"Flying back tomorrow already?" I ask Olivia, trying to fill the heavy silence that weights the air as we head west towards Holland Park, to her uncle's. She's been mostly quiet, pensive, looking out the car window.

She hums in agreement, but neither looks at me nor makes any effort to engage in conversation and make the short ride a tad less difficult. In fact, not many words have been exchanged since we left the pub and I'm trying not to force anything.

I tighten my fingers around the wheel seeking to release the tension. Though my face gives nothing away, my head's a mess.

How come in a world of seven billion people I'm ending this sodding day with the one single woman I shouldn't be with?

I'm thinking straight, aren't I? I mean, lightning isn't supposed to strike twice in the same spot, everyone knows about that, it's common sense. Well, except when it forgets where it struck last, I guess. But I haven't forgotten. In fact, it struck so hard it almost knocked me down, and the damage it caused is still vividly imprinted in my memory.

"What time then?"

"In the afternoon," she murmurs so quietly, I can barely understand the words.

I turn on the radio, thinking to fill in the uncomfortable space between us with music. Only Love Can Hurt Like This begins to pulse through the speakers.

Great, as if the mood in here weren't odd and depressed enough.

I quickly change the station.

"No, leave it!" Olivia emerges from her thoughts, hovering her hand over the radio, trying to find the key to set it back.

I control the radio system directly from the steering wheel and do what she asks. She gives me a thin smile, which I half-heartedly return.

"Mind turning it up just a bit louder?" she asks, with her head leant back against the seat and her eyes closed.

"Sure. You like this one?"

It would be nice to get an answer for a change, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she just hums the song, sometimes singing along.

I force myself to focus on the road, only on the road, but the truth is I'm losing it. It's sending me into a frenzy, the fact I'm running out of time and don't really know what to do next. I'm seriously thinking about pulling some crazy stunt, like... lose myself in the place where I've lived my entire life?

But isn't that the stupidest idea?

It certainly is, but I'm all strung out, barely able to get my emotions under control.

Damn it, I should just leave her at her uncle's once and for all and forget about it! When I see her again, maybe sometime around 2030, I'm certain I'll be over this sad episode.

I glance at her again. She's still singing with her eyes closed, on her face is the same enigmatic expression. And my mind starts reeling, imagining there's some sort of mutual electrifying tension, one that would make me slam hard on the brakes and pull over to the side. To kiss her.

Her temples, her eyelids, the cute freckled bridge of her nose. Her perfect mouth. Her neck, her shoulder.

The exposed shoulder that's been teasing me all day long.

I imagine my hands meandering down her body, her lips murmuring my name, asking me to take her home and–

Stop thinking about the 375 ways this could go badly and do something!

What if she snaps?

Screw it if she goes ballistic! What is there for you to lose? Basically nothing, I suppose.

Without giving it any further thought, I do pull over.

"Olivia?" I stare intently into her eyes, trying to read the emotions behind them.

She looks confused but remains silent.

Then I take her hand in mine, secretly hoping she doesn't notice it's actually shaking. "I'm still a good listener. So why don't you tell me about it? What's troubling you?"

Silence engulfs us again as she stares at me, her face undecipherable.

"What's troubling me?" She pulls her hand away. "I'll tell you what it is: it's my feet. They're swollen, these shoes are killing me, and I want my clogs back! Goddam killer heels, they're driving me bloody mad!" She kicks them off, forcing out a chuckle I know is not sincere.

"Olivia, look at me." My tone takes a hard edge. I know her better than that.

Avoiding my gaze, she sags back into the seat and closes her eyes. "It's nothing, I'm just exhausted. It's been a long day and I can't wait to take a shower and crawl into a bed."

"Can I invite you for a quick drink? My flat's right here around the corner."

Her chest expands on a deep breath before she turns to face me. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a good idea," she says softly, the awareness she won't come, not in a million years, slowly dawning in my churning gut.

I let the silence hang between us for a moment.

"It's not that I'm asking you to spend the weekend in Paris with me. It's just a drink. Who knows when we'll see each other again?"

She smiles, a small pained smile. "Well, but maybe you should. Invite me to Paris."

I'd love that.

Indecision flickers across her face for a few beats, then she squints at her watch. She's pondering the possibility and I immediately feel a blast of adrenaline racing through my veins.

