The Bet - Quit Smoking, Win My Body Ch. 01

Gareth also can't believe that Adrian's quit smoking, pointing out that he saw Ade lighting up at the meetup last weekend, before he went back home with me "to introduce you to some new whisky or whatever your euphemism is..."

I use my most dignified voice to confirm that no, I did not fuck Adrian, but yes, I did persuade him to stop smoking in order to do better at online dating.

"You're an impressive woman, Laur. He even said he managed to 'use my words like a big boy, told him I was scared of a relationship. He asked if I might be able to cope with another one night stand.' I said 'There you go, then! Just keep having one night stands with him.'"

Obviously I message Adrian on Monday evening. He calls me back so we can do Quizzy Monday in even better style. Between UC and Only Connect, I ask what he did on the weekend, if it wasn't smoking.

"It was not." He's clearly thinking, editing his memories, which I'm guessing means not telling me about getting his leg over. "Cleaning and all on Saturday, met a mate, went to the Braukeller, didn't get thrown out, thank you very much, went cycling on Sunday. Got all the way to Kent."

'Met a mate', my arse. That's a proper date with this Dan, that is. I'd better not ask, though. "Impressive. Should be keeping your legs muscular. I look forward to Saturday, by the way."

"Never said I was taking my kecks off for you!"

"Adrian, sweetheart, just because I said I'm keeping my clothes on on this first date, doesn't mean you need to feel obliged."

"I reserve the right to act like a completely respectable gentleman!" His attempt to sound posh and English is still terrible.

"Oh, please don't. Shush, it's Vicky Coren!"

I've definitely beaten him this week, though Adrian demurs and says he's rewarding himself with a middle-shelf measure. I wonder how he and Dan will be doing by the time I see him. Hard to believe we've known each other twenty years, same uni course, never had even a kiss.

Come the weekend, it's a tedious medical appointment that's a bit depressing as usual, not to mention staying the night with my mum, so I'm very glad to have my evening with Adrian to look forward to. Dave thinks the idea of a date at my age which doesn't have the option of sex is amusingly adorable. I scrub up a bit, usual black eyeliner, wine-coloured lippy, clothes chosen for fondling through. I leave early to allow for the inevitable train cock-ups, seeing as I live in Southern Trains territory, but amazingly there aren't any. I think about dithering on the way, but it's cold and Ade's place is warm and comfortable, so I end up ten minutes early.

"Is this all right? Not too early for you? I wasn't sure you'd be decent, love." I pass him my long coat and gives him a classic hug and kiss on each cheek. Flirtatious, like we've been for twenty years.

"Come on in, sit down! What's that wine there? D'you want me to open it for ye now?" He's eyeing me up without even trying to hide it, high-heeled black boots, long swinging skirt, low-cut top putting this evening definitely in the flirt zone, whole outfit meant to show off my curves. I'm not eighteen any more, to be sure, but nor's he. If nothing else, it's made my tits bigger.

I pull out a dining chair. "Hell, yes. So, how've you been, sweetie?"

It's good to see Adrian in happy mode, and amazing to hug him and smell him, without that fug of smoke ingrained in him, his clothes. I noticed it as soon as I stepped in his flat, actually -- he'd clearly ventilated the place previously, but now, if the scent is of anything, it's male sweat. It's nice.

He pours a large glass for me, but sticks to ice water for himself while he's cooking. I know from experience he'll just tell me to sit down and get out his way if I try to help, so I don't offer. A good swig of my Merlot, a few olives, a hunk of bread for the wine to soak into, and I'm feeling more in favour of life. I had a depressing medical appointment, earlier.

He grins as he shoves a handful of the olives into his mouth, and returns to his pan to remove the fried mushrooms. He really is one cheerful bunny, and I'm sure it's something more than steak and the prospect of snogging me that's done it.

Four minutes later there's a rump steak and mushrooms on my plate, a dish of fancy brown chips between us, and he's passing salad and a little jug of sauce. He's a good cook for the essentials -- learned basics at home, then assisted Will in their shared flat in second year. He never bothered mastering complicated or fancy dishes, but what he does, he does well.

Adrian pours some whisky into a tumbler, to go with his steak. "Cheers."

"Cheers," I reply, with my refilled glass. Over half the bottle empty, now. "You didn't say -- how've you been?"

"Give me a break! Been cookin' for you! About me, well, it's only been two weeks, so it has!"

"Yeah. During which you've given up smoking. Which seems to have gone remarkably well? Congratulations!"

