So, I kissed Brett.
Or rather Brett kissed me.
Brett actually freaking kissed me!

Wow.

If there were words to describe how it has made me feel, I would, but there aren't.
To say I was shocked by his bold move is an understatement.
In fact I actually still am in shock, as I wind my way through the market at Southwark, back to the flat.

I couldn't face going back to the shop because I'm in quite a state.
Soaked to the skin, and my puffy, red- rimmed eyes will give the game away, and then my dad would want to know why I've been crying, and.....well, there's no way I'm going into all of that with him.

My luck is the absolute worst, I realise, when Jane hears my key jingle in the lock and she floats out of the bathroom in her red robe, and a towel wrapped around her head like a turban.
Damn. Why does she have to be home?
I do not deserve me life, I really don't.
I've never deliberately hurt anyone. I'm kind to animals and I love my parents. I don't steal and I don't buy booze for school kids who hang around outside shop corners, no matter how much abuse they give me.

"Sam." She exclaims, giving me a quick once-over with her scrutinising eyes. "I thought you would have been coming home with your father. My goodness, look at you! You're absolutely drenched."

Fleetingly I consider doing a Brett, telling her I took a shortcut through a car wash. But instead I deliberately turn my back to her as I force my feet out of my shoes, not bothering to untie the laces. "Uh, yes I....decided to come home early."

I don't need this. Not now.

It's like a bad joke, 'who dresses in red and knows if you've been naughty or nice?'
Santa. Maybe, if he actually existed.
The Spanish Inquisition. Very possibly, once they'd subjected their prisoners to torture.
Jane. Definitely, without a shadow of a doubt.
The woman has a knack for wheedling the truth out of me, and I don't know how she does it but it's infuriating.

"Is everything alright? You seem very quiet, dear."

Dear? That's a new one.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?" I croak, but it's taking enormous effort to hold my shit together. I can feel my bottom lip wobble, and my chest hurts from trying to suppress a sob.

She moves towards me, so I try to walk passed her, head bowed in a lame attempt to hide my blotchy, tear-stained face, but she's having none of it.

"What's wrong? Has something happened?"

Everything is wrong. And yes something has happened.

Brett kissed me, without warning, and it was amazing. Life-changing even.
It set my belly off on some sort of spin-cycle, like a washing machine. It was so completely unexpected I'd had no chance to prepare, and didn't even have time to react.
His lips were just.....suddenly there.
He stole my breath and gave it back.
The kiss was urgent and filled with a need I've never known before, and now I've had a taste, I realise I'll never have enough.
It's shown me that every other kiss I've had in my life has been wrong.
Basically, even though it was hurried and brief, it was still the best kiss I've ever had.

But then he walked away.
So now what? Will I ever even see him again? Does he hate me now?
Oh shit...

"Sam. What is the matter?" Jane puts her arms around me as I feel myself crumple.
The tears are flowing again, I fight to keep them in but this is a battle I'm not destined to win.

"It's...it's nothing....I just...I had a row..." I snivel.

"A row with who? Damian?"

I shake my head, and can't even be bothered correcting her as she once again gets Damon's name wrong.
"No...Brett...I told him about Damon, how he suspects that Brett is just using me, pretending to like me as a friend.....just to piss Damon off."

"What? Why would Damon think such a thing?"

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, and by this time they feel raw. As though they've been pickled in vinegar.
"It's a long story. But Brett got so angry. He was fuming. Livid. He couldn't believe that I had doubted him...and he...he stormed off."

Jane pats and rubs my back in the same manner a mother does when trying to wind their baby. But even though I find her touchy-feely ways inexplicably annoying at times, right now there's something strangely comforting in her gesture.

I've never been particularly close to this woman, but my own mothers' reaction would be far less patient in this sort of situation. She'd tell me not to worry, and that I'd get over it. She wouldn't understand what I was making such a fuss about.

"Why don't you phone him? I'm sure you'll be able to sort it out, you just need to talk things through."

"I can't ring him, I feel awful. I've really hurt his feelings."

"He'll soon calm down. You'll see. He may even phone you." She soothes.

I shake my head, screwing my eyes tightly shut, but the the tears still push out. Forcing their way through my soggy lashes, taking the last trace of mascara with them.
"I don't think so. I just don't know what to do Jane. I need...."

