Not Just My Heart

by Em Taylor

  I stood, grabbing my coat and shoving my arms into it. Picking up my glass, I swallowed a large mouthful of wine, slammed the glass back down, then retrieved my bag from under the table.

  “I gotta go,” I said.

  “I’m guessing he’s not lace knickers guy,” said Annie.

  “Definitely not. He’d never get his massive cock into a lacy thong.” I turned to Rory and stuck my finger in his face. “That was not a compliment.”

  “Not taking it as one.” He backed up slightly, his hands raised in surrender as a grin curved the corners of his lips. “But me and my massive dick will make sure you get home safely.”

  “I’ll get a taxi,” I muttered, raising a hand in farewell to my friends and hurrying out of the pub and onto Byres Road.

  I looked around. It was a usual weekend night in the west of the city; the street was heaving with people, and there wasn’t a taxi with a light on for miles. I had no idea what buses went my way, and the underground didn’t go anywhere near my place, but I could walk up to my flat off Great Western Road. It was a big old house that had been renovated into modern flats. I loved it.

  I spun on my heel and strode up Byres Road in the direction of home. When Rory fell into step beside me, I glared at him. “Why are you still here?” I asked petulantly.

  “I’m seeing you safely home.”

  “Why?”

  “I care about you.”

  “No, you don’t. You haven’t cared about me for six years.”

  He took me by the arm and led me into a dark alley just off the street. I huffed and glowered at his back, but if he wanted to talk, so be it. Maybe I could get closure this way. I’d not had a relationship last more than three months since he had walked out of my life. I hadn’t trusted anyone enough to let them get close.

  He pressed me up against the wall. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you. Every night, every day. All the damned fucking time. Every time my cock is in my hand, I imagine it’s inside you.”

  “What about your girlfriend? You must have had girlfriends.”

  He barked a harsh, humourless laugh. “The minute you drove away I knew I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. But I couldn’t apologise or take it back. Not me. I’m too full of pride, so I packed up my stuff and left. I cut you out of my life, blocked you everywhere I could, and moved in with David. And yes, I was a manwhore for a while. I thought I could shag you out of my system.”

  “Funny,” I said, running a finger over three or four buttons on his shirt. “I became a bit of a slapper for a while too. I thought the same.”

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and I strode past him, knocking into his shoulder with my own as I passed to move him out of the way.

  Leaving the alley, his footsteps quickened behind me until he fell into step beside me once again. I cast him a sidelong glance. His jaw was clenched and his eyes hard as he stared straight ahead.

  Good. I’d managed to shock him.

  Did he really think I would mourn him with wine, chocolate, and lots of weeping on my bed while watching soppy movies?

  I’d become a real girl about town. I’d flirted and flaunted my wares and gone home with a new guy most nights for about six months.

  At least until Olivia took me out to lunch and told me I needed to be careful. People were talking, and I was getting a reputation as a tramp.

  “Do you think there’s such a thing as soul mates, Lacey?” Rory asked.

  I cocked my head to the side.

  “Maybe, but maybe some couples just have the right combination and choose to work at the rest.” After all, my parents were made for each other, but there were plenty of things my mum found irritating about my dad, like the times she yelled at him about his beard shavings all over the bathroom sink, or when he accidentally switched off the slow cooker to plug in his phone charger causing dinner to be at nine p.m. instead of six.

  “I think we might be soul mates,” Rory said.

  I stopped walking and twisted a strand of hair around my finger, the bright auburn colour standing out against my pale skin. Glancing up, I stared at him.

  It took him a few steps to realise I was no longer beside him, and he swivelled around, biting his lip.

  I’d rarely seen Rory unsure of himself. He had always been a bit of a cocky bastard and a lad, which was what attracted me to him in the first place. Though he had a lovely soft centre for someone with a very insecure upbringing.

  “Rory, just because you’re between girlfriends, shags, or whatever, it doesn’t mean you can turn up in the pub and expect me to turn back the calendar seven years.”

