You Can't Hurry Love

Chapter Twenty

'So, this is where the notorious Dorothy Owens lives? It's nice.'

Lincoln was looking around the room with fascination and I'm suddenly all too aware of the Minnie Mouse duvet I'd left on the sofa after my sharp exit earlier on, so when his back was turned I scoop it up with hurried arms and lob it into my room, slamming the door shut quickly to avoid him being able to see in. If I want to give off sensual, 'come hither to me' vibes, a giant mouse eating an icecream was not the way to do it.

'You don't have to lie, I know it's a hovel. But it's the best a 'just out of uni' journalist, a waiter and a part-time drag artist can get so we learn to live with it.'

I take the shopping he was holding and place it down in the little kitchenette and discreetly give him the once over when he steps forward to look at the picture of Ben and me above the telly, thinking that it was perfectly acceptable and not creepy at all seeing as he was in my apartment. That must give me some rights to have a little perv, doesn't it? And I was pleased to say that my first judgement of him only wearing low-slung hideous jogging bottoms when he wasn't at work had been well and truly amiss.

Lincoln was wearing black fitted denim jeans and a dark green jumper and on his feet were a pair of pristine grey trainers that I might have turned my nose up on in the past, (I'm usually a sucker for a man who wears dress shoes, I can't help it) but I have to say he looks good. He looks very good, in fact. I was used to seeing him dressed for the restaurant but now he was giving off some seriously stylish, rugged vibes and I liked it.

Internally I shake my head. This man has made me do a complete one-eighty since the day I met him, and the funny thing is, he thinks I can't stand him, when in reality I'm currently dreaming about throwing him down on the sofa right this second and having my wicked way with him. The whole thing was absurd.

He turns back to face me and I busy myself with arranging my shopping, the only giveaway to my thoughts was the pink tinge on my cheeks that I was doing my best to try and hide.

'Is it always this cold in here?' he asks.

'Yeah,' I reply, realising for the first time that you could see our breaths mingling as we conversed. 'Well, in the winter it is. The window over there was busted when we moved in and the landlord hasn't sent anyone round to fix it yet, even though I must have called him about a thousand times. But it's okay,' I shrug. 'If you stick a jumper on you barely even notice it after a while.'

Lincoln moves over to the window and I watch as he tests the broken latch before lifting it up to peer outside, seeing the street below and turning back to me with a frown.

'The landlord owns the whole building?'

'I think so. Why?'

'So you're telling me that he's perfectly happy letting a young woman live in the centre of London, with a window that doesn't even close, when the flat below it has been broken into?'

'Lincoln, it's fine, really,' I urge, trying to make him see that there was nothing to worry about. 'We're three floors up and if someone does manage to get in, what do you think this little stone statue on the sideboard is for?'

I pick up the statue of Socrates that was left here by the last tenants and hold it menacingly in my hand, swinging it back and forth for greater effect.

'Please don't say what I think you're going to!'

His exasperated expression is back and I laugh. I'm getting used to all of these little mannerisms of his. They used to rile me up but now they just amuse me.

(Oh, how fickle a girl can be when she realises she fancies someone.)

'If anyone breaks in, I'll just bop them around the head!'