She frowns as my words trail off. "You need....what?"

"I don't know, it sounds crazy but I just need....him. I mean, I need him to not be mad at me...I need us to be okay, but he won't want to be friends anymore. Not now, not after everything."

"Everything? Sam, it was just an argument that's all. Stop panicking, it isn't the end of the world, you'll make up-"

"It's not that simple." My voice is strained now, and my head relentlessly pounds in rhythm to my pulse. "I...he...we...well we kind of...kissed. Well, we did kiss. It was so quick though, and I don't get it. Why would he do that?"

She blinks slowly, and then beams at me. I'm confused to why she's suddenly grinning like a Cheshire Cat that's drunk on Irish cream.

"What?" I sniff, feeling incredibly self conscious and defensive. My face is already flushed from all the crying, as well as having just admitted to the impromptu kiss.

"Don't make me say it Sam, for heavens sake. Do I need to spell it out for you? There's only one reason why he would've kissed you. He obviously has the hots for you."

"What? Um, no. Don't say that!" I squirm, face turning a deeper shade of red so it now rivals her robe. "That's...that's not true. He doesn't...ugh."
It's no use. I can't bring myself to repeat her cringe-worthy presumption.

He has the hots for me? Please.
Like that would ever happen.

But Jane is adamant. "Oh of course he does. I told you that right from the start. And now he's proved me right"
Unbelievably, she raises two thumbs right into my face.

"What Jane? Fandabidozi?"

"Don't be facetious Sam. He fancies you and that's all there is to it."

"But that isn't all there is to it." I say, trying to conceal my irritation. "He doesn't fancy me, he can't-"

"Why can't he?"

"Because I'm just me. I'm no great catch...whereas he.....well, he is."

"Oh I do wish you'd stop putting yourself down Samantha." She says grumpily. "You need to get the idea out of your head that you're somehow unworthy of a man who has a bit of class. Why must you think you're destined only to date illiterate, beer-guzzling oiks with a lone NVQ in welding."

Jane can be such an unapologetic snob at times. But I can't be angry with her.

"Er, 'scuse me? Even I haven't got any NVQ's yet, I'm only seventeen. Brett on the other hand is twenty four, and has more qualifications than I've had hot dinners. So why would he want me? I'm like a kid. And a fat kid at that!"
I flounce into my room, closing the door slightly so I can peel my wet clothes off in private, but still continue my rant.
"You should see his ex girlfriend. She's so cool. And skinny. And pretty....and of course she's the same age as him, and has her fancy degree in art or whatever."

I hear Jane huff, seemingly exasperated. "Okay, well for a start, your birthday's coming up this weekend, you'll officially be eighteen, which is hardly a child. Secondly, and most importantly, you are not fat Samantha, you're a healthy weight for your height. The results from your hospital check-up proved that."

I snort rudely as I walk back into the hall, now dressed snugly and scruffily in my pyjama pants and oversized jumper.

"And lastly..." Jane continues, counting each point she's making on her fingers for added emphasis. "...Whoever his ex is, she's his ex for a reason. And you shouldn't go comparing yourself to her. If there's one lesson you need to learn in life Sam, it's that no one is better than you. Regardless of how clever or beautiful they may be. You need to recognise your own worth."

She does have a point. But she still doesn't understand.
I don't actively choose to harbour the insecurities I have - it's more like they chose me.
I know I'm not a complete waste of space, but Brett with all his charisma, talent, intellect and good looks, is hardly going to want a girl like me on his arm.
He's almost a fully-fledged rockstar now, and he'll be surrounded by 'beautiful people' who are in the same league.

I don't stand a chance, so there's no point giving myself false hope.
Whatever the kiss was about, I'm certain it can't be because he finds me attractive.
But the incessant need to find out, could quite possibly drive me insane.
Especially as I'm hardly likely to see him again, apart from on bloody Top of the Pops.

And the stifling weight of my sadness, as I realise this, threatens to suffocate me.

********************************

I spend the next couple of days wallowing in self pity, having rapidly, and worryingly reverted back to my old habits of not leaving the flat and eating way too much junk.

