Page 57 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

Tilda

My eyes are drawn to the kitchen when I hear Nic curse again .

She’s crouched before the oven, leaning away from its billowing heat.

She’s been in there longer than I’ve been watching telly.

The whole lounge reeks of sweet, spicy peppers.

God knows what she’s cooking. The oven’s been on for hours.

Maybe making something for Haz. She likes foods with a bit of a kick.

There’s a metallic clang when she slams a baking tray onto the countertop. I crane my head but when I can’t see what’s on it, I return my attention to the TV.

I’ve got deadlines looming. I should really, really be cracking on with them. I breathe out a sigh, trying to dispel the same anxiety I felt at the end of last year too.

When I hear Nic swear again, she’s grinding something up in what looks like a giant mortar and pestle, turning her head every so often like her eyes are struggling.

‘Nic,’ I call out, lifting my head. ‘Do you need help in there?’

‘No,’ she snaps, grinding harder. ‘Don’t come in the kitchen.’

I rest my head back on my arm, sparing a smile for Haz who comes trotting down the stairs.

‘Yo, is that my molcajete?’ she says when she spots Nic, brows drawing to a frown. ‘Treat her gently, will you.’

‘She is literally designed to crush,’ Nic points out.

‘Bit like me.’ Haz glances over at me with a smirk. ‘Isn’t that right, princess?’

‘You do have a tendency to squash me,’ I tease. ‘You’re pretty hefty.’

She lifts an arm and kisses one of her biceps. I turn back to the telly with a smile, but my attention is still firmly on the two in the kitchen.

Things have been weird in the lodge lately.

I’m assuming they’ve had some kind of conversation, one about me and all the shit I told Haz and Elly about our past. My biggest fear, besides us breaking up, is coming between the three of them.

I think Haz knew how awful I was feeling about it all and is making an effort to be civil despite her anger.

At the front door, I hear a knock.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Nic shouts, abandoning her grinding to yank it open. I don’t see who it is but the Amazon parcel that flies onto the kitchen table a second later clues me in.

‘Nic.’ Haz wipes her eyes with a forearm. There’s an even deeper frown on her face now. ‘My eyes are fucking killing. What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Get out then.’ Nic shakes some sort of red, probably spicy, powder into the bowl. ‘We don’t both need to be suffering.’

Haz staggers back into the lounge, blinking her streaming eyes. ‘Fuck,’ she groans as she sits down next to me.

I snuggle up to her, the sight of her red, watery eyes tugging at me. I’ve never seen Haz cry, but I imagine it looks something like to this.

‘She’s trying to gas us out,’ she complains.

I put my arms around her. ‘Stay in here with me where it’s safe.’

With a complying grunt, she settles back, lifting two socked feet onto the coffee table.

We’re still sat like that fifteen minutes later when Nic stalks over with eyes even redder than Haz’s. She first slams a small spray bottle onto the table, then a plastic package.

‘It’s not the real deal,’ she says, gesturing to the bottle. It’s filled with red, speckled liquid. ‘But clearly it does the job. Take it wherever you go. And this’—she nods to the plastic package—‘keep it on you. Just attach it to your keys. It’s all just about legal.’

Then she heads upstairs without another word.

As Haz inspects the bottle, I pick up the plastic package, something colourful inside. Ripping it open, I pull out various keychains. Ones with very sharp things attached to them.

‘Pepper spray.’ Haz twirls the bottle. ‘Kind of genius, to be honest.’

‘Think this is a safety kit.’ I prod the rape alarm, torch, something that can be used for nothing other than stabbing.

Haz grunts, setting down the homemade pepper spray. ‘Someone feels bad. And so she fucking should.’

‘She’s making an effort.’

‘Gonna take more than some DIY weapons for that.’

‘That’s for me to decide.’

Because she can’t even begin to understand this warmth of hope in my heart, that I have to shift my feet to stop them from running up the stairs and throwing my arms around Nic. She cares and she’s showing me in the ways she can manage. And, at least for now, it’s enough.

There’s a full moon outside, shining through the gap in the curtain and limning the bottle of pepper spray on my bedside table.

My chest feels tight with jubilation when I think how she’d fretted in the kitchen for hours, dehydrating chillis she probably spent ages finding online, how she never stopped grinding them despite the discomfort it caused her eyes.

