad.”

“Wh…” I angle my preoccupied glances his way. “Crash at yours?”

“Sure, why not?” He shrugs.

Woah. All my thoughts come to a screeching halt. Is this an invitation to Netflix-n-chill? I try and hold onto the good-feels in my chest, but the flutters steadily go limp. I was really hoping Will was a more stand-up kind of guy. Someone after a meaningful connection. Not the sort to jump into a pump-and-dump romp. Besides, he used the ‘friend’ just a moment ago. I am so confused.

“I mean it when I say it—sleep is sleep.” He snaps a finger slickly. “After the long game, I’m looking forward to a night of uninterrupted slumber.”

“Oh.” Not only did he answer the question I didn’t ask aloud, but he also topped it off by flashing me a sweet smile. The kind that’d remind one of an invite for an innocent pyjama party. “All right.” I crack a sheepish grin, trying to hide my relief. “Lead the way.”

Before long, I discover that the Youth centre we played at is only a ten-minute walk from Will’s place. A walk that takes us through sleepy tree-lined streets and rows of quaint 1930’s homes tucked behind laurel hedges. While I’m not going to admit it aloud, I can’t deny it to myself either—the place is quite lovely. That said, it is not London.

The apartment complex that Will lives at is a cluster of modern developments with a security gate, lifts, communal gardens and the whole shebang. I expected the interiors to match the fancy exteriors, but holy hell; I’m caught off-guard when we walk into the living room. Feature walls with glass murals. Suede recliners fit for a king’s throne. A coffee table that looks like it’s been sourced from some exotic island with an unpronounceable name. This looks way more like a home than the tiny place I share with Alistair.

“The dude’s an architect, remember?” I try and snap out of it.

Will smirks at my reaction and points to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. Care for a drink?”

“Just water, please. You’ve got a cool place here, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He pours me a glass of water.

I pick up the drink, about to question him on our dinner plans when my stomach beats me to it by breaking out into a few angry growls.

Will bites back a grin. “Pizza?”

Pizza? Hell yeah! I’ve burnt more than my fair share of calories. I’m in dire need of carbs, or I risk turning into a hangry man. “Sure. Pizza sounds perfect.”

He opens his cellphone and dials the number to the nearest pizza parlour. “Anything particular you’d fancy?” He shoots me a quizzical look. “Pepperoni? Cheeseburger?”

“Pepperoni would be fab!”

An inadvertent peep of the order screen-page and I notice he chooses an American Hot for himself. Hot, eh? So, the man’s choice of flavour is spicy—why am I not surprised? Steady, Harry! I yank my thoughts back the next second, to stop them from visiting wild-n-wicked places.

“All right. Help yourself if you need another drink. “I’ll be back.” Will beams warmly, before disappearing into his room at the far end.

I slip into the couch while sipping on my drink, staring at the pearly white sheepskin rug by my feet. A rug that’s whiter than my formal shirts. Man, does he even walk on that thing?

My eyes wander around the room once again and halt at the 65-inch flatscreen sitting proudly on the wall. What a beauty. That’d make for some very good Netflix-n-chill sessions indeed. Wonder how many guys must’ve had the pleasure of these sessions before?

Click.

The knob of the bedroom door opens and Will struts out in a form-fitting T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. His skin glistens every time the fresh spray of mist on his face catches the light.

“Shit!” I gasp under my breath, feeling the blood in my chest rush right down. The man’s as hot as a GQ cover-page model. Nope! Not a chance. No way. No can do. Gotta be strong. Relationship rules 101: no sex during the first night.

“So …” He clears his throat—I guess I was staring longer than I realised I had. “You wanna take a shower too? There’s a fresh pair of shorts and a T-shirt in the bathroom.” He scratches his forehead. “I guessed you wouldn’t have packed spares.”

He is right. I hadn’t come prepared for this.

Much like the rest of the home, the bathroom has an air of urban-chic about it. Slate tiles. Jet-powered shower panel. Etc. Etc. I am having the spa experience here—for free! Perhaps this is what I’m missing by choosing to live the quintessential dream of a gay author in London? Regardless, while the a-la-mode style can be attributed to the fact that Will’s an architect, how in the fricking hell does he keep it all so tidy? No wet towels spilling out of laundry baskets. No odd pairs of socks in the corners. This is beyond even Alistair’s level, who is, in comparison to me, a veritable neat freak.

Once I’ve figured out how to operate the thermostatic panel, I let my shoulders soak in the steamy rain-shower, an amazing cure for my sore muscles. A short while of bliss later, I hear the ring of the doorbell. Pizza! Grabbing a towel, I dab my skin dry in what feels like the softest bale of cotton.