Admittedly, it is also my 'time of the month' which doesn't help with my low mood, and the cramps I get are enough to put my life on pause for a day or two anyway.

But I'm frustrated with myself for being unable to resist the bags of Haribo and M&M's.
I so desperately need to lose weight. I want to look all svelte and toned, so I can hold my own against the likes of Justine, with her wafer-thin body, sloane breasts, and benign expression. All bra-less and beautiful.

Or even that girl Danielle, with her toned arms, flat stomach and glowing complexion. She looked like she should be frolicking in a meadow, with ponies in the sunshine.
Brett may not have got it on with her, but any hot-blooded male would have to be blind to not notice her 'assets'

I find myself caught-up in a vicious circle, by becoming a recluse again I'm not getting any exercise, and I'm eating out of pure boredom and for comfort. I'm never going to shift these extra pounds if I stay rooted to the sofa.
Unless I knock myself sick with the sweets, so then I won't have any appetite for them.

That can actually happen on occasion when my blood sugar goes high, it makes me feel like crap, to the point of throwing up.
And not only does feeling sick curb any hunger, eventually if your blood sugar keeps running too high your body begins to burn fat, and voilà! Immediate weight-loss program.

I hadn't thought about it before, but if I were to reduce the amount of insulin I take, that would raise my blood sugar levels...
Hm. It's a tempting but stupid idea.
It could make me seriously ill, and besides, eating the sugar defies the object.
No point almost killing myself to shed weight, whilst still stuffing loads of sugary, coma-inducing foods.

Deciding i'm in dire need of a pick-me-up, I end up pleading with Jane to help give me a makeover.
At first she's enthusiastic about the idea, and more than happy to help. That is until I hand her the scissors, and demand a hair cut.

"Are you sure about this?" She asks, with a worried expression. "Your hair is lovely."

"I'm sure. I'm sick of it, it's a mess. And I need a change." I insist.

And when I say change, I mean it.
I go all out.
It's not even enough that she begrudgingly chops my hair into a long bob - which actually turns out to be more hard work to maintain than I'd anticipated, blow-drying it into shape soon proves to be a nightmare due to my hair being wavy - but I'm far from done yet.

The next day I venture out to the local supermarket and buy myself the darkest brown hair dye that I can lay my hands on.
The shade is called 'Bitter' Chocolate, which seems quite apt.
As I study my visage in the mirror, likening myself to a work-in-progress, all I do is think about Justine, and the way Brett was so deeply enamoured of her, and I can practically see the irrational bitterness envelop me like someone pulling a black hood over my head.

When I emerge from the bathroom half an hour later as a brunette, my dad does a double-take and then looks at Jane quizzically.
She shakes her head almost imperceptibly, but I choose to ignore them both.
I don't need their approval. This is me reinventing myself.
I'm tired of looking in the mirror and seeing the same old me, and they're not going to understand why I want to change my hair, my clothes, my face, body...everything.

I begin using a different shade of foundation so that my complexion isn't deathly-white against my dark hair, and I don't stop there.
I'm like a girl possessed.
I buy tan-wipes, (of all things) something I would never have dreamt of doing, but I have to keep telling myself that it's worth it.
Even if the smell of them is so damn awful it almost makes my nose bleed, and I have to walk around my room with my legs splayed apart like a cowboy that's been in the saddle too long, waiting for the damn stuff to dry.

My clothes come next.
Annoyingly, I'm fast beginning to run out of last months wages from my sales assistant job back home, so I'm not exactly able to hit Bond Street, so the market and local Oxfam, are the next best option.

I buy a couple of flirty gypsy skirts, some wedge-heeled shoes, a pair of white jeans, and some Bridget Bardot style tops.
One of which is a black lace-front affair with a cute collar, the other an off-the-shoulder charcoal grey number which accentuates my bosom spectacularly. The style emphasises my boobs, whilst miraculously slimming-down my wide hips.

Just to be on the safe side though, I also purchase a padded Wonderbra, which is without a doubt the most uncomfortable contraption to wear. I feel like I'm hoisting my bosoms into a sling-shot with whale bones for wires, but who cares?
It's an essential. This is me growing up and, how did Jane put it?
Flaunting my sexuality.