"Aye, well, you didn't hear me effing and blinding an hour ago, wanting one."

"Really? Whatever brought that on? Thought you'd be over the cold turkey by now."

"Forgot to put a new patch on today, till mid-afternoon."

"Ah. That would do it, I suppose. How's it been, otherwise?"

He looks thoughtful. A good sign, if he can't really remember. "The first few days were hellish. Thursday and Friday not so bad, I was in the office, and I swear the guys were chaperoning my every move to make sure I didn't nip to the shop! Kinda sweet, though. Never been offered so many cups of tea in my life!"

"Aw. That's nice, them helping. No relapses at all, then?"

"No," he says, and there's a rare proud smile. Though it occurs to me he'd only lie if he had, not wanting his three months to re-start. Only he's a terrible liar and never once been dishonest that I've known, so maybe not?

"Go, you! So, that Dan bloke -- was he helpful?"

I can see his brain swithering between different answers, as his face fails to hide pure terror. I attempt to look calm and non-judgemental and ready to hear anything he has to say, but in reality I'm gagging to hear the dirt. When Lindsey and I had a chat a couple days ago, she'd told me Adrian had quit, and he'd sworn it was all down to me.

I take pity on him. "Linz said you'd seen two guys in the five days since she'd seen you last, one twice. So, spill. Was that Dan the repeat or the disaster?"

He rolls his eyes, but looks somewhat less tense.

"The disaster was that away tonight, back on Tuesday guy. I mean, it wasn't that much of a disaster as things go, just he was married and I told him to fuck right off; so he did."

"Them's the breaks. So, this Dan, then?"

I can't believe it. Adrian's blushing. Trying to hide it as he takes a long swig of whisky, but that's a definite embarrassed pinkness. "Mm. Seems like a nice guy." He sets the tumbler down firmly.

"Good! You saw him again before having dinner with Linz and Will?"

"Mm." He knows I know. "We went shooting pool and snooker on the Wednesday, down in Peckham. Good craic. Will was in good form when I went over to theirs -- he ended up chucking traybake at me!"

"Oh no! What a waste! A chocolate one, or the one with coconut, marshmallow and jam?"

"A Fifteen. Aye, the sticky ones, fifteen quartered marshmallows, fifteen digestives, fifteen glacé cherries in quarters, then they do something with condensed milk and coconut that turns it into the food of the devil."

"Or sticks it together?"

He looks up at me petulantly. "Got marshmallow in my hair, an' all."

"You poor poppet," I tell him sarcastically. "Let me guess, he didn't start the food-throwing..."

"Still started it."

"Uh-huh, by being descended from planters from the fourteen-hundreds. Whatever. I've met you both, remember."

He chuckles. "Wee Jack came down to tell us off for being noisy."

"Sensible kid. Clearly inherited Lindsey's intelligence."

"I'll tell Will you said that."

"Feel free. If it means he makes fridge cake just to chuck at me, I'll open my mouth wide for it!"

I demonstrate. He blinks, as if it occurs to him what uses such a mouth might be put to. Which reminds me, as Adrian takes my plate away and pours me another glass of red, that he didn't tell me anything more about Dan.

I wait until he's settled down with cheese and another measure. I've scooped out portions of both ice-creams -- one is pear and cinnamon, the other maple walnut -- and taken a few wonderful spoonfuls, when I mention casually, "You didn't say if you'd seen Dan since playing snooker with him. What gives?"

That pink tinge again. Almost a cough. Oh, man, the boy has it bad! And the last time he had it at all was for Diane...

I'd better play nice. There are times to take the piss out of Adrian -- practically all the time, let's be honest -- but when it comes to his pain-encrusted, cynicism-scabbed, firmly-locked little heart, he's going to have a hard time dealing with it.

"Come to the sofa, bring your drink." I get him lying back in my arms like we've done to each other so many times. I down my wine so I can put the glass out of the way and stroke his hair -- as I often have. Then I run a finger gently down the side of his face. I've not got that intimate, before.

He leans into it, letting me touch him more easily, and nearly purrs, a mere breath of his bass voice. "Yeah," emanates from his mouth. I take that as him being happy with what I'm doing, so I stroke down his neck -- throat, really, as he turns towards me making my finger run over the more sensitive skin just to the side of his large Adam's apple -- and then over his shirt.

It's a lovely soft shirt. I'm in no doubt he's put it on specially for exactly this reason. I run my hand all over his chest, enjoying it. He sets his empty tumbler on the floor.