  “Six.” He took a step towards me. “Six years, two months and seventeen days.”

  I parted my lips. How did he know this?

  “You ... you remember to the very day?”

  “I remember everything. How could I not remember the worst decision of my entire life?”

  I sighed. “That still doesn’t mean you can pick up where we left off. I’ve moved on.”

  “Are you married? David never said you were married.”

  “No. And why have you been asking David about me?”

  “You come up in conversation. You were my girlfriend for six years.” He shrugged. “Come on, Lace. Don’t say you never mention me.”

  I had to give him that. “Fine.”

  “You must at least compare my giant cock to other guys.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “It’s not the size that counts but what you do with it.”

  The thing was, I’d always made a joke about the size of his cock. He was well endowed, but I wasn’t sure if Rory was just exceptionally good in bed or if size really mattered because no one had compared favourably to him since he’d left. Not one single guy. They’d all been adequate at best.

  He grabbed my upper arm, stepping forward to force me back against a lamp post. Raising his free hand, he swept the hair away from my neck and leaned in with a devilish smile. His breath blew over the nape of my neck and up to my ear, and in an almost castrato voice he said, “Oh Rory, right there. Fuck yes. I’m going to come. Oh God yes. Yes, please ... oh. Roooooryyyyyy.”

  Damn, even after all these years, he had me down to a tee.

  I pushed him away from me.

  “Fuck, Lace,” I growled, then gritted my teeth and held my breath till my eyes bulged.

  Rory chuckled. “Touché, ma chérie.”

  I patted his chest and bit my lip. “I have as much dirt on you as you have on me.”

  He closed his hand over mine on his chest. “Does this mean you can tell I’m completely turned on, just as I can tell you are?”

  “Unless you’ve started carrying a handgun in your front trouser pocket, then yeah, I can tell.”

  He laughed again. “I’ve not turned all gangster on you.”

  “Good because carrying guns is illegal.”

  “I’m still a boring French teacher.”

  “Shame,” I said, wrapping my arm around him and leaning my cheek on his shoulder, “I always fancied myself as a gangster’s moll.”

  Rory snorted. “You would make a terrible moll. You can’t keep a secret, and you’re a complete softie.”

  “Only when it comes to animals.”

  “I was one of your strays once upon a time.”

  I lifted my head and straightened my shoulders and walked on. “You were never a stray. Strays remain loyal to the one who takes them in. You’re just feral.”

  We approached my building and I unhooked my arm.

  “Ouch that—”

  “Anyway, we’re here. Night Rory.” I hurried upstairs and inside before he could say any more. He’d nearly had me—nearly softened me. Why had I put my head on his shoulder? That was it. I needed to stay clear of him if that was how I reacted after one encounter. However, it was the first time I’d seen him in six years, so surely I wouldn’t see him again. Would I?

  Chapter 4

  Six years earlier

  La
cey

  I REVERSED INTO THE parking space and gazed at Rory. His chin was covered in stubble, and the orange light from the streetlamp lit up only part of his face, but his expression worried me. The corners of his mouth were turned down, and he wrinkled his brow in a frown. He was not my happy-go-lucky boyfriend. He’d been to the doctor a few days before we went up north to see my parents, and he’d been down ever since.

  I gripped the steering wheel, drew in a long breath, and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Spill it, Rory. What’s wrong?”

  He said nothing for a moment, and I thought he might stay silent. Then he turned his head and held my gaze. “We need to call it quits. I’m going to move out.”

  I tensed and tightened my grip on the steering wheel as I stared at the black Mini in the space across from where I’d parked. I liked the little round headlights. They were cute.

  “Lacey, did you hear me?”

  “Are you sick? Did the doctor say you’re sick?”

  “No. I just went to get that wrist injury checked out. It’s fine. It’s soft tissue and just taking time to heal.”

