Free Chocolate Cake for Breakfast by Danielle Hawkins Page A

it was my move. Gathering up all of my courage, I got up and sat down again across his lap, straddling him.
    ‘Hi,’ he said softly.
    ‘Hi.’ And then we stopped talking and just kissed each other instead, which was far better.

8
    AT HALF PAST NINE MARK, WHO HAD BEEN LYING FULL -length on my couch with his head on my lap, sat up and stretched his arms above his head. ‘You’ve got something on this weekend, haven’t you?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, I’m going to Taupo to play drinking games and make wedding dresses out of toilet paper.’
    ‘That sounds like fun.’ He stood up in one fluid movement and reached a hand down to me.
    ‘You reckon?’ I asked, taking it and letting him pull me up.
    ‘Actually, it sounds hideous.’
    ‘That’s what I thought.’ I preceded him into the kitchen and rummaged in the drawer under the microwave for plastic wrap with which to cover half a chocolate cake.
    ‘I don’t need all that,’ he said.
    ‘I was going to take it in to work, but Keri’s on a diet and she’ll be mad at me. Please take it.’
    ‘Oh, well, in that case, okay.’ He accepted the cake and bent his head to kiss me. ‘I’d better go home and let you get to bed.’
    ‘You could stay,’ I said impulsively. ‘If – if you want to . . .’
    He looked at me, startled, and my cheeks burnt in shame. Hurriedly I added, ‘But you’ve probably got an early start or something.’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean yes, I want to.’
    ‘Okay, um, cool,’ I said, going abruptly from hot with embarrassment to cold with terror as I realised that, in fact, this was all moving way too fast for me. I didn’t really want him to stay; I wanted him to kiss me goodnight and go away. Then I would be free to lie awake half the night, reliving every second of the evening, overanalysing his every word and agonising about how much he really liked me. The lying-awake-and-obsessing stage is an important one in any new relationship – you’re not supposed to just skip it.
    But I must have done a reasonable impression of one of those uninhibited, self-confident girls who view sex as merely a pleasant form of exercise, because Mark put down his cake, pulled me closer and kissed me, sliding his hands warmly up my sides under my T-shirt. I lifted my arms obediently and he tugged the shirt off over my head.
    ‘You are so lovely,’ he said against my mouth.
    ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and because there didn’t seem to be anything else to do in the circumstances (as well as because I had never been so attracted to anyone in my life), I twisted away from him and took his hand, pulling him up the hall to my bedroom.
    He sat down on the edge of my bed and looked at me, and with shaking hands I reached behind my back to undo the catch of my bra. I couldn’t; I was so nervous I had lost all feeling in my fingertips.
    ‘Here,’ he said softly, pulling me up between his knees and reaching around me to undo it himself. And then he sat me across his lap and kissed me with a single-minded concentration that completely changed my mind about this being a bad idea.
    Ten minutes or so later he sat up and said, ‘Crap, wallet’s in the car.’
    This remark seemed to have no relevance at all. ‘W-what?’ I asked unsteadily.
    ‘Condom.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I’ve got some.’ Getting up I crossed the room and felt around in the bottom of my wardrobe until I found a plastic grocery bag, from which I extracted one of about twenty small cellophane-wrapped boxes.
    Mark was watching me in the dim light from the hall with a bemused expression on his face. ‘Did you get some kind of discount for buying in bulk?’ he asked.
    ‘What? No. No! Alison gave them to me – my friend – she’s a nurse – they’re for this weekend. I mean, not to use ; they’re for the hen’s party. For some stupid party game. The medical centre had about a pallet of them, and they’re almost expired. Oh God, now you think I’m a crazed