It's been four days since my argument with Brett (although technically it wasn't much of an argument, more like him just being angry at me whilst I gabbled apologies)
I'm sitting on the sofa, all dressed-up with no place to go, when Jane arrives home from her yoga class (yoga, of all things!) and immediately starts acting very cagey around me.

It's like she's on edge, pacing around the flat almost aimlessly in her hideous pink velour tracksuit, doing a lot of huffing and puffing under her breath. I also notice she keeps darting nervous glances at me.

Maybe she disapproves of my new look more than I realised.

"Are you not going to the shop today?" She asks finally.
A question that I find quite odd, given that I haven't been going to work with dad anymore.

"Wasn't planning on it." I reply, as I switch between TV channels, searching for something to watch that doesn't actually make my brain hurt.

She huffs again, which leads me to the conclusion that this wasn't the answer she was hoping for. Still, she should've known better.
Just because I'm wearing clothes doesn't mean I have any intention of going outdoors.

"Well, maybe you should. You've not been in the last few days, it'll do you good to get some fresh air."

"It's hardly fresh air." I riposte, without looking up. "We're in London, not Hertfordshire."

"Don't be pedantic Samantha. I mean it'll do you good to get out and be amongst people." She counters.

I frown at her. "I went out yesterday. And there are never any people in the shop anyway, trust me."

"That's not true, just because there aren't many customers doesn't mean people don't go in to browse. You need social interaction."

"Pfft. I saw people through the window this morning. That's enough social interaction for one day, thanks."

"Oh for heavens sake, why must you insist on being so argumentative?"
She's looking thoroughly exasperated now, her patience having dwindled away to nothing. And her melodramatic reaction gives me the distinct impression that I'm in her way somehow, and she wants me out from under her feet.

Feeling slightly hurt now, I turn to face her. "Why are you trying to get rid of me? If you want me out of your hair then you only have to say so." I say waspishly. "I'm sorry I didn't realise my being here is disturbing you."

"May I just say something?" She says in a polite voice, which almost makes me feel bad for being so sharp with her.
She doesn't normally ask permission to speak, which is even more odd. "I'm only suggesting you go down to the shop because I care more about your welfare than you realise."

"My welfare?"

What is she on about?

"Yes Sam, your best interests....and no, it's not about fresh air, social interaction or anything like that. This is about your happiness. Just go to the shop, I really think you ought to. Please. You won't regret it."

I stare at her blankly, contemplating whether she's perhaps overdone it a bit with the chamomile tea. Or perhaps she's secretly doing drugs. Going to yoga might just be her cover story, in reality she might be going to meet her dealer.
I bite back a grin at the thought.

But there's something in her look that suggests I need to pay attention to her, and not stubbornly refuse to budge.
So even though it goes against my inquisitive, slightly cynical nature, I find myself heading out without pestering her for an explanation.

****************

My curiosity has been roused enough to make me fight my way through late afternoon traffic on the packed, stuffy underground.
Sweat threatens to trickle down my face, and the wires in my bra are digging into my ribs, but I practically leap onto the platform from the train, the minute the doors open.

I scurry through the throng of disgruntled commuters, opting to ignore their dirty looks as I push though them.
Finally I'm learning to negotiate crowds like a native.
I'm adapting to my surroundings.

When I reach 'Raucous Records' I am breathless from having tore down the high street like a Tasmanian Devil.
But what I see, takes my breath away for a completely different reason.

The place is absolutely abuzz with punters, they're filing out onto the street, clutching little carrier bags, laughing and chattering wildly amongst themselves.

I'm tempted to rub my eyes, but i don't want to smudge my eye make-up.
Maybe I should pinch myself instead, because this is all too bizarre.

I walk closer, and it is then that my attention is drawn to the huge banner strewn across the shop window, which announces;

BRETT FROM SUEDE, EXCLUSIVE RECORD SIGNING
IN-STORE TODAY

I blink, rereading the banner slowly. Then reread it again.

Is this some sort of elaborate, practical joke?

I find the will from somewhere to make my legs move, and slowly push open the door.

There's hardly room to move inside, and the small space is filled with excitable voices.
They're an eclectic bunch of grunge-types, indie-chicks and even a few identikit-trendies.
And they're all buying Suede's newly released single.....and having it signed.
By Brett.