"Okay, but one drink only!" she agrees, holding her index finger up.

My thoughts begin to race back and forth in a wild rush and I can't help imagining how it'd be if we didn't make it to my apartment.

As soon as the lift doors slid shut, to hell with the wine, compliments and subtle flirting! I'd press the full length of her body with mine, I'd dive my hands into her hair, to hold her head steady as I kiss her hard and deep. I'd whisper into her mouth how desperate I've been the entire day to have her back in my arms. And I'd eagerly seek her breasts, I'd fondle them, I'd tease them. I'd have her up against the wall until she gasped for breath and moaned in surrender because I'd made her lose track of time and space and–

"BRIAN! Watch out!"

Reacting purely on instinct, I hit the brakes and only then look around. Shit, I've almost run a red light and headed on out into a junction in Kensington High Street.

"So sorry, you all right?" I ask, most certainly with a guilty expression on my face.

She nods, blowing out a breath of relief.

"Here we are," I announce a few beats later as I park in front of my apartment in Warwick Gardens.

I'm playing it cool, but the truth is, I'm overly anxious. In fact, I'm half scared and half desperate at the remote possibility of spending the night with her.

I rush to hold the car door open for her, but she doesn't wait and gets out first, barefoot, one hand holding the small handbag and sandals, the other grabbing the hem of her dress.

Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide her through the entrance door towards the lift, my eyes caressing her face when she gives me a soft smile.

No one would know, but my heart is stomping, kicking hard against my chest such is the thrill of anticipation rushing through me.

*

"Ooh, this just feels soo good!" she breathes out in a sort of orgasmic moan and I almost lose my balance.

After having set some background music, I enter my bathroom, two glasses in one hand, a bottle of vintage Port in the other.

Olivia is sitting on the small wall that supports the tub, the skirt of her dress pulled up to the knees revealing her slender legs, both feet dipped into eight inches of salty water. Her recipe to prevent a high-heel hangover.

Not quite what I had in mind, but surely entertaining.

After pouring the wine, I clink my glass with hers. "Cheers!"

Smiling, she raises her glass and takes a slow sip.

Definitely amused at the whole scene, I take off my tie and roll up my sleeves before I sit on the ceramic floor.

"Living alone here?" she asks with eyes closed, while continuing to lengthen her back and perform some feet stretching and twisting movements.

I hum in confirmation.

"Girlfriend?"

She throws me an inquisitive look. "You sure?"

"See anyone else here? And why would I lie to you?"

With a naughty smile playing on her lips, she tilts her head towards the quartz countertop. "So you have a thing for women's make-up now, huh?"

Shit! My throat clenches when I see it, Jo's lipstick lying forgotten on the dark stone.

A howl of laughter bursts out of her mouth. "Oh my God, you're hiding a terrible secret, aren't you? The handsome Brian Anderson is into cross-dressing!" She drinks half of her glass and then sizes me up, clicking her tongue in a feigned expression of disappointment. "What a waste, you look amazing in a suit."

Half nervous, half embarrassed, I get up and throw the damn thing into some drawer. "It's not what you're thinking..."

She lets her eyelids drift closed, enjoying the warm, soothing sensation. "It never is. In fact, I'm quite familiar with that line, if you want to know."

I would, actually.

She's still nervous, I can tell. In a quick movement, she takes a band from around her wrist and ties up her hair up in a bun and then empties her glass.

I pour some more wine I'm planning to drink slowly, in hopes that out of politeness she'll stay at least until I finish.

Without really expecting her to open up, I ask, "When did it all happen?"

Surprisingly, Olivia extends her arm, asking for her glass to be refilled. She has long, graceful hands, not very long nails, painted in deep red, which gives her a sexy yet sophisticated touch.

I like it.

"Almost six months ago. I called the whole thing off, you know, but I really regret it now."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I should have left him standing at the altar, that would have been the proper thing to do!" she says dryly, smothering a snort. Then the little grin fades into a more serious, introspective expression. "He's not a one-woman man, and deep down I always knew it. But I guess I kept thinking he would change. Or that I would change him." She takes a sip. "I don't know, but it should make us wonder: why do women always think they can fix men? Why do we fall for the same emotionally unstable guys, the ones with the most flaws, the most completely screwed up, lost cases?"

I shrug. No idea.

