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‘Do it,’ I said. ‘You’re so sure, do it.’
Marcus shook his fists towards the sky and, with one fell swoop, stepped forward, took my face in his hands, and kissed me. As his thumbs drew against my cheekbones, all I could think was, Oh my God, oh my bloody God! We were the last two people to succeed at getting along with each other this week, so why were we chasing this so far up the hill I was about to fetch a pail of water?
And why the hell did it feel so unbearably good? Heat bloomed in my chest, sending any and all common sense fluttering towards the sun on a trajectory last seen by Icarus. Let’s not forget how well that all ended.
With fingers drawn through my hair, and a tug so gentle it barely registered, my ponytail unravelled and tangled through his fingers.
He drew breath. ‘Not bad for someone who’s always so wound up.’
‘And you’re so stuck up.’ I kissed him again. This time, I fumbled with the front of his shirt, the thick expensive fabric, the tiny translucent buttons that felt colder than the night air, and the soft silk of this tie. My fingers drew a line up his chest, past his collar, and came to rest at the nape of his neck.
‘You wanna just come home with me instead?’ he mumbled against my mouth.
‘Why, so you can save me from the dragons?’
‘Something like that.’
* * *
The Great Penis Drought ended exactly thirty-seven minutes ago.
‘Should we perhaps define this?’ I asked.
Marcus shifted his weight, rolling over to face me. His breath came in tiny puffs that tickled my cheeks. For a moment, I simply enjoyed looking at him, at the self-satisfied smile that barely registered, at the sleepy eyes, and the arms he folded across his chest. A lock of dark hair flopped down into his eyes. I pushed it back and waited.
‘Before I go home and we’re both still scratching our heads?’ I continued in the face of his silence.
There was no dictionary definition for what had just happened. All right, so maybe there was, and I’m sure the thesaurus would have something to say, too. Sex. Sex had just happened. Very sexy sex. I’d have jumped and run for the bathroom if it weren’t for the fact there was a distinct Haven’t Seen Use in a While pain tickling my hamstrings.
‘I suppose we probably should,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper.
‘What do you want to call it?’ I asked.
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ he said.
I tucked hair behind my ear and curled further into the pillow. ‘Do you want a relationship from this? Is that what this is?’
‘How about we don’t call it anything?’ He propped himself up on an elbow. ‘Just … I don’t know right now. Whatever.’
Whatever? What kind of word is that to use in a situation like this? I detested it. Even my woozy brain, which was plummeting to Sober Land (Icarus, remember?), knew that was bad news. It was the word of choice whenever Dean wanted to dismiss my excitement or devalue me in front of his friends. The worst part about it? It worked every single time.
A beloved author popped in to the library for a quick visit? Whatever.
Great day at work today! Whatever.
I’m moving out. Whatever.
Apparently, I’d just slept with Coastal Edition Dean and, as much physical joy as his naked body may have brought, none of it was worth going through that kind of humiliation again.
I was so, so angry at myself.
‘I’m going to have a shower.’ Marcus rolled out of bed and strolled across the bedroom, everything on display, as if being intimate with each other were something we did regularly and not just at the end of a drunken night. His body was every inch the footballer, taut muscles, definition, and legs for miles.
‘Okay,’ I whispered, pulling the duvet up around my chin.
‘You all right?’ The corner of his mouth drew up into a smirk. ‘You don’t want to join me?’
I shook my head and, trying to look coolly casual, picked a clump of mascara from my eyelashes. ‘No, thank you.’
I watched him disappear behind a glass-doored en suite. Shifting, I tried to reconcile his words with a body whose muscles I hadn’t used in far too long, and lady parts that were feeling the aftereffects of a decent seeing to. Finally.
I sat up and took in my surroundings, a room I’d been too preoccupied to look at earlier.
A low-lit bedside lamp gave the room some decent ambiance at least, hiding all the lumps and bumps, and anything else nobody wanted to see. A box of condoms, which had been torn at in desperation, was doing its best impression of an origami flower on the bedside table, and my clothes were strewn from one end of the room to the other, though I was sure my dress was still on the bannister somewhere.
Mixed feelings were something I’d experienced a lot lately, but this was taking the cake and using a blowtorch to light the candles. Earlier, I was oozing confidence and full of those loose-limbed, sated, post-orgasmic feelings. Now, I was panicked. I was a ‘whatever’ again, and reality was coming home to roost. My head was set to wash, and my stomach was on tumble-dry. This was the dumbest idea in the history of my ideas. I had to work with this man. I had to look him in the eye and act as if we hadn’t just had the most incredible toe-curling, back-arching, name-screaming, hair-pulling sex ever.
And he wanted to define it as ‘whatever’.
I was a complete goose.