"Did you see Dan this week at all?"

He's facing away from me. Should be easier to speak that way.

"Aye. We played snooker again."

"And?"

I got a message from Gareth this morning, asking what I knew about the chap Ade had taken to the Braukeller. Poor Adrian has no chance of keeping anything secret, once it leaves his own lips. Just as well, though. He'd only fuck it up totally, left to himself.

"And he won?" Ade ventures to head me off, knowing he has no chance.

"Won what? Hadn't he been getting prizes all along?"

Ade's cheek next to mine is scarlet. I can feel the heat.

"Was it him you took to the fondue place on the weekend?"

"Does a man have no chance of a private life?" he growls at me.

"No, not when you tell Gareth about it," I agree. "So, quite a few... meetings, you've had." I shy away from the word 'date'. "Got any more lined up?"

"Aye, he's coming round on Monday. All right? Sheesh!"

Wednesday to Monday. A long break compared to time between previous 'meetings'. I would therefore lay good money on him having seen Dan last night. It does look suspiciously like someone's hastily cleaned this place today! But that's his business. I just want to make sure he doesn't cock up his future.

"Lovely. You definitely going to be in? Not accidentally working late?"

"That's why him coming here -- I'm working from home. Huge piles of work at the moment, trying to recruit help ASAP, so he's promised to distract me."

"Aw, good on him! So spill, what's he like? I mean, I could tell he was good-looking -- all over..." What I want to express is that he didn't treat Ade like a whore he despised, but I amend that to "He didn't freak when he saw me; seemed to have good manners, but that's just my snapshot first impression."

"Mm, yeah. Bit of a lad, plays footie and console games and likes his meat and lager, that's why I took him to the Brau. From Birmingham. Moved to London about eighteen months ago with an old school mate -- he'd recently split with this lass he lived with, after he'd had to tell her he really was completely gay."

"Ouch." It's like a dam has opened. Ade's never this chatty.

"Aye, he was back with his folks then and had to come out to them, which they didn't believe until they came home early to find a strange lad on the sofa in just his kecks and their son topless too... He does CAD, some basic engineering background, too. Not been to uni, left school at 16 and did diplomas. Oh, you'll never guess this..."

"What?"

"What he worked as after leaving school. And him getting together with me!"

He could have worked as anything, from a stripper to a whisky taste tester, but what would trigger that second sentence? Who would it be most surprising for Ade to get with? An Ian Paisley supporter, I supposed, though, by definition, they wouldn't. Homophobic twats. Next most unlikely, the RUC or...

"British Army, posted to Northern Ireland?"

"How the fuck? Sheesh..."

"Really? Oh, that's fabulous! Is he still in the Army?"

"No. He did their version of A-levels, got sent to Norn Iron at eighteen, so that was 2000. Based near Derry, dealt with Holy Cross and the riots in Belfast. It was still illegal to be gay in the army when he joined up -- you can see why he repressed it, can't you? End of his tour he moved to their college for draughtsmanship courses, and quit when his contract was up."

"Wow. He probably understands you even better than Will, then."

Ade thinks a minute. "In some ways. Will being straight and that. If you think about it, Dan's lived there more recently than I have. I haven't even been over since my da's funeral, and that was a year before Di's."

"You're a Londoner now, boyo."

"Fuck off."

"Can't, you're lying on me. Also, can I assume you guys are taking it slow, not swearing undying faithfulness to each other yet, and this evening isn't therefore going to be as chaste as last night when we were staying at my parents'?"

He snorts. "I've just about stopped freaking about having consecutive one-night stands with another one lined up. I'm hardly asking him to go exclusive. Hm. I wonder if he is seeing anyone else?"

"What's his setup? Where does he live? Oh, with a mate, you said?"

"I did. They bought together to take advantage of the housing boom. Only the mate, Max, has got this right melter of a bird, I'm not sure if she is thick as pigshit or just pretending she is, does her hair up in wee bunches and giggles like she's five..."

"Oh, god. Does she have a cutsey nickname too?"

"Yup. Gem. Gemma, but likes to be called 'Little Gem', like the fucking lettuce. I tell ye, she's got the brain of one! So Dan's often looking to get out the flat. And rather handily, I'm just downstairs..."

"No! Oh, that's amazing! How good is that?"

"Innit." He does sound London, sometimes. "But is it tempting fate? Watch the next exciting episode in the drama of eejit Adrian Cullinane's life..."

"Sounds like you're doing all right so far. Does he know about Diane and all?"

