truly wished he could control himself, especially when he was drunk. But his nether regions thought differently. The stupid thing was that his mind was consumed by thoughts of Molly – both wholesome and not so wholesome – for an absurd amount of time. But when he had a few drinks, he acted like a total and utter nobber and found himself sticking his tongue down the throat of any number of inferior girls. Sometimes he slept with them as well. Mostly because he knew Molly didn’t want him that way. Probably because he kept sleeping with her friends. Jesus. He seriously was a nobber.
Ed really was a nobber, Molly thought. Why on earth did he keep sleeping with all of her friends? She didn’t know if he did it on purpose to annoy her or if he had some sort of problem. Molly stole a glance at him. He looked rather drunk this evening. His hair was all over the place and his eyes had gone all sexy, the way they did when he was a bit squiffy.
Ed rubbed his eyes. God, but he had drunk too much tonight. Some filthy cocktail in the union – just because it was half price and he knew he looked as camp as Christmas drinking it. He gazed at Molly again and felt a pang. He felt it almost every time his eyes alighted on her. Sometimes in the groin, but mostly in the heart. Fuck it. He was her best male friend. Which meant that after her father, he was sort of the number one dude in her life. Ed knew it couldn’t stay that way for ever, but he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about her being with some other guy. The one thing Ed had on his side right now was that Molly was discerning. When it came to men, she was pickier than anyone he knew. He wasn’t even sure if she’d slept with anyone yet, but it wasn’t a subject he liked to dwell on. It made him feel as though his guts had been kicked inwards.
Finally remembering what she was supposed to be doing, Molly picked her beer up, holding it awkwardly with three fingers. She hit the table three times with the bottle, clearly searching her mind for the next bit of the drinking game. ‘And, ee, once a cardinal, always a cardinal!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. She drained her beer in one and twirled the empty bottle over the top of her head, beaming at Ed.
Ed punched the air, mostly to distract from the way his stomach was doing the usual fizz and slide antics that happened whenever Molly went full beam on him. And he didn’t mean just in a smiley way. There were moments when she turned her full attention on him and it literally rocked his world.
‘Let’s make spaghetti bolognese,’ Molly slurred in his direction. She stood up, hiccupped and took his hand.
‘What? Why on earth—’
‘I’m hungry. Come on.’
She stepped over Jody – Ed apologetically did the same and received a furious frown in return – and they made their way to the kitchen, Ed following Molly’s weaving motion, mostly because it amused him.
Molly gave Ed orders bossily, demanding that onions were chopped, meat was browned, tins of tomatoes opened. She always got a bit bossy when she was drunk. Hopefully, she thought, Ed found it endearing, the way he found Jody’s pedantic antics ‘endearing’. She dismissed the thought. Even in her drunken state she knew she was being ridiculous.
She gave Ed a half glance. Speaking of endearing. She watched the way he sliced up an onion, his eyes all crinkled up at the corners as he tried to stop them watering all over the place. Molly wished she didn’t find him such good company.
‘I take it I’m sous-chef,’ Ed grumbled, examining a tiny cut on his finger from an onion-related mishap. ‘Ouch, Molls. I’m bleeding.’
‘You’re moaning. And you’re everything-chef, for the record,’ Molly said. She tried to focus on him, but he kept swimming out of her vision for some strange reason. ‘I am in no fit state to wield a knife, my friend. Now the trick with bolognese is to use both pork and steak mince. Did you know this? It’s the best way. The only way.’
Ed spent the next half hour doing as he was told, an unusual state of affairs, but he was not of a mind to resist Molly when she was in domineering mode. Ridiculously, he found it sexy and he couldn’t stop laughing as she waved her arms around in place of actual words and coherent sentences. She did allow him to force a pint of water down her to stave off a hangover, and five minutes later she sashayed off to the bathroom to ‘break the seal’ as she delightfully put it.
Thoroughly distracted by her retreating form, Ed proceeded to drop an entire carton of passata down the front of his jeans.
‘Oh for fuck’s sakes,’ he muttered. His jeans were ruined. Not sure what else to do, he peeled them off. Fuck. He’d gone commando. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was more of a: ‘I haven’t washed any boxers’ thing. He stuffed his jeans into the washing machine and quickly looped an apron over his head to save his dignity.
‘Ed.’ Molly appeared in the doorway, seeming to be gripping it for support. ‘I’m either more pissed than I thought I was or your arse is on show. Have you been like that all night? Surely not. I would have remembered. I know I would have remembered.’
‘Don’t be daft. My jeans … oh, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Nice bum, Edison.’ Molly’s mouth lifted mischievously. ‘Seriously. I had no idea. Hey – is that some sort of invitation?’
‘Begging your pardon?’
‘That. On the apron.’ Molly pointed. She was sobering up fast. But she was also feeling reckless tonight.
Ed glanced down at himself. ‘Snog The Chef’ was emblazoned across the front. He felt his breath quicken, but he reined it in. Of course Molly didn’t mean anything by it. It was just that she rarely flirted. Not with him at any rate. He had watched her charm many a poor bugger practically to his knees without even trying, but she hardly ever directed her flirtation in his direction.
He looked up and pasted an amiable smile on his face. ‘Absolutely. An invitation is exactly what that is.’
‘Gosh.’ Molly made a decision. She tested it out briefly first, as was her way, and it felt right. She was going for it. ‘Rude to turn down an invitation. Right?’
She ambled towards him. Ed felt a rush of lust. Good God. What was happening here? Was she … was Molly going to kiss him? She was mucking about, surely. His head swam. Molly was drunk. Squiffy, at very least. He should not do this. He definitely shouldn’t do this. He had never wanted to do anything so much in his life.
Molly leant against him. She wanted nothing more than to hurl herself at him and snog his face off. But she didn’t want to ruin the moment. If there was about to be a moment. Molly pressed her body up against his, her hands either side of him on the counter. It felt erotic being squashed up against Ed. She could be corny about it and say their bodies slotted together perfectly but – aah, sod it, they actually did.
Ed held his breath. He had never been so turned on in his life. He met Molly’s eyes, surprised to find them attentive and watchful. She put her mouth on his and kissed him. It was a sweet, exquisite kiss that seemed to ricochet around Ed’s body, lighting a billion tiny bulbs along the way. He felt the same sensation as he had the first time; the familiar, thrilling buzz that felt right.
Ed kissed Molly back. How could he not? He took the back of her neck in his hand, angled her mouth to his. It fit perfectly. What was that about? He had kissed many a mouth and sure, all mouths meshed together one way or another. But hers just fit.
‘You’re an annoyingly good kisser, Edison,’ Molly murmured against his mouth. He was. The memories of that first night came rushing back. Molly had kissed guys since Ed – not that he knew