With the safety of Marcus in the shower, I ran. I threw back the sheets, shimmied back into my underwear, slipped on my shoes, and raced down the stairs for my dress. My handbag and coat had been discarded by the front door and, just as the water upstairs stopped running, the front door closed with a gentle click and I disappeared into the night.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_271dea7c-db7c-5aa4-a9cb-c782cc2ead49)
Part of me expected Marcus to come racing out his front door, six-pack on display and towel wrapped around his waist, that finely carved V-shape shown off perfectly. The other part hoped like hell I made it home before he realised what had happened.
Reality had other plans.
I’d barely rounded the corner before I was on my knees in someone’s gutter, depositing my dinner and adding a whiff of lemon meringue martini into the local storm-water system. I had to wait for my stomach to stop heaving before I could pick gravel from tender kneecaps and limp home. My walk of shame was complemented by shoes dangling from fingers, and a sweaty sour mess of hair.
None of this was going down in my list of life achievements I was proud of.
I was relieved when I arrived home to find the house empty. It gave me just enough time to shower myself back into human form, and a modicum of privacy to freak out on my own. As my head hit the pillow, I hoped to wake up the next morning and find everything had been some multidimensional Marvel universe style dream.
It didn’t. It wasn’t. This was not Doctor Strange and his mirror dimension. Or, maybe it could be if I made sure not to tell anyone of my late-night escapades. Hiding from daylight the next morning, I made a very snap decision that I was not telling a soul about my night. What strange magic had been there was not being put up for public consumption. I pulled on some comfortable clothes and shuffled out into the kitchen, and the new morning.
I switched on the kettle and searched for a mug through barely open eyes.
‘And a very good morning to you,’ Penny said through burbled laughter. She had a frying pan in one hand and a fat old spatula in the other. ‘Are you of the genus grease this morning, or the genus carbo-starchy-coma?’
‘Both. Both is good.’ I slipped onto a stool by the counter and held my head in my hands. Even though I’d showered and double washed myself last night, I could still smell lemon meringue. My stomach lurched.
‘Big fat fluffy pancakes?’ Penny presented me with a plate stacked high. ‘We have not particularly authentic maple syrup, lemon and sugar, or whipped butter.’
‘Butter,’ I groaned. Something rose in my throat at the idea of going anywhere near lemon. ‘And maple syrup. All of it.’
‘Alrighty then.’
A leaning tower of pancakes appeared before me, along with butter and syrup, which I poured until I had a small moat on my plate. I shuffled across to the dining table and hugged my coffee cup. I’d have closed my eyes again if it weren’t for the fact I got a frame-by-frame replay of my not so best moments from the last twenty-four hours.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ Penny stood back from the pan while bacon sizzled and spat at her.
‘I feel like I’m never drinking again.’ I held my face. While I felt like death, Penny looked like she was enjoying every minute of this. For once, it was me on the wrong end of the bar tab and not her.
‘And, where, pray tell, did you disappear to last night?’ she asked.
‘Uhhhh.’ I tucked my napkin under my plate and chewed ultra-slowly. Not even Penny was exempt from my decision not to tell anyone. ‘I went for a walk.’
Her brows disappeared beneath her fringe. ‘For a walk?’
‘I was so drunk,’ I tried, fingers fanning out from my temples. ‘And I thought the cold air would do me good. All I ended up doing was throwing up in the gutter.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘You?’
‘Me.’ I pouted. ‘What a waste of good martini, right?’
‘Jesus, Eleanor. If you’re not careful, you’ll be having random cheap sex.’
Pancake stuck in my throat. I coughed.
‘And herein, you are shooketh,’ she chuckled. ‘Ellie, you crack me up.’
I grinned. ‘Glad to help.’
After breakfast, I beat a hasty retreat to bed, where my only companion was going to be Harry Potter and his magic wand. He was going to be far less trouble. Plus, it was my tenth read through of the series, and he was at least a known quantity.
Still, there was only so many magic spells that would keep reality at bay. My hangover tapered off with a thumper of a headache, which was soon replaced by waves of embarrassed realisation. It arrived slowly at first, but then rushed in like a high tide in a monsoon. My life had an egg timer in the top right-hand corner. Less than forty-eight hours until I had to deal with Marcus again.
Penny suggested a day of shopping, but I couldn’t process the idea of perhaps running into him on the street. I didn’t want that awkward ‘How about that, huh?’ one-two shuffle on a street corner while neither of us knew what to say. So, I opted for a weekend inside. The couch and a DVD box set were calling my name. I needed to recharge, I argued, and disappeared into a pile of cushions with half the confectionary aisle and another set of What Ifs to be anxious about. I powered through a box of Lindt balls, balls, and broke apart a block of Cadbury Fruit and Nut … nuts.
