How did he know? Wait–,

“We?” I squeaked. Tink shot forward to grab my arm as I began to sway, losing my already-defective balance, and took my flowers off me before I dropped them.

Tate quickly moved further inside the hallway, followed by a huge hulk of man wearing jeans, a tight, white, V-necked long-sleeved T-shirt, hooded black leather jacket and grey beanie hat.

Tudor.

“Tash,” he announced rather formally, nodding his head and then breaking into a huge grin.

Be still my beating heart. No-one should be allowed to look that good.

“Nice threads,” he commented, cockily.

What? Aww shit!

Tate turned away shyly, laughing into his hands, and Tudor stood there grinning, hands in his pockets and looking directly into my eyes.

What is it with this guy and eye-contact? Does he do that in every situation?

My mind wandered back to him straddling me in the park… Focus, Tash!

I looked at Tink in his get-up, and then down at my own pink ensemble. We must look like lunatics – call for the men in white coats!

Turning back to our guests, I simply said, “Oink?” and shrugged my shoulders.

Tate burst out laughing and Tudor smirked. I turned to go back to the sofa, suddenly not feeling so good.

“Tash, you okay?” asked Tudor, silencing any giggling from the flirty fellows as he stepped forward whilst I grabbed the wall for support.

“Erm, I just got a bit faint then. I need to sit down.”

I felt Tink grasp my elbow, and appreciated the much-needed steadiness.

“Tink, can I?” Tudor asked, and before I heard a reply felt a large arm encircle my waist and guide me to the couch.

My God if I was faint before, I am heading towards a complete K.O!

I inhaled. Pure woodsy, pheromone-inducing, Tudor. Game-over, I’m down for the count!

I was lowered to the sofa and then flanked on either side by Tink and Tate. Tudor knelt down in front of me, put both hands on my knees, and searched my eyes, obviously checking for the fixed and dilated pupils my carers had been told to look out for. If they resembled saucers we would need to go back to the hospital immediately. On seeing his expression change to one of relief, I guessed that I wasn’t dying, and so rested my head on the back cushion, closed my eyes and breathed deeply to steady the nauseating dizziness.

Tudor began moving his hands up and down my leg from knee to mid-thigh; nothing had ever felt better.

After I recovered from the dizzy spell and the room was the right way around, I opened my eyes. Tink was glaring at Tudor, who I assumed had never looked away from me through my little episode. Tate, too, was fixed on him with a startled look upon his face.

It is too much to take in.

“That’s better,” I sighed, refocusing Tink and Tate’s attention back on me.

“Wilbur, you’re overdoing it. Why did you answer the door, you silly mare?” Great bedside manner, Tink!

“I was going to the bathroom when I heard the knock. No biggie,” I shrugged.

“No biggie? You nearly face-planted the marble floor! From now on you’ll use a bed pan and that’s final, or I’m ringing your dad!” he threatened, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Whatever,” I dismissed.

No-one said a word for several awkward seconds. Mention of a bed pan will tend to do that to a conversation.

“I suppose a date is out of the question now?” asked Tate breaking the silence. My fairy and I both immediately snapped out of our mutual huffs to look his way.

“A date? Tonight?” squeaked Tink.

Tate blushed – how cute!

“I was trying to be spontaneous. I’ve been running around all afternoon to set it up for us.”

Tink didn’t know what to say. He kept opening his mouth and closing it over and over again.

Tate bowed his head and pulled imaginary lint from his jeans.

I reached over and patted his leg for reassurance. “Of course Cinderella shall go to the ball!” I confirmed weakly. Tate looked up with a relieved, beaming smile.

Tink shook his head. “Wil, I can’t go, I have to stay with you for forty-eight hours remember, doctor’s orders. And the date can wait, right, Pookie?”

‘Pookie’ lost his smile. “Of course, that was selfish. Forgive me, Tash?”

A cough interrupted the conversation.

Tudor.

I had, for most of the conversation, been struggling to breathe at the fact that Tudor was still on his knees in front of me, rubbing my thighs. His long fingers suddenly stopped their stroking at everyone’s pulled attention and I allowed myself to take a deep breath, now that his fingers weren't glancing ever-so-close to my intimate areas. I mean, come on, there is only so much titillation a girl can take before she spontaneously combusts!

“I could stay with Tash,” he suggested – well, kind of directed.

Three sets of eyes bugged further in his direction. “What?” we said in unison.

“I said,” he drawled, exaggerating the words. “I can stay with Tash and look after her. You two go on your date.”

“Well, dip me in honey and throw me to the lesbians!” screeched my bestie.

Tudor looked at Tink and arched a single eyebrow.

Tink stared back, and then started shaking his head profusely. “No, she is my best friend, and my responsibility and I will stay and look after her,” he stated quite aggressively. Well, in a camp sergeant aggressive kind of way. He grabbed my hand, kissed the back of it and harrumphed loudly. I felt that if he had just cocked his leg and pissed on me, then he would have asserted his ownership rights with more clarity.