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"I have a room booked at the Prince Rupert, because I'm playing in the testimonial match tomorrow, so, unless you can think of a better plan, you'll have to share my room, or, if you prefer, you can go home tonight to Cosford with Harry and Sai, and come back in the morning with Harry, then we can go home together after the match; what's your preference?"

There was no way I was letting Andy out of my sight; I felt safe with him, so I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm staying with my big brother tonight!" I breathed, watching his eyes as he started to blush, then grinned happily.

"I'm glad, Lin!" he murmured back, obviously feeling that 'something' fizzing between us, the way I was.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was a blur for me, because my head was full of thoughts of Andy; I now knew I really fancied him, but not in the way I'd had crushes on Harry, or Big Jack Cameron, or David Denham, pretty-boys all; this was a lot more definite, something deep down inside me telling me that this was what I really wanted, but now I was old enough to do something about it.

That pulled me up short; just what exactly did I want to do about it, anyway? Echo answereth not, so I pondered, and thought, and pondered some more, until the answer that had been staring at me all day popped into view and flagged me down. I would do whatever it took to make sure Andy knew I wanted him, and if he wanted me too, well, here I was. It seemed like a plan, and it looked like working, too, if all those smouldering glances and electric thrills each time we touched was anything to go by.


We left the reception early; it had been a long day, and the fright I'd had earlier had really taken it out of me; Andy saw me flagging, so said his goodbyes and hustled me down to the car. Ever since I was a little girl I'd always liked being driven in mother's Jag; it was so 1960's glamorous, and Andy drove it through the cobbled streets with the ease of long familiarity; it almost felt surreal, with the juxtaposition of the sleek E-type growling softly through twisting medieval streets back to the hotel, like a scene from a 60's art film by a French auteur.

The Prince Rupert was a late medieval half-timbered building on Butcher Row, and Andy booked me in as his guest, then ordered supper for the two of us in the Dining Room. We chatted while we ate, catching-up with family stuff, the latest news from the absent parents, his adventures at Edinburgh, but somehow managing to not talk about that...thing now rearing its head between us.

When we eventually went up to the room, I was starting to feel that somehow I would have to let him know what was happening inside me; all kinds of things were clicking into place whenever I thought of him, and I didn't know where to start, or if he'd even take me seriously. Going up to that room with him was an agony of apprehension for me, believe me!

The room itself was spectacular; walls panelled in stained walnut, thick carpets, candelabras on every surface, and a huge four-poster bed.

I refused to turn Andy out of his bed, as he'd had a long drive from Edinburgh, and a hard day coming up, but Andy, ever the caring big brother, wouldn't hear of it, and insisted on taking the ridiculous couch, which was about three feet too short for him to stretch out on; we argued back and forth, until I settled it by pulling the spare quilt out of the linen press and making a bed on the floor. Andy grinned, knowing when he was beaten, but then came the next problem.

As I'd originally had no intention of staying over, I had nothing to sleep in, no toiletries, and no change of underwear.

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