Olivia, however, seems to have an explanation. "So we can treat you as some sort of fixable project? I guess sometimes we don't look at a guy for what he is, rather at his potential. As if he was a chunk of soft clay we could mould. We look at them and secretly wonder 'well, well, what can I make out of you?' And then we call it love... such bullshit!" she concludes, clearly frustrated, before she lifts her legs, looking around for a towel.

I throw her the one I pull from the hanger above my head.

"Love is a complex thing, isn't it?" I ask, rhetorically, last year's events circling through my head.

Meanwhile, she sits down too, right in front of me, and begins to dry her feet.

I catch her eyes with my gaze. "Love, what is that in the end? Maybe that's not even possible. I mean, you can love your child and your parents―there's a bond there that cannot be broken―but some significant other?"

She hums in agreement and I continue, "I suppose sometimes people confuse attraction and desire with love, and one day, sooner rather than later, you grow tired, it's all gone, vanished into thin air... Maybe Rob's right and it's all just like fish and chips!"

She raises an eyebrow, a silent request for an explanation.

"Everyone likes them a lot, but if you eat them every bloody day, everyone knows what will happen, right? But despite all this, and that's what really puzzles me, people still promise before everyone it will be forever, that they commit to having fish and chips every frigging day of their lives." . "But then, in a blink of an eye, they're at each other's throats as if what they once had meant absolutely nothing. It's weird, I don't know. People are all weird, I guess."

Olivia sends me a playful yet tender smile and adds, "We're all a little weird. And life's a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness―and call it love."

"All those years and I didn't know you had a poetic side! Come here." I tap on the floor and invite her to sit closer.

She crinkles her nose, confused.

"Come." I beckon with a wave of my hand. "Methinks you're going to love this foot rub!"

Her eyes light up.

Supporting her body weight on both arms, she slides towards me. I cup my hands around one foot and begin rubbing it.

"Me, poetic? No, just quoting Robert Fulghum." She seems more relaxed now, playing with her glass, watching the dark red swirl against the light.

"Never heard of. Then again, reading isn't really my thing."

"That's because you've never found the right book." With eyes closed, she bends her head back, a trace of a smile gracing her face.

As I rotate her ankles, I find myself studying her again, the elegant contour of her face, her neck, her shoulders―a moment that is only interrupted when she lets out a shy moan, one that sends a warm tingling sensation down my spine.

I rotate and pull each toe gently. Another moan and stronger vibrations rush further down.

I stretch my arm and manage to get some lotion out of the cabinet, which I use to walk my thumbs back and forth over the sole of her foot and then to push deep.

A hoarse groan escapes her throat, "Oh God, yes!"

I have to blow a short breath. Frankly, it seems she's writhing with pleasure. With each passing second, it's getting more and more difficult to keep this rush of yearning under control.

I keep rubbing her heel, then move to her ankle, finally gliding my thumb all the way up her shin. My hands are tempted to move further up to her thighs and dance across the soft skin, but the thought is interrupted by an indistinct breathless whisper.

"What?"

"Harder!" she breathes out, this time louder.

Another shudder travels through my body.

Help me, God.

What if I pull her in a bold move and have her straddling me?

Why would you want to get slapped?

Another sharp intake of breath and I force myself to cool off.

She starts humming the music that comes from the living room. U2's One. One of my all-time favourites.

"Brian?" Her eyes are still closed. "You know why you don't believe in love?"

"Why?"

"Because you never found the right woman." She finally holds her head straight and gives me a reassuring smile. "But one day you will."

I thank her with a smile and watch her close her eyes again, immerse herself in the music. Reflecting upon her words, I acknowledge, once again, how beautiful she is and has always been, to me.

Olivia momentarily opens one eye and catches me checking her out. Her lips quirk into a mischievous smile before she closes it again and begins to sing the chorus lines.

"Hey!" A few seconds later, she gives me a scolding stare.

"What?"

"Eyes up, boy!"

"Huh?"

"You know the way a man's gaze roams over a woman's body tells you how much into sex he is?"

I almost choke on my wine.

I clear my throat, one, two, three times. Not because I really need to, but because I'm trying to gain time to find an excuse.

"I think you're tipsy," I tell her.

"Oh, shut up! You know when they say your eyes are the window to your soul? That isn't mere poetry, sweetie! Your pupils are dilated because you're looking at my..." She makes circular movements over her chest with her hand.