Greeted by the welcoming smell of melted cheese, I hurry out of the bathroom—only to find Will reclining on his couch, with a colourful spread of papers and folders around him. The pizza boxes are still sitting on the kitchen counter, unopened. Will definitely has superhuman self-control. He glimpses up from his folder to pitch me one of his handsome semi-grins.

The normal etiquette would be to make small talk and to ask him about his project. But I’m not so gung-ho about broaching work-related topics at the moment. After all, I do not want the discussions veering back to his boss, Richard—or my former relationship with the man.

Thankfully, Will decides to skip the work-related small talk too, and puts his folders away. Soon, we’re biting down on slices of juicy pizza—complemented with glasses of Pinot Noir.

We talk. We talk more. And then, talk some more—enjoying the ‘chilling’ so much, that we don’t even bother ‘Netflixing’. Friends. Books. Bars. Holidays. You name it, and we have interesting opinions to share—a lot of them surprisingly similar. The entire night gives me an insight into the fact that Will is just as caring as he is clever, just as sweet as he can get sassy.

Before I know it, it’s three a.m. Fortunately for us both, it is a Saturday. And the fact that the night skies outside the window are inching towards the crack of dawn, doesn’t give me jitters. If anything, I wish the conversations could go on for longer. However, the gears in my mind are burnt out, refusing to budge. So, I set aside my empty wine glass on the coffee table, and stand up, stifling a yawn.

“Hmm… Shall we call it a night?”

“Sure…”

“Errr… I can sleep on the couch.” I stretch my stiff limbs out. “That’s if you don’t mind…”

“Actually, I do mind.”

His answer nudges me awake. “What?”

“I have a bed that’s big enough for two.”

“Bed?” I pause, now fully awake. What does big-enough-for-two imply? Sex?

“Just sleep.” He winks. “Remember?”

“Oh.” There he goes again, reading my mind, as though I’d scribbled my thoughts on my forehead. “Yes.” I end the awkward pause with a hurried nod. “Yes, of course…”

I follow him in a strange half-asleep half-awake trance, till we walk into a swanky bedroom with furnishings of cobalt blue and Earthy brown. Very gentlemanly. My feet come to a quick stop when I spot the bed.

From the corner of his eyes, Will observes the befuddled look on my face. “It’s fine, I have slept here with friends before. There’s plenty of space.”

Slept? With friends? Friends-with-benefits? Boyfriends? Darn, I feel a sharp twinge in my stomach. An unpleasant pang that I convince myself is anything but jealously. I mean, come on! We’ve just met a few weeks ago. I can’t be jealous, can I?

“Your friends who’ve slept here before. Were they as tall as we are?”

Will sneers, amused by my comments. “Sure… this is King Size.”

King Size? In which country—Lilliput land? “You mean a ‘Prince’ size bed,” I correct him, struggling to keep a straight face. “Really, the couch is fine.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to sleep on the couch. I bought it because of its design, not for my friends to sleep on.” He pauses. “I promise, I won’t touch you.”

He won’t touch me. I feel another twinge in my stomach. A dull one this time. As if I’d hoped he would touch me. But, until a second ago, sex was not on the menu. Or, was it? I wasn’t meant to stay the night. And even if I did, I wasn’t meant to share a bed.

“I have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom—for guests,” Will speaks up. “You can use it.”

Spare toothbrush. For guests. Friends and family would bring their own. So, is this for dates? And one-night stands? And there I feel that sharp twinge again. At this point, I actually wish Will would spare me from further details of his past affairs.

Pushing aside that silly train of thought, I disappear into the bathroom for a while. For whatever reason, I take a little longer than the dentist’s recommended 120 seconds to brush my teeth.

When I remerge, what I see literally makes my pulse take off like an Olympian sprinter. Will is lying on his side of the bed, languidly browsing a magazine. No surprises there. But, the sheet is halfway up his waist, with his shirt splayed on the bedside table, leaving his midriff exposed.

Now, I can’t tell if this is how Mr Handsome goes to bed every night, or if he is choosing to do so on this particular night. But, what I can tell is that my distracted self is not going to be able to catch up on much sleep—what with his semi-bare torso lying an inch away from me.

My eyes take a thrilling tour of his physique, sliding from his bulked arms, through his dark nipples, down to his chiselled abs, where they halt. I have to look away before I’m roused to a point of no return. I’m meant to take this slow. No sex, right?

Will peeps up from the magazine. “Planning on standing there all night? Or are you getting some sleep?”

