The Same Deep Water by Lisa Swallow Page B

moving or closing the rest of the space between us. I crave Guy’s hands on my skin, to slide my hands against his too, but this should stay as a kiss.
    Guy pulls away slowly, as if he doesn’t want to take his lips from mine, and releases my waist. We could kiss again, our lips close enough that they still feel connected, and I’m tempted. I move my head back; but in the dim, I can barely make out Guy’s expression.
    “There’s something strange about us,” he says.
    I laugh. “You reckon?”
    “No, about us. Together. Do you think we cancel each other out?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Life and death.”
    “Don’t talk about death when I just kissed you, Guy. That was to distract you.”
    “Not because you wanted to kiss me?”
    “That too.”
    Guy holds my face with both hands and kisses me softly again. “Being with you changed my world, Phe. I’m not sure I can ever go back to my old one.”
    “The world’s a brighter place with you in, that’s for sure.” I take his hand and squeeze. “I don’t want to talk about the bad or the past.”
    Guy tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t want to stay here. Let’s go back to the house and hope your stupid friend has passed out drunk.”
    I walk with Guy back to the house, a line crossed. We could be any couple giving in to our attraction, taking a tentative step in the direction we both want to go. But we’re not.
    Light from the half-open front door shines onto the pathway and we step inside to an empty lounge room. Empty bottles and glasses remain strewn around the room, but Jen and Cam are gone. A subdued Guy sits on the sofa and rubs sand from his feet.
    I look up as I hear a noise from the kitchen. Cam hesitates in the doorway with two large glasses of water, and a rueful smile.
    “Hey,” he says.
    “Hey,” I reply.
    Guy says nothing.
    I’m relieved when Cam ends the conversation at an exchanged greeting and heads to the back of the house with his drinks. Guy watches, and back in the light I can see more clearly how drunk he is. The fresh air didn’t do much for my sobriety either, nor does the light-headed feeling from Guy’s kiss.
    His mouth curves into a smile and he flops against the back of the sofa. “Do you think they believed me, about my mother?”
    I sit next to him. “Probably not.”
    “She’s a bit obnoxious, your mate.” He drags a hand down his face. “Sorry, she’s your friend, but she’s rude.”
    “Jen’s always like that when she’s drunk.”
    He smooths hair from my face and cups my cheek. “Like I said, should’ve just kissed you if I knew you were going to anyway.”
    Before I can respond, Guy’s lips find mine again and he draws me back from the craziness of the evening into the calm of his embrace. His kiss is slow, holding my head instead of moving to touch my skin. Pausing, he buries his face in my neck, exhales heavily, and squeezes me.
    I stroke his hair. “Are you alright?”
    “Drunk. Wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.”
    I hold him and fight the arousal triggered by his kiss. Guy’s rough cheek scrapes against my skin as he places his lips on my collarbone. We remain in silence and the drunken warmth of our embrace coupled with Guy’s rhythmic breathing conspires against me. I begin to nod off as Guy’s body becomes heavier against mine.
    “I can’t fall asleep here,” I murmur.
    Stretching and shaking his head to wake himself, Guy studies me as we reach the moment things could shift further. “You going to bed?”
    “I was going to go, yes. Will you be okay?”
    “Me? Yeah.” He places his lips on my forehead. “I’d like to join you, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    My breath catches, the alcohol-numbed morals suggesting I could ask him to. “Right.”
    Guy stands and tugs me to my feet. “If you weren’t as drunk as me, I’d be suggesting all kinds of things to you.”
    “So when we’re sober, what then?”
    “Then, I will have lots of suggestions,”