I hear his voice in the crowd more than any other. Not because he's loud, simply because it is his.
I feel my stomach wrench, and my pulse quickens as I follow the distinctive sound.

He's right there.

All hair, dimples, and cheekbones.
His trademark leather jacket half open, and he's shirtless underneath.

Hot damn.
Why does he have to be so sexy and adorable? It's a lethal combination.
I tingle all over, and my knees wobble a little.

He's smiling gently, listening politely to the dozen or so fans who are all simultaneously trying to keep him talking, and I can see he's doing his best to engage with each of them in turn as they flock around him.

In a trance-like state, my numb legs manage to get me to the counter, where I grab one of the few remaining copies of the single, entitled 'The Drowners' from the stand and join the queue.

"Oh, hullo love!" My dad forces a thin smile when it's my turn to be served. His face immediately begins reddening, a tell-tale sign that he's flustered "Didn't recognise you for a minute. What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" I cry indignantly "Just buying one of these like everyone else."
I push the 45" vinyl across the counter at him.
"But more to the point, what is Brett doing here? You could've told me he'd be here signing records. What is all this about, dad? You hate modern music!"

He looks almost guilty now as he leans forwards, explaining in hushed tones. "Alright Sam, keep your hair on. Brett called in the other day, and at first I naturally assumed he was looking for you, but as it turns out he had a proposition for me."

He taps the amount into the till, and I wave him away when he attempts to let me off without charge. Rummaging through my purse, I pull out a crumpled fiver and force it into his hand.

There's no way I'm going to take this vinyl single as a freebie.

Dad reluctantly takes the money, hands me my change and continues. "Regardless of what I think about this modern stuff, he has an astute head for business. And he's a nice genuine young fellow too."

"Since when have you been able to form such a rounded opinion of someone you've only met the once?"

"Twice, well three times including today. And it's simple really. When he suggested I sell a batch of his records in exchange for him coming in to sign them for the customers, I was taken aback. I know I don't usually sell this sort of thing, but it makes good business sense. He reckons I'm doing him a favour, and obviously he's doing me one. But it doesn't take a brains of Britain to work out why."

He smiles at me knowingly, and my face flushes.
Oh God, not my dad too!
Does he genuinely believe that Brett is doing this just because he fancies me?
I'm struggling to take it all in.

Snatching up the record, I deliberately avoid looking my dad in the face as I challenge him. "I didn't even know about this, Dad. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to, love." Dad says, sounding all apologetic "But he swore me to secrecy. He specifically insisted that I wasn't to tell you."

Something snaps in the back of my head. A rogue neurone kicks in, and I suddenly have to speak to Brett.
I need to speak to him.
Now.
I can't stand this anymore, and I want to ask what the heck is going on. I feel like I've slipped into the Twilight Zone or Bermuda Triangle.

Leaving my dad looking bewildered, I manage to wade and elbow my way through the mini-crowd surrounding Brett.
When I'm able to catch sight of him, to my dismay, he is talking to a waif-looking red-head, with such an effective push-up bra that her breasts rest crazily plumply just below her collarbones.

Ugh. My Wonderbra isn't anywhere near as good as that.
Although to his credit, Brett doesn't seem remotely interested in her expansive bosom. He does however, say something that they both find unbearably funny, and they bray with laughter like a pair of donkeys on laughing-gas.

Ouch.
Suddenly the sight of him laughing is quite painful, and my guts twist into tightening jealous knots.

Spurred on by my irritation, I push forwards until I'm standing right in front of him. My stomach is flipping and fluttering and I have to fight the strange urge to run away.
He stands poised, marker pen at the ready, and it takes him a moment to recognise that it's me.

Throwing me a mildly annoyed look, the red-head is forced to stand aside, as Brett rotates his hand at her encouragingly. I give a crumpled smile. He doesn't smile back. Instead he's staring at me strangely as if he can't quite believe that I exist.

Sweet Lord, his eyes are so seriously blue. Almost sickeningly blue, full-on cloudless sky blue. Someone should name a crayon after the guy.

"Sammy?" He says at long last, looking me rather rudely up-and-down, until his gaze eventually comes to rest on my chest.