  “Why are you leaving then?”

  He shrugged—an actual shrug. Like he didn’t know.

  “Are you seeing someone?” I asked.

  “No. I’d never do that.”

  “If you’ve brought home an STI from some skank you’ve been screwing, Rory, I’ll chop your balls off.”

  “There’s no one. I promise.”

  “Is it the sex? Honestly, sometimes I feel like an Olympic gymnast, so I’m not sure how much more I can do to keep you happy. Jesus, I even let you in the back door.”

  “You didn’t complain,” he muttered.

  “You seem to have a complaint now,” I hurled back, through gritted teeth. “Do I not manage to take enough of your cock in my mouth? Do I not stroke your ego enough? What, Rory? What am I not doing?”

  “It’s not you—”

  “Don’t fucking say it. Don’t even think of saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’”

  He held up his hands. “We got together too young. Shit, Lace, I had slept with only three girls when I met you. I was a late bloomer.”

  “And now it’s time to go off whoring around Glasgow? Well fuck off.”

  “Baby, don’t be like that. We can be friends.”

  “No, Rory, we can’t. Get your shit out of the flat by tomorrow and post the keys through the letter box.”

  He turned to the door, holding his hand above the handle. Glancing back over his shoulder, he opened his mouth, then shut it. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he pulled the handle to unlock the door and stepped out of the car. Once Rory Thompson made up his mind about something it was set.

  The second he shut the door, I swallowed hard and put the car in gear. I quietly talked myself through manoeuvring the car out of the parking space. Anything but think about what had just happened. As I sped off into the night, I allowed myself one last glimpse of him in the rear-view mirror. There was only one place I could go, and I had to wait until I got to Glencoe until I could cry.

  MUM AND DAD WERE SITTING in the kitchen of their cottage when I arrived. No doubt they’d been waiting there since my phone call.

  “Why?” asked my mother as she wrapped me in a hug.

  “I don’t know. He says we were too young when we got together.”

  “I’ll kick his arse for you,” my dad said as he marched into the kitchen with a bottle of malt whisky and three glasses. “I should have shot the little shit and buried his body up in the hills when I had the chance. He always was a wrong ‘un. And to think I let him sleep with my daughter. Dirty little swine. If I see him again, I’ll put the toe of my boot up the crack of his arse. Hmph.” Once he’d finished pouring, Dad slumped his shoulders.

  I drew out of my mum’s embrace and sat at the old pine kitchen table, accepting a glass of whisky from him. I hated the stuff, but it went down smoothly, and the satisfying burn in my throat reminded me I was alive and pissed off.

  “Never liked him,” grumbled Dad.

  “Yeah you did. You used to take him fishing, and you were fixing up that old motorbike for him.”

  “I was hoping he’d break his neck on it.” Dad winked at me.

  Mum placed a cup of hot chocolate in front of me. “Jonas is coming tomorrow to see you. He says he’s coming back to Glasgow to sort him out.”

  I groaned and placed my head in my hands. “Tell Jonas to get his butt back to uni and leave any sorting out to me.”

  “Your brother cares. He thought of Rory like a big brother.”

  “Well his big brother just left home for good and isn’t coming back.”

  Mum wiped a tear from her eye. “I feel like I’ve lost a son.”

  I swallowed hard and studied my parents. They were pale and drawn as if there had been a death in the family. Sadness haunted their gazes, and it wasn’t just for my sake. They’d loved Rory.

  They had taken the ungrateful wretch into their lives and into their hearts for the six years we’d gone out—three in uni and three after—and this was how he repaid them. Although people could say I hadn’t fought for him, since a short argument in the car hadn’t been much of a fight, I’d seen it in Rory’s eyes. He’d been determined, and it had been there for days.

  Rory had grown up with junkie parents. They’d died before he left primary school, and he’d ended up living with his grandmother until she died. He was self-reliant. When Rory made up his mind about something, there was no point trying to dissuade him. I was now a single girl, and he’d chosen to throw away the only family who ever cared for him.

