I Hate Summer (40 page)

Then he was groaning and rolling himself off me.

“Oh God, how long am I going to hurt for?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“A few days. Could be longer ’cause I ended up being a bit rough, but ye’ve no one but yerself t’ blame for that,” I finished archly as his face dropped into a scowl.

Then he grinned, his face curling into a dangerous smirk. “Oh really? Well, given that you’re ‘used to it’ and were rough, I guess that means that I can just stop holding back with you as well, then?”

“Hmm?” I rolled on top of him. “That was ye holding back? I’d like t’ see ye
try
and break me, straight guy.”

Despite the fact that he was clearly in pain and was now pinned beneath me, he looked just as smug as always as he met my eyes with his. He scooped my chin up in his hand, reaching up to press a coy kiss to my lips.

“Just remember you said that when I’m done with you, eh?” His voice was low and full of delicious promise.

I gave a dark shiver of delight and returned the kiss. I rolled off him and tucked my body tightly up against his as I used his shoulder as a pillow. We probably looked like a ridiculous couple, but it didn’t really matter right then.

“I guess my list is getting shorter.”

“Hmm?” Trystan was half-asleep as I pulled the covers over us.

“My list of reasons why I hate summer so much,” I explained. He broke open one eyelid and stared at me curiously. And I counted off the reasons on the fingers of one hand.

“My birthday being in the summer holidays, but that doesn’t matter now because I can do what I like. Living in the middle of nowhere and having nothing to do in the summer holidays: also kind of a moot point since I moved to York. Constant suncream application: I guess that one isn’t ever going anywhere. And lastly: hating going on holiday with ye, but I guess going on holiday with ye might not be so bad these days.”

His laugh was low and gruff. “Except for having to keep your hands off me for ten days.”

“Oh God, I didn’t think of that. Ah well, back to a list of two, then.”

On my bedside table Trystan’s phone buzzed, and I reached over to get it for him.

“Josh?” I asked as he gave another low chuckle.

“Looks like me and my brother might be in the same boat for this weekend.”

Actually, I imagined Josh would be in considerably better shape than Trystan. But I planned on keeping that quiet for as long as possible.

“He all right?” I asked instead.

“Seems so. He wants me to tell you thanks.”

I gave a long sigh of relief and tucked myself back in against Trystan’s side. He was warm and slightly damp and solid, and his breathing deepened as he fell asleep. I listened to it as I lay awake thinking about what I had done to end up here. There was a voice at the back of my head trying to tell me all the things that could go wrong. But I ignored it, because Trystan trusted me, and for now, that was all I wanted.

HT P
ANTU
is from the countryside in the north of England but has lived in a lot of places because she’s not too good at staying put. In her case the stereotypes are true: she loves tea a little too much, drinks beer in the local pub, and talks about the incessant rain (or the lack of it depending on the time of year and state of the hosepipe ban). Her favorite term of endearment is Pumpkin and she doesn’t swear unless she’s really angry, because she finds it funny watching people’s reaction to her primary school cursing. She started writing at fifteen when the stories in her head got too complicated to keep track of. Since then she has only stopped when publications of a less fictional nature were required of her.

See the inside of her head at http://ht-pantu.tumblr.com/.