Well, in all fairness my appearance has altered so dramatically I barely even recognise myself. And this grey top does make my boobs look deceptively huge, as if they've been inflated with a bicycle pump.
Still, that's one to me, and nil points for the red-head. I've somehow bested her in the bra-wars, or rather 'out-breasted' her.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

My brow dips into a frown. "Well yeah, obviously not. Why do people keep saying that though? This is my dads' shop, I'm entitled to be here. I haven't been barred as far as I know."

His jaw clenches. "Yeah alright, it's just that I-"

"You didn't expect me to find out about this? I know." I cut in spikily, as I wave the record I've just purchased under his nose triumphantly. "But hey, I want an autograph...just like everyone else. Is that okay with you?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, and shifts his weight onto one leg. A pose that distinctly screams 'attitude'
"You haven't actually paid for that have you? You didn't have to. You could've just had a copy, on the house."

I make a face. "Umm, no. I don't want freebies, thanks.. Can I have it signed though please? That is unless you don't want to?"

He leans in towards me, unexpectedly pressing his lips close to my ear, and I gulp as I feel his cool breath.
"Look, d'you think that maybe we could do this someplace else?"

I notice the woman with the push-up bra noticing this and I also notice she doesn't like it.
Make that 2-0 to me.

I shrug and walk passed him, heading for the door which leads to a small back room.
It takes enormous effort, but Brett successfully detaches himself from the group. He catches up and begins steering me away, his large hand placed at the small of my back.
The simple, yet intimate contact sends clusters of tingles creeping down my spine, as his fingertips seem to burn right through my clothes.

A few over-zealous fans try to follow us, but we manage to escape into the back room.
His dark brows beetle together in perplexed bemusement as he turns his whole body towards me.

"What?" I demand, stuffing the record into my bag.

"Nothing."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"
He is feigning ignorance, but his expressive face always betrays him.

"I don't know, just...weirdly"

"Sorry, I don't mean to. I'm just slightly distracted, trying to get my head around the sudden image change, and I can't help wondering what brought it all on."
My face heats up and I hope he won't notice in the gloomy darkness of the glorified closet that we're standing in, but he must do, as he hastily corrects himself.
"I mean, you just look so different. I wouldn't have known you."

"Yes, well.." I push my wiry hair behind my ears, which is difficult to do now that it's so much shorter. "I've never really liked my hair colour, and I fancied a change that's all."

"Yeah but, the cut as well...is it not all a bit, y'know? Drastic? Don't get me wrong though, you look great."
He reaches out, and I freeze as he toys with a strand of hair that has come loose, stubbornly refusing to stay in place.
"But you looked just as great before too. And I actually really liked your hair colour. It was like....the Autumn"

What a gorgeous, poetic analogy. He has such a beautiful soul.

I swallow hard, letting out a deep breath I didn't know I was holding, and will my pulse to calm down.
All the while a little voice inside my head is screaming at me to just push him back against the door, and kiss him silly.

"I didn't....I didn't think you'd even speak to me again." I blurt out. "You didn't want me knowing about today. Why? Is it because you're still angry with me?"

He sighs deeply. "Look, I just wanted to help your dad out with this place. It was all rather rushed actually, trying to organise the delivery of the records, and our management couldn't allow any major press coverage otherwise I'd be in breach of contract with our promoters. So all I could do was advertise locally and hope for the best."

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a lone cigarette from his packet of B&H.
"D'ya want next-on?"
He asks, and I shake my head.

As tempting as it is to share a cigarette with him, purely due to the intimacy of it, I still can't justify helping him smoke his last cig, knowing I have plenty of my own.

"I'll be honest, I was a bit terrified that no one would show up." He carries on, now fiddling in his pocket for a lighter. "It's been giving me sleepless nights."

"Oh, Brett. I don't know what to say. I can't believe you'd go to so much trouble. Thank you."

Once more the nagging need to hug him returns, but all emotional-stuff aside, I want nothing more than to show him how much I appreciate his generosity and thoughtfulness.
Yet I daren't. There's this undeniable simmering tension between us now, that wasn't there before. And I'm desperate to clear the air, in the vain hope of dispelling it.