That urge to go to her is stronger now I’m alone and there’s nothing stopping me. I heard her soft footfalls above me not so long ago. She’s probably still awake, indulging in some bedtime reading, sat against her headboard, long legs tucked up to balance the book.

Would I be welcome?

That question is the only thing that stops me.

I know she can’t be pushed. I know my enthusiasm will only serve to turn her off.

She’s like a twitchy, stray animal evading capture, hissing whenever I’m within arm’s reach.

There’s so much trust I’ve yet to earn, despite having done nothing to lose it.

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. Maybe after enough times, I’ll come to believe it. But I will need Nic’s hand in that eventually.

When my body floods with adrenaline, I know I’ve made my mind up.

Before I can put myself off, I yank back the covers and stand up.

I take a moment to righten my pyjamas, to smooth down my hair.

My mirror shows a dark, shadowy figure. I can just about see my eyes enough to run a finger beneath them, rubbing off any smudged eyeliner I can rarely be bothered to remove before bed.

With a breath, I open my door and step out.

It’s quiet in the corridor, no light showing from Haz’s or Elly’s rooms. This feels like before, only I’m sneaking up to Nic instead of Elly.

I don’t know why I don’t want them knowing.

Haz has seen us kiss. Elly knows. It’s just, this thing with Nic, it’s so deeply private, so deeply us.

I head up the stairs, palm to the wall as I keep my footfalls light. Nic’s door is shut, as is the one to her shower. But there’s light showing from her bedroom, a pale line of it lighting my toes.

I knock gently and push open the door, just a sliver so I can gauge her reaction. She eyes me steadily, the look on her face infuriatingly impassive.

I give it another second. When she doesn’t force me from her room, I slip inside, using my body weight to close the door until it clicks.

Her hands remain frozen on her book, her pose so similar to the one in my imagination it makes me smile. When I reach the bed, she slowly closes it. Heart pounding, I pull my knees up and shuffle over to her.

Maybe it’s the dark that allows me to straddle her without objection, to put one hand on her cheek, the other flat to the headboard. She’s less impassive now, alertness lighting her eyes as they flicker over me.

Her features blur the closer my face gets to hers. I feel her breath on my lips, her eyes trying to search mine, to decipher my intentions.

My lips touch hers, the subtle catch in her breathing enough to encourage me. Arching my body into hers, I deepen the kiss, inviting her to open her mouth with my tongue. I hear her book hit the bedside table, then her hands are in my hair, tugging roughly, pulling me away, pulling me closer.

My body caves at her surrender, any hesitancy quickly fleeing as I place both my hands on the headboard, fingers curling over the top as I keep her pressed there.

Our kiss is loud in the silence of a Hazelhurst midnight.

I feel a breeze on my skin, her window open to allow in the fresh, moonlit night.

It does nothing to calm the fever inside me, the kiss turning desperate, rough bites landing on lips, our tongues so deep in each other’s mouths it’s almost impossible to breathe.

Releasing one of my hands, I place it between her legs, massaging gently until she opens them with a gasp. The material of her pyjama bottoms are so thin, I can feel she’s not wearing underwear, the heat of her obvious against my shaking fingers.

Using the heel of my hand, I press into her, rubbing it up and down and around and around until her kisses become unfocussed, her breathing now the loudest thing in the room.

My pussy throbs painfully as I rub her, careful to keep pressure on her clit. It turns me on knowing just how much she enjoys this kind of fucking, content to allow this to be all that this is. I’m not sure how she’d react if I truly touched her, something we haven’t dared attempt.

She keeps my face within a millimetre of hers with a fist in my hair, panting against my lips as her hips start to move against my hand. Close as I am to her, maybe it’s easier for her not to see me.

Neither of us are kissing now. I close my eyes, increasing the speed of my hand and using the flats of my fingers for better control.

When her gasps start to hitch and grow shaky, I know she’s close. I almost don’t want to stop, scared of what will happen once this is over, and clarity comes rushing back in. If she kicks me out of her bed, I’m not sure I’ll cope.

She gives a hissing gasp, leaning her head back against the headboard. I open my eyes just in time to watch her mouth part, quiet, strangled groans falling from it as she comes apart under my fingers.

I keep on massaging her until she grasps my hand, her eyes still closed as she breathes harshly through her nose.

I press a quick kiss to her lips, knowing it’ll probably be the last one tonight, before removing my hand. It’s damp with her, burning from the friction of her cotton trousers.