Later, Tom and I watch the fireworks from my window, bare shoulder to bare shoulder. We bought the cheapest sparkling wine they had in our local Tesco. We drink it out of mugs. It’s sweet. Too sweet. We clink our mugs anyway, and sip from them, and kiss. And then we put the mugs away and lie back down.
I like it when my head is on his chest, and his arm around me. I like drawing things with my finger on his belly. He says it tickles him, but he bears with it, because I like it, until he can’t anymore, and then he pulls me close, wraps both his arms around me and I can’t move.
“Hey Tom,” I say at some point, when we stop fooling around for a second. “How long have you liked me?”
“Always.”
“No, you didn’t. You hated me before.”
“I never hated you. I don’t hate anybody. Except for psycho from fact……
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