"I'm so grateful, I truly am." I add hurriedly, before I lose my nerve. "But....none of what you've said really explains why you wouldn't want me here today."

"It's not about not wanting you here." He says sharply, exhaling smoke as he speaks. "It's not an easy thing to explain. What you said the other day really did hurt me. Trust is a very important thing to me, Sammy....so finding out that you didn't trust me was a bit of a kick in the bollocks."
He smiles at me now, but without showing any teeth. It's his shy smile, the one he does when he's being coy.
"It wasn't just that though...it's a lot more complicated than that."

"Well can you try to explain it, please?" I attempt to sound causal and laugh but it comes out as more of a barky little yelp. "Was it, because of the other thing...you know, the thing that happened? Between us?"

He nods stiffly but I'm still not sure he knows what I'm talking about.
But talking to him is proving far from the easy task it usually is.

"Why, um... just out of interest...why did you kiss me?

Shit, I can't believe I just said the words. Did I really just ask him that?
But now it's out there I can't take it back. And there's no point trying to back-peddle. I make the conscious decision to be bold.
I am a new woman. Not just a girl.

To my astonishment, his complexion goes pink.
Anyone else might not notice the subtle shift in his colouring, especially here in the darkness.
But I do.

"Yeah, um...I'm sorry for that. "
He apologises, looking at me from the side of his eyes, and I wonder if he means it.
"It just seemed like a natural sort of thing to do really. I was trying to be spontaneous and romantic, ya'know what I mean?" He clears his throat. "...but I was also being a bit selfish as well."

"S-selfish?"

He nods again, and studies me for a moment. His blue eyes darting to and fro across my face as if trying to read my mind.
"Yeah, because that's what you said you like, romantic kisses in the rain and that kind of thing....and I wanted to be the one to give you what you wanted. Which is quite selfish of me in a way."

Oh holy Jesus.

His voice is low and hits me deep in my belly, and I stumble for words. I am desperately trying to read between the lines. Desperately trying to make sense.

"It's...not selfish. Why is it selfish?" I rasp, as my mouth goes dry like a fish out of water.

I am so completely in tune and aware of how close he is, and how he's looking at me. It's as if he's just woken from a deep, isolating sleep, and I'm the first person he's seen in years.

"Damon." He supplies simply, tilting his chin upwards he brings his large hand to his jaw, thinking. "You're seeing him, so he's the one who gets to steal kisses from you in the rain. Not me. I'm not your boyfriend. It was out of order."

I know what I am going to say next, and I feel powerless to stop myself. I'm worried about our friendship, obviously. But I'm also worried that if I don't tell Brett the truth, it will eat me alive.

"I honestly didn't mind..." I pause for a half-second, and then I can't stop. "In fact...every time he's kissed me, I wished it were you."
I breath the last words into a sentence, and it hangs between us like a fog.
Immediately I know that I've said absolutely the wrong thing.

People talk all the time about falling for a friend, about how they're afraid it'll ruin their friendship, or how scared they are at the thought of taking things to the next level.
Well, taking things to the next level is all I've been able to think about recently. Even though I know it's wrong.
Brett still isn't over Justine, he probably doesn't like me like that, and I've been casually dating his housemate and rival.

Yet somehow I don't seem to care.
I know it makes me a shallow, selfish, fickle person but some dark place inside of me just aches for him. I ache for more.
I want to be more than just friends, even though the reality of it terrifies me, and the very real possibility of him not feeling the same way is bound to crush me.
I'm horribly confused, and alarmed at the intensity of how these feelings have come on.
At first I only liked him, well, half-liked him. Then I thought I didn't like him at all, when really I did.
And now...
I want him.

He doesn't move and he still hasn't said anything, and I literally feel my stomach dropping.
How hideously embarrassing.
I'm such an utter numpty, and I want to go and shrivel up in a deep dark hole somewhere.

"I'm sorry. It's just that ever since that first night you walked me home, for some crazy reason I thought you were going to kiss me, and I wanted you to. Even though I'd just kissed Damon, which sounds terrible, but after that I just couldn't get you out of my head.."
I ramble, folding my arms with great difficulty, thanks to the good old Wonderbra. It's like having scaffolding supporting my chest.
"It's been building up for some time now, and yes it's awful of me, but I can't help it. I'm sorry."