  Well hell mend him. I was just sad he’d broken more than my heart in the process.

  Chapter 5

  Rory

  LACEY BLOODY KENDRICK. I stood there, watching the bright red door with the shiny brass knocker, long after she clicked it shut. She’d walked up an external staircase to the entrance of her flat which was framed by cute little stands with plant pots. The plants weren’t up to much, since it was March, yet I imagined, knowing Lacey, in the summer they would be a riot of colour. Like with other flats in the area, she also had one of those signs telling cold callers to get lost.

  I blew out a long breath and headed for my own flat in Partick, about a mile from where Lacey lived. My dick was still hard from the whiff of her perfume when I’d whispered in her ear. It was just as well my winter jacket was long enough to cover the evidence. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, making sure to avoid touching the offending appendage through my clothes. It needed no further encouragement; my brain was encouraging it enough. I kept thinking of the birthmark Lacey had in the crease between her thigh and her butt cheek. God, I had loved that. It was about three inches in diameter, and although Lacey hated it, I thought it was sexy as hell. I would bite, and suck, and kiss it whenever I had her on her front.

  And now my dick was even harder.

  A horn broke me out of my erotic reverie. A grey car jolted to a halt to my right, stopping a metre from hitting me. The driver, a young guy with dark hair and hipster glasses rolled down his window and tipped his head out. “Oi, watch where you’re going, dickhead.”

  I lifted my hand in apology.

  “Fucking drunks,” he said, pulling his head back in and rolling up his window again. I shook my head and hopped onto the pavement. One meeting with Lacey and I was a lovesick fool again. This was why I broke up with her in the first place.

  No.

  I stopped in my tracks and ran the fingers of one hand through my hair. When I broke up with her, I’d been an idiot. The grass had seemed greener where my single mates were, and friends were teasing me about wedding rings and babies. God, she’d look amazing with a baby bump—not any baby bump, my baby’s bump.

  I strode home and up the steps of the tenement to my second-floor flat, my fists clenched and my jaw locked tight. Lacey had been a virgin when I met her. Now other men had known her body, touched her, made her arch her
back as she came, made her cry out their names.

  I burst through the door of my flat, stomping inside and slamming the door behind me. Throwing off my coat, I hung it up by the door and turned to the sofa where my flatmate held himself above his girlfriend, dry humping her.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I growled. “You have a room.” Olivia giggled as she fought her way out from under David. “You’re not normally this sensitive about us making out in the living room, Rory. Who pissed in your cornflakes? Or are you narked Lacey didn’t invite you to stay for cornflakes?”

  “I’m not interested in Lacey. She’s the past.”

  David twisted to stare at me, arching an eyebrow as Olivia played with the beads at the end of his neat braids. “You sure about that, bro?”

  I frowned. “Did you ever sleep with her when she went through her slapper phase?”

  David sat back on his heels, raising his hands in the air as Olivia adjusted her top. “Woah, man, what are you suggesting? I’ve been with Olivia since before you guys broke up. I would never cheat on her.”

  Okay, David was a good guy; he wouldn’t cheat.

  “But you would have if not for Olivia?” I said.

  “No man. That would be against the bro code.”

  “What bro code?”

  “Don’t sleep with your best friend’s ex. You also don’t sleep with your bestie’s ex. She’d be breaking girl code,” David said

  Olivia nodded.

  I glowered at her then turned my attention back to David. “That’s the only reason? You’re not saying she’s not good enough for you?”

  “Nah man. She’s a cool dude.”

  “Dudes are guys.”

  David rolled his eyes. “I cannae win. Look, she’s off limits, but she’s a good-looking lass. She’s just not my type.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing. I’m fond of my balls, and you’d castrate me if I went near her.”

  I thought about that for a moment, then fixed him with a hard stare. “She’s mine. Got it?”