Realising I’d stayed glued to my spot for an absurd length of time, I begin edging towards the bed. Then, I slip inside the sheets beside him, barely able to hear my racing thoughts beneath the thumping of my beats.

Suddenly, Will puts the magazine away, and then flips over to my side, his hand stretching towards me.

Yup, this is it. We are having sex. I might as well cease fighting the temptation and be done with it, so my body stops reacting as though I’m a high-schooler. Not knowing where to look as I lie there in anticipation, I bring my eyelids to a slow close, expecting the weight of a pair of firm full lips on mine.

But, there’s no kiss. Not even a quick brushing of lips. Wait… what? I open my eyes, when he reaches across, over me—to turn off the light.

Oh!

For the many minutes that follow, I lie there in a perpetual state of excitement. His softest tosses and turns, make my heart jump. The slightest twist of his arm makes me wonder if he’s about to make the moves on me. However, nothing happens, while we continue to lounge in bed, awake in the dark.

At some point, Will decides to slide his hand over my waist, turning me into his little spoon. His breath warms up my already-flushed neck, but I’m not complaining. The zesty notes of his shower gel waft and wane by me, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve loved the combined aroma of citrus and wood more.

As the minutes’ pass, the tension in the air eases, bit by bit.

It’s the first time I’m spending a night with someone since I broke up with Richard. Not gonna lie; I’ve missed intimacy. But unlike the tempestuous hours with Richard—a man whom I was always trying to impress—my time with Will is turning out to be like a breeze. Easy. Soothing. Refreshing. Relaxing. Not surprising then that I eventually slip into a peaceful slumber in his clasp, as if my body has done so many times before. As if I’ve known him forever.

I wake up to the sounds of metal scraping a pan. By the time I head off into the kitchen, breakfast is well underway. I offer help, but he has it all figured out. So, I pull a chair for myself at the table and pour us mugs of freshly-brewed coffee.

He joins me a little later, with two plates of scrambled eggs on toast. I take a bite of the toast. Now, this is what I’d call the five-star Bed-and-breakfast treatment.

“Hmmm. Very nice.” Exchanging a quick smile, we dive into our plates.

As I sit here and crush on him while he’s sipping on his coffee, I’m quite proud of the fact that we made it through a night without the sex. I want to see him again. But I end up humming and hawing on how to bring up the fated “So, shall we do this again?” question.

“Slept well? The bed comfy enough?” Will springs the question on me, from nowhere.

“Umm yeah… the bed…” I blurt out whatever answer floats up to the top of my head, “was firm and nice?” Shit. Firm and nice? I quickly recognise how horrible that sounded. And I’m supposed to be the writer here.

“Told you.” Will hides a smirk by biting into his toast.

A lingering pause later, I glance at the bottom of my coffee cup. It’s empty. I’ve sat at the table for so long, with my chest steadily turning into a punching bag for my pounding heart, still struggling to figure out how to suggest a next date. Awkward. Eventually, something comes over me and I decide to drop the entire idea.

Will is Mr Supercool and I really don’t want to come across as a super-clinger. It’s probably best I let him take the lead, allow things to develop organically. In fact, hanging around his apartment on a Sunday morning like an annoying guest wouldn’t be ideal either.

“All right.” I clear my throat and stand, grabbing my empty plate. “I think I’ll make a move now…”

“Hey.” Will gets off his chair and approaches the kitchen counter, posing alongside me as I rinse the dishes. “What’s the rush?”

I like that he offers. And the offer is tempting. But I have to stay firm. “Nah, I’ve got some work to finish.”

He reads my face intently. “So, we’ll catch up soon?”

Catch up soon? Is that a promise of a new date? I quickly rein-in my widening grin. “Of course.”

I pack my stuff and pick up my backpack, thanking him for the wonderful time I’ve had.

On my way to the entrance, I spot a closed door that I’d somehow missed till then. “What’s that?”

“The guest room.” Will quips.

“Oh. Nice,” I say simply.

Guest room? Unbelievable! The guy’s a bigger bastard than I thought he was. But I would be lying if I say I’m not flattered that he wanted me beside him, on his bed.

As I turn around to face him at the door, I sense my throat parching up again. Is a kiss coming now? A handshake? What’s this? A political conference? Seriously. We’ve spent the night together, skin-against-skin. Maybe a tight hug’s the way to go.

But just as I’ve made up my mind on the right farewell gesture, he does his own thing—by leaning in, to plant a fast-n-firm kiss.

“Bye.” He smiles, coming away. “Take care.”

“You too.” I smile back, knowing that this is the beginning of something nice. I can feel it in my guts.