....And I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.

"Don't be. There's nothing to be sorry for." He says softly, sort of staring off into space. His expression is for once, unreadable. "Is that how you really feel though? Are you being serious?"

"Y-yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason. Yet again you've surprised me, Sammy."

Outside in the shop it is now very quiet, and I can hear the sound of my own ragged breathing, mingling with the deafening thrum of my heartbeat as Brett slowly moves his face so it's level with mine.

"I appreciate your honesty. And it doesn't make you awful. The circumstances might be far from perfect, I'll give you that, but you....you Sammy, you are."

My heart threatens to burst from my chest at any moment, the shock of his weighty compliment stunning me like a zap from a defibrillator.
I can't focus on anything other than the way his lips move.
How his lower lip dips in a bit to the side sometimes when he speaks. How his upper lip is ever so slightly thinner than his bottom one; forming the perfect Cupid's bow.

"And as for the kiss itself..." He says, his voice little more than a whisper. "I'm actually really glad I did. Been wanting to do it for awhile."

Boom! There goes my heart.
He's actually just killed me, I am sure of it.

Our faces are now mere millimetres apart and this time I am fully prepared, and he isn't trying to get away.
He remains infuriatingly still though, and my mind quickly registers three things.
One, he's so so close I can hardly think straight. Frankly I am not thinking straight.
The second is, he does not regret the kiss.
And the other, more infinitely dangerous,
....I could just, kiss him.

Right here. Right now.

My gaze involuntarily flickers to his lips again for a moment, before scaling back up his handsome face.
He's looking at me through heavy-lidded eyes, letting me know that he knows my intentions, and it feels as if he's challenging me.
Silently daring me to go ahead and do it.

But wait, what's that noise?
That dull thud that's growing increasingly louder?
At first I dismiss it as my heartbeat, but when Brett draws back slightly, head cocked to one side, I know then that he hears it too.
Surely it's not possible for him to hear my heart racing? Even if it is pounding away like a bass drum.

Suddenly the door to the back room swings open, and we instinctively fly apart.

You've got to be fucking kidding me?
I swear I must be cursed.
Someone up there, must hate me.
Otherwise they wouldn't torture me like this.

"Well, that went well. I've just locked-up, they've all gone, all very satisfied customers." My dad beams like a megawatt bulb.

Well, I'm glad someone is satisfied.
I think churlishly.
I sure as hell ain't.

"They didn't want to bloody go, they were hoping you'd come back out and chat with them some more."
He informs a distinctly tight-faced Brett.
"But they got what they came for, and everybody's happy"

Not everybody. Not entirely happy anyway.

He rubs his hands together gleefully, and I can't help but smile.
This is the first time the shop has turned a profit in months, so I shouldn't resent him for his appalling timing. It isn't his fault he's just inadvertently ruined a potentially perfect moment.

"Thanks for today, fella." He says, slapping Brett so hard on the back his eyes bulge. "Let me buy you a pint? I owe you that much."

"No problem. Honestly, it's been a pleasure." Brett grins, despite having possibly just suffered a spinal injury. "And you don't owe me anything, Alan."

"Rubbish!" Dad clasps a hefty arm around his leather-clad shoulder. "I tell you what, how about we all go out for a meal, ay? To celebrate. I'll call the missus, and we can go up West. Make a night of it. What d'ya reckon? Come on, this is on me."

"No honestly, I couldn't let you do that." Brett insists politely.

I have to admit I'm with Brett on this.
My dad's barely shut up shop for the day and he's already planning how he's going to spend the takings.
But, I also know what a proud man my father is. And he's easily offended when someone repeatedly declines his hospitality.
He wants to celebrate, and repay Brett for his kindness.

"How about we just go back to the flat?" I suggest. "We could order a take-away instead?"

Dad and I both look at Brett hopefully, and for a moment he resembles a startled deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"Umm, yeah okay." He shrugs. "As long as you're sure? That's very kind, Alan. Thank you." He smiles gently, and in that moment I want to kiss him more than ever.

If I ever get the chance.

But once I do, I don't think I'll ever stop.