"Aye, Diane, some of my unsavoury habits, my criminal record, rehab..."

He really has been having heart to hearts. "Good for you. I hope it works out."

He exhales. "Me too. Me too. In the meantime..."

Adrian turns his face to mine, finally, and it's closer than he's ever been.

"Does my breath smell OK, now I'm not reeking of the smoke?"

"Man, meat and whisky. Perfect."

"Good."

He wriggles his body round so I can do the same, and puts his lips on mine for the first time. I reach round to the back of his head, and we're tenderly kissing each other. I wasn't expecting such gentleness, but it seems right, good friends escalating things, rather than a novel passion.

But I want more than that.

"Hey, hey," he chides me. "All in good time. You'll get more in a couple weeks, remember? And thereafter. I hope ye've put it in your diary."

I enjoy the delicate kissing for another while, but when I try to push my tongue further against his, he holds a handful of my hair to prevent me. Which does make what we're doing much more fun, and I reward him with little kisses on his lips and gripping his shirt to hold him closer.

"Ach, man," he mutters, tugging my body round on top of his. I'm still wearing my boots, my feet sticking out over the arm of the sofa. "You're a grand woman, so you are..."

"The charm of the Irish..." I play with his soft earlobe with one hand, and his chest through his periwinkle-blue shirt with the other.

A soft chuckle. "Aye. Always knew it would work eventually."

"Patience is a virtue."

"Overrated. Now, before ye ruin my sofa with your admittedly fantastic heels, come to bed."

"Thought you'd never ask."

"Wouldn't have been any point, since you told me 'no' right back in college."

"True. Remember what we agreed, though."

"You keep all your clothes on, sure. Don't you worry, I'm looking forward to working round that. That lovely loose skirt of yours must be hiding some lovely pins..."

He strokes the back of his hand over my cheek as he rolls me off the couch, and leads me by the hand with a shy smile to his bedroom.

It's very sweet. He's being even more adorable than usual, but it's also distinctly odd. I was expecting cheekiness. I bet he wasn't this sweet and tentative with Dan!

Entering his room, which is sort of what I'd expected -- large bed with luxurious dark blue bedding, freshly made, a dark teak chest and bedside table, one painting, one photo of him and Diane, otherwise undecorated -- I can tell he certainly wasn't acting naive and innocent with Dan! The room just reeks of sex, until he drops my hand and rapidly removes the laundry basket. There's a fragment of condom wrapper on the floor, too. I kick that under the bed so he won't notice.

Adrian returns, that little embarrassed smile again.

"Come here," I tell him, and we do a much more classic standing kiss that turns into a full-on snog, grope, and falling onto the bed. We roll around, grasp different bits of each other to squeeze, get into the hair-pulling and holding down other's arms and all, and it's so much fun.

I'm so glad we're getting to do this. Glad that Dave and I drew our agreements about commitment and faith in each other in a different place to most people, thankful that Adrian is getting able to ask for what he wants and needs, and happy that this Dan seems to be giving him some of that. My leg between Adrian's, his leg pressing between mine where I like it, swapping positions, tasting his neck...

Adrian's on top of me and something's digging into my stomach. It's not his belt buckle; that's higher up. He's warm and all firm muscle or bone, a cosy comfortable weight, the slightest of roughness on his face from where he hasn't shaved today, and that wonderful scent of masculine sweat, woodsy and musky but clean. I want more of it.

"Can I take your shirt off?" I ask him.

"Thought we were keeping clothes on."

"I said I was. You can do whatever you like. It's your flat, after all."

"Why not? Away on, then."

I fiddle with the buttons, carefully undoing them one by one, then opening the front to expose his chest. It's a fabulous shirt and I'm sorry to lose it, but a bare-torsoed guy in jeans -- especially a rugged weathered one, I decide -- really is a sight for sore eyes.

He takes it off, lays it carefully over his chest of drawers.

"Great shirt," I tell him.

"Aye. Got one years ago, replaced it with a few more, since." I translate that as Diane bought him the first one, so similar ones have sentimental value.

His back is to me, a glorious expanse of palest beige skin over lean muscle and shoulder-blades. It makes him look like a student again, when denim cut-offs and sandals were sufficient clothing on a warm day. Sometimes he'd add wire-rim glasses to enhance the louche-intellectual effect. When he turns round again, you can tell he's no teenager any more, having filled out a bit, but that's no bad thing. There's a touch more belly than he might like, but nothing to shout home about, and I'm certainly hardly one to talk.