Chocolate! Marcus was the chocolate bar I stole from the milk bar when I was fourteen. While the shopkeeper was busy stacking fruit and veg, I slipped a single-serve Cadbury Snack bar into my pocket and raced out the door. Only, this time, I’d been caught. And what did we learn from that episode? There was not thrill in getting away with the crime, and it wasn’t ever going to happen again. There, brain. Sorted. Illicit. Illegal. Not happening. Never again.
By the time my alarm went off on Monday morning, bright red and screaming like a banshee, I was well prepared. I’d been awake for hours, pondering what exactly it was I was going to say during the inevitable discussion. I’d rationalised how I was going to get my point across without sounding like a clingy girlfriend. To him, whatever may have only been a word. To me, it was a matter of respect. How the ever-perceptive Penny hadn’t picked up on my agitation was beyond me.
I kept my head down and thoughts to myself as I walked through the school gates. If I couldn’t see the looks in people’s eyes, then they didn’t know, and I could sleep easier. We slipped into the reception area together, where Penny opened the safe and booted her computer, and I checked my pigeonhole as per my shiny new routine.
My heart thumped in time with my footsteps and my stomach was stuck on spin cycle. They dropped it down a notch as I ventured into an empty tea room. It was one hurdle I’d cleared. It all felt a little like Mario trying to get to the castle to save Princess Peach, except I was the Princess trying to avoid Mario, so maybe that wasn’t the best analogy.
I shouldered my office door as it swung open.
‘And it’s a very good morning to Usain Bolt!’
As it turned out, I was not prepared.
Marcus sat, legs dangling from the desk, bearing coffee and a greasy bag that I took cautiously and with minimal eye contact. Inside the bag, a Florentine – only my favourite biscuit ever. With its sweet chocolate base, crunchy nuts and candied fruit, Penny and I would walk laps of town as teenagers, fuelled only by idle high school gossip and the sugar in these biscuits.
‘I thought, seeing as I didn’t get my morning after breakfast that I’d improvise,’ he continued.
‘How’d you know these were my favourite?’ I asked.
He shrugged and lifted his feet onto the seat of a chair. ‘A little bird told me.’
‘A little bird in a tiki dress?’ I asked.
‘Is that what it is today?’ He smirked. ‘I can never keep up.’
My gaze shifted from the contents of the bag to him. Panic drummed a beat in my ears.
‘Relax, I didn’t tell her,’ he assured me. ‘She certainly seemed completely oblivious to it when I rang for some insider information, so why feed the gossip train?’
‘What’d you tell her?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘I told her I wanted to do something nice for you for breakfast. Something about welcoming you into your first proper week on the job.’
I placed his offering beside my computer, twisted my hair up into a bun and shoved a pencil through the middle. Until then, I hadn’t noticed I’d left it loose this morning.
‘Can I … I need to know what happened,’ he said, hesitant.
Our eye contact was brief. Marcus picked at the edge of my bench, and he swallowed more often than a drowning rat. This wasn’t helping me. My heart sank under the weight of guilt and embarrassment, and all the words I’d prepared over the weekend marched out the door two by two. I grappled for them, but they were gone.
I pressed the door closed with a quiet click, keen to sort this out and move on for the day. I crossed my arms, fearing that if I rubbed my hands against my hips one more time I’d tear my skin clean off. Pressing at an invisible spot on my forehead didn’t seem to work either. As I paced about, Marcus sat on the edge of my desk and waited patiently.
‘I’m not here to argue with you,’ he ventured. ‘I just want to know what happened. Everything was going great, at least I thought it was. I got out of the shower, and you were gone.’
‘You don’t think that might have something to do with you at all?’ I asked. ‘Let’s not call it anything? Whatever?’
His head dipped back slightly, frustration lining his face as his words came back to haunt him. He rubbed a hand across his mouth. ‘I did say that, didn’t I?’
‘Yes. Yes, you did.’
‘What if I said I wanted more?’ He clasped his hands in his lap. ‘What if I’d spent all weekend thinking about that night and thought maybe we should do that again, and soon?’
I pursed my lips and I shook my head.
‘No?’ he asked. ‘What, so, you’re upset because I said “whatever” and, now, you’re upset because I want to take it back?’
‘I’m not upset about you wanting to take it back.’ I smiled softly. ‘I’m upset that I was stupid enough to go home with you in the first place. That I put myself in that position again when I promised myself I wouldn’t, that I’d be more careful.’
Eyes wide, his mouth formed a shocked ‘O’. ‘Christ, okay. There’s a spare spot on my back if you want to dig the knife in again?’
‘And how do I know you don’t try this on with all the girls?’ I asked. ‘Maybe I’m just flavour of the month.’
‘It may surprise you, but our school is not exactly the Baskin Robbins of the dating world.’ He stood straighter. ‘What happens now?’
‘What do you mean what happens now?’ I asked. ‘You’ve got a job to do, go and do it.’
‘Are you usually this cold?’ he asked.