My heart rate kicks up. She's right, I've been staring at her boobs. Last time I checked they looked different and now... well, I'm impressed. I can't deny that.

"And you're right. I'm probably a bit drunk too." She giggles and finishes her glass. "No more wine for me tonight! But do enlighten me, why are men so crazy about breasts?"

"I'm sure there's some natural explanation. Because men are hardwired to search for potential mates? Some fertility slash childbearing thing?"

"Cut the crap and tell the truth: what's the very first thing you look at in a woman?"

"Huh... the eyes?"

"You're such a terrible liar, Brian Anderson!" Her eyes take on a mischievous glint. "Boobs, waist and hips. But mostly boobs. The question is, do you want to procreate with every woman whose boobs you look at?"

Course not.

"Surely you don't! There must be something else. And besides, no other mammal cares about boobs, these play absolutely no role in foreplay and intercourse! So, please, do me a favour, and explain it to me!"

I shake my head, amused. I don't know. I like them. A lot. I like them so much, even this scientific chit chat about them is turning me on.

She suddenly gets up and extends her hand to me. "Come. Take me to a warmer and softer place. My butt's freezing."

*

I can't hold back the snort of laughter when she enters the living room. "Oh, good Lord!"

"What now? Don't you like the ensemble?"

"I do. What a sight to behold!"

She's snatched my slippers from behind the bathroom door and tucked her feet into them. They're goddamn ugly, terribly unfashionable, probably four sizes bigger than her feet, and she looks a bit silly.

But I like her attitude, I like the fact she's so at ease and pragmatic and not some stuck-up snob.

Sitting on the sofa, comfortably sipping my wine, I observe her, as she scans the bookcase next to the fireplace. It's crammed with books messily placed either vertically or horizontally, and her head is continuously bending sideways and upwards trying to read the titles on the spine of each book, mostly design and architecture-related stuff.

"Have you been drawing lately?" she asks, her eyes fixed on some books on classic painting.

"No, not really."

Something else catches her attention. "Ah, my younger cousin loves comic books too!" she says in a playful tone when she meets a stack of graphic novels, the Sin City series on the top of the pile.

"Hey, lady, those aren't comic books!"

"Yeah, right." There's a note of amusement in her condescending, ironic tone.

She keeps studying the rack, browsing her index finger through the CD collection.

"Those are called graphic novels!" I explain, sounding as if offended.

She's still looking attentively at the aligned CDs and finally picks one out, though I don't know which. For some strange reason, her smile is gone.

"I've just seen Captain Marvel there. For real, people call that a novel? she asks dryly. "Maybe for boys and nerds who're afraid to look at real tits!"

I laugh. "Is that so?"

Her eyes keep studying the opened CD case. "Or maybe they're just meant for people who're too lazy to read. Or for guys who're afraid to grow up," she adds in a harsh, bitter voice.

"You're not serious, are you?"

Wagging one of the books, she throws me a defiant squint. "You're telling me you like to read this crap, but pretend it isn't a kids' book by calling it something else?"

Bloody hell, what is this now? Is it my imagination or is she actually holding a grudge against me?

"Want to know a sad truth, Brian Anderson? You guys like this rubbish because down there you never stopped being little boys, that's what it is!"

I am so dumbfounded I don't even quite know how to react.

"Just tell me, where are most guys spending their time these days? Ah-ah! Playing Flappy Bird, right?"

"Liv?"

She ignores me completely and for the first time, I wonder if something is amiss, if she suffers from some sort of borderline disorder or is downright crazy.

"Iron Man, Spiderman, Superman, Batman, X-Bloody-Men," she spits, counting with her fingers. "All huge blockbusters. Now, you know who goes out to watch all this childish crap? That's right, adult males."

She's definitely not okay.

"Olivia?" I hold her hand, trying to calm her down, but she brushes it off.

"You know, there's a study that claims men only grow up at the age of...?" She jabs a finger into my chest and I stare down at it, stunned. "Forty-three, imagine that! It surely explains a lot about what's going on here, doesn't it?"

"Are you done?" I snap, holding her hand firmly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Enough is enough. Firstly, I don't go around telling women to shove their silly romance novels straight up their bums. Second, not that I bloody care what her opinion is, but graphic novels can be very serious too; take Safe Area Gorazde, about the Bosnian War. Or Maus, about the Holocaust. Third, I've already put up with enough shit for one day. She should leave now.

