The Burnout(71)

“You’ll be fine,” I say sincerely, and risk putting a tentative hand on his arm. “You won’t get angry. And if you do, you’re with a skilled professional. What, they’ve never seen a stressed-out guy destroy a ficus plant before? They probably have extra ficus plants just so you can destroy them. They keep them in the Ficus Plant Room. Bring your own chainsaw. All included.”

Finn throws back his head and roars with laughter, putting his own hand over mine. “Oh, Sasha,” he says affectionately. “Thanks for being here. I don’t think I’d be in such a good place if you hadn’t been keeping me company. Burnout buddy.”

Burnout buddy. Can burnout buddy turn to sex buddy?

Yes. Yes, I think it can.

“Oh God!” I retort, my voice a bit shrill and squeaky. “No. I need to thank you.”

My breath keeps catching as I speak. My limbs are trembling. Am I actually in the right state for sex? Because I feel all over the shop.

“If you stare out to sea for long enough, you could almost believe in manifesting,” I say, playing for time. “It feels like this huge … I don’t know. Presence.” I spread my arms, taking in the whole ocean. “Like it wants to solve our problems.”

“I know what you mean.” Finn nods. “Terry believed in the sea. He thought it had all the answers. Maybe it does.”

Solve my problem, I silently entreat the sea. Go on. Solve it. Send a massive wave onto the beach that knocks Finn and me together, so hard that our faces are smooshed and we have no choice but to kiss. Go on … go on …

But the next wave that washes onto the beach is, if anything, on the gentle side. It doesn’t knock Finn and me into a clinch. It doesn’t even try. It rolls calmly over my legs, and I know what it’s saying to me. It’s saying, You need to take ownership of this yourself, lovey.

The sea is wise.

“So, one good thing has … er … happened.” I swallow hard, forcing myself to speak. “I’ve woken up. My … um. My … libido.” I whisper the last word, but I can tell Finn registers it from the way he shoots me a startled look, then hastily looks away again, a muscle working in his cheek.

There’s a long pause. Quite an embarrassingly long pause. So long, in fact, that I consider burying myself in the sand and never speaking to Finn or anyone ever again. My body is consumed with mortification. If he’d been hoping for this, waiting for a sign, like some lovelorn suitor, he would have reacted by now. But he hasn’t moved.

“Excellent,” he says at last, and I feel the blood sink from my face to my feet.

Bad, bad response. He sounds like he’s pleased my broken-down car now starts. That’s his level of engagement.

Unless … Unless! Hope rises again in my chest. He is interested, he does find me attractive, but he’s worried about coming across as a sexual predator. This could easily be the case. He’s just got in trouble for behaving badly at work. Of course he’s going to be super-careful. Of course he’s going to hang back. I need to make it subtly clear that I am up for a hot, fun encounter and give him consent and establish that everything’s OK. Subtly. But clearly. The crucial thing is to be unambiguous. Yes. Subtle, clear, and unambiguous.

But not clingy or needy.

Or desperate.

“So!” My voice swoops up uncertainly. “Now I need to …” I cough a few times. “I guess I need a casual … get back into the saddle. Nothing serious. Just a, you know, fling.” I give the most hideous little laugh. “One of these days.”

“Good idea,” says Finn after a pause, without moving his head.

Good idea? What does that mean?

“Well, you know.” I give another strange laugh. “Just a … It’s a thought.”

“Uh-huh.” Finn nods.

“Right. So. Um.”

I rub my nose. This is the most surreal conversation of my life. I think I’m going to stop talking now. And possibly emigrate. For a while I’m silent, my face tingling, wondering how long the pair of us will sit here on the sand, not looking at each other and also not addressing what just happened. Until Finn takes a deep breath.

“I’ve sworn off casual sex,” he says, in a manner which is so studiedly relaxed that I know he was rehearsing it in his mind. Before I can stop myself, I look at him and catch his eye by mistake, then hastily turn away, my cheeks burning. He looks supremely uncomfortable, and, frankly, I want to evaporate.

“Good for you,” I say, my voice a bit crunchy. “Good move. Makes sense. Makes a lot of sense.”

Why do I feel there’s a massive great story behind that one statement? A story he’s not planning to share with me?

“Yes,” says Finn. “Well.”

I open my mouth to make another meaningless remark, then catch sight of his awkward face and abandon the idea. Enough. A wave runs over my feet and I shiver. We’ve been sitting here in the sea too long. Hope and sexual fantasy were keeping me warm, but now I feel cold and embarrassed and stiff and as if I’ll never get my wetsuit off.

“I think I’ll take my surfboard back,” I say, trying to sound relaxed. “I’ve had enough. It was fun, though.”

“Let me,” says Finn at once, leaping to his feet.

“Don’t be silly!” I protest, but he’s already hefting my board under his arm.