She lowers her eyes and lets out a heavy exhale, her shoulders sagging. For a moment, no words are exchanged, there's only this tense silence and our breaths intertwining.

"I'm so sorry." She rubs her forehead. "God, my head's swimming from the wine. I'm calling for a taxi, I need to go before I talk any more rubbish..."

"What was all that about?"

She cast her eyes downward. "I'm tired, I told you. I shouldn't have come–"

"Stop it!" I tilt her chin up and look down into her face. "What is really going on?"

She glances up, blinking back tears. "Nothing. I apologise."

I frame her face with my hands. "Liv?"

"I'm sorry, but it's not as easy as I thought it would be. To see you again. I wanted to deal with this in the most mature way, pretend we don't have a story―after all it's been such a long time. I thought I could handle being around you, but I can't." She pauses for a few moments. "All I know is the last thing I wanted was to have some stupid argument with you after all these years... and..."

"Yes?"

"Please, . Let's say a proper goodbye, and put–"

"Aren't you too late for that? Eleven years, eleven fucking years too late?" My voice is thick and harsh.

She freezes and the CD case she was still holding slips from her hands and falls to the ground.

My heart begins to thud so hard I can almost hear it. My mind is a blur as I draw myself even closer, to let my hot breath brush her lips and my eyes bore into hers.

"Aren't you?" I ask again, louder.

Her face turns pale and she seems too choked up to utter a single word. My gaze falls to her mouth again, to her lips parting slightly as she draws in steadying breaths.

A violent shiver moves through me.

For some insane reason, I hold her head in my hands and place a hard kiss on her lips. It's firm and deep, with an urgency and eagerness that make each breath come faster. She throws her hands around my neck, pulling me down, inviting me in. And it hits me hard. Like a tidal wave of wanting and desperate need.

Breathing my name into my mouth, she runs her fingers through my hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, clinging fiercely to me. I need to pull back for an instant, to suck in a breath, but then I wrap one arm around her waist and pull her even closer, as close as our bodies can get. And our tongues tangle again, taste each other desperately, frantically, in a hot and consuming kiss that feels like the sum of most desires.

My hips push hard against hers as I brush my lips against her collarbone and then kiss the bare skin of her shoulder, my body revealing her effect on me. I close my eyes to inhale her scent. It's intoxicating.

She pulls my hair and demands my mouth again. And I groan against her lips, my hand running down her back to caress her thighs. An inarticulate sound breaks from her throat and reverberates through me.

And I like it.

A lot.

My heart lurches into an excited pace as she pulls my shirt from my trousers. And another shiver runs down my body as she unbuttons it and kisses my chest, murmuring something against it, something I can't understand.

"What, sweetheart?" I whisper against her lips, my hand tackling its way to the zip of her dress.

"I want you," she speaks softly, but her voice is uneven, something like a smothered cry.

Pulling gently away, I slip my hand under her chin, tilting her head up so I can see her.

Her eyes are glistening, almost tearing up.

"Hey, you okay?"

Olivia brushes her fingertips over the stubble on my jaw, a faint smile flickering on her lips. "It's nothing, it's just that... I'm a bit edgy today, that's all."

A fortuitous glance and my eyes fall to the floor.

Damn, the CD she was holding before. A birthday present from the year after we broke up. She came to visit me, but I pretended I wasn't at home. After that, I neither bothered to look for her at her uncle's nor to thank her in any other form.

"You know, having thanked me wouldn't have harmed you," she says, both of us looking at the album Westlife must have released that year. "I missed you. An awful lot."

"Liv?" I stare into her eyes, my fingers threading through her hair. "You were the one who broke up with me, remember? No, you didn't even do that. You just left me, in the dark, without having any idea whatsoever what was going on in your head, or why you didn't want to see me anymore. Having at least said goodbye that night wouldn't have harmed you either."

"I know, but I'd never felt so hurt, so disappointed..." She wipes her eyes with her hand and then pauses, a heavy silence falling between us. "We were just two silly kids. Why are we even digging this up now?"

"Come here." I take her hand and lead her to the sofa, where I gesture for her to lie down and rest her head on my lap. "I think it's about time we finish this bit of unfinished business of ours."