Commitment

by Golland, K. M.

  It had to stop. I had to stop him.

  “Dale,” I sighed. “Please stop. I can’t … I—”

  “You can’t what?”

  “I can’t let you touch me like this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m feeling things I shouldn’t feel right now.”

  “But you want to feel them, right?”

  His voice was low, breathy, and his hands kept inching down my chest.

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean … ” My head fell back and my eyes closed when his hand slid inside my blouse, his fingertips skating ever so delicately across the tops of my breasts. His touch was feather-light, barely a touch at all, yet it created a surge of need and desire to bounce from every extremity of my body. It also tripped the alarms of my conscience.

  “No, Dale, please, you have to stop.” I clasped my hand over his, securing it in place on my chest.

  Warmth tickled my neck as his lips sought my ear. “You want this, I can tell. Your body is screaming for what I can give it.”

  I opened my eyes and turned to face him. “So what if it is. That doesn’t make it right. I’m married. It’s wrong.”

  “Denying what you want is also wrong.”

  I removed his hand. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

  He swiftly spun my chair to face him, dropped to his knees, opened my legs, and wedged himself between them. “Why? Why isn’t it fair? It’s true, isn’t it? We’re the only ones who know what we want … can give us what we want.”

  His hands slid up the outsides of my thighs and settled on my arse. I tried to pry them off but he flexed his fingers and abruptly pulled me to him, my front slamming into his. “You want me. You want this.”

  The contact of his body against my clit nearly tipped me over the edge, and I had to draw upon every ounce of willpower I possessed to stop from grinding against his erection. It was there. Hard. Throbbing against the seam of his trousers and the seam of my self-control. Oh God! No. Shit. Donuts. Donuts. DonutsDonutsDonuts!

  “No, I don’t,” I blurted out, placing my hands on his chest and gently pushing him back.

  Defeat rose to the surface of his heavy lidded eyes, his forehead coming to rest upon mine. “I know you do, Tashy.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, tilting his chin up and leaning in to kiss his cheek ever so softly. I needed to give him something, to give myself something. I didn’t know why that was because, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have given him anything, and yet my natural instinct was to reassure him that he hadn’t been wrong, that I did want what he wanted; I just couldn’t allow myself to have it.

  But that was all I could grant; a soft, swift touch of my lips before pulling back. “Thank you, but you need to leave.”

  Dale held my stare for what seemed like several minutes then he got to his feet, leaving my office and leaving behind a bigger problem to be fixed.

  * * *

  For the rest of the day I’d buried my head in my work with the sole hope of erasing the memory of Dale between my legs, against my lips, to erase the touch I still felt of his hands on my hips.

  It hadn’t worked. He was everywhere.

  Turn the handle, Tash. I stared at my idle hand clasped around the doorknob of my front door. It wouldn’t move. I couldn’t move it.

  The familiar smell of dinner pervaded the wood panel before me, together with laughter from the boys playing. All of it churned my stomach and twisted my heart. Come on, you can do this.

  One slight rotation of the wrist didn’t seem all that difficult, but in that moment it was the hardest action I’d ever performed. It meant entering a world I had built over the years with my husband, a world I had once felt was the reason for my existence, but now I wasn’t sure if it was the only world for me. It meant facing doubt, anger and guilt head on.

  It meant facing my family.

  As I was about to do just that, the door opened for me, revealing Dean with a bunch of flowers and an I-fucked-up-look on his face.

  “I’m sorry, love. You’re not crazy. I am. I’m crazy stupid.” He held out the bouquet — a dozen red roses — and, ashamed to admit it, my first thought was that they weren’t purple. Stop it, you ungrateful bitch. He’s trying.

  Plastering a small smile on my face, I took them from him and buried my nose in a bud, inhaling the sweet aroma and allowing a moment for composure. “Thank you, they’re lovely,” I murmured, desperately trying to choke back the onslaught of tears that were burning my eyes.

  Dean took my other hand and pulled me inside, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t cry. You know I hate it when you cry. You’re so ugly.”

  I laughed. I wasn’t one to cry, but when I did, he always said that and it always worked.

  “Arsehole,” I mumbled into his chest, squeezing him tighter. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “So where’s my flowers then, huh?”

  “They died with your humour.”

  He pulled back and held me at an arm’s length. “Ouch!”

  I shrugged, still smiling a little, a lone tear descending my cheek.

  Before I could wipe it away, he did it for me. “Come on, dinner is nearly ready.”

  I nodded, sniffling. “Okay, but we need to talk.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His tone was somewhat dismissive.

  “Dean, I mean it. I’m fully aware that you’re the king of avoidance. I don’t want to avoid what’s happened.”

  “Neither do I, love. But first we eat, then we avoid the avoidance, okay?”

  I nodded again, but deep down I knew him all too well. If my plans weren’t to chain him to a chair or lock him in a room with me after dinner, then a bunch of flowers, a joke and a quick hug would be the end of it as far as he was concerned. Deep down, I knew the rug he held so often had just been suspended and the past few days swept under it.

  Deep down, I knew my confession wasn’t forthcoming.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dean

  Flowers always worked. Always. They were a man’s way of saying “sorry, even though I have no idea what I’m sorry for, and I don’t care because I love you and want you to talk to me again”. Flowers were man’s best friend … but really fucking expensive. And then they died and all that money went to waste. But they were worth it if things went back to normal. And they usually did.

  This time, though, it didn’t seem like Tash and I had gone back to normal. And maybe that was because I’d promised to avoid the avoidance when I’d actually done the opposite. Purposely. I understood that talking shit out was supposed to help, but it was always Tash talkin’ the shit and me listening. And when it was time for my version of events, the talking turned to Tash shoutin’, and my expensive-waste-of-money-flowers were forgotten — and then they really were a waste. So as far as I was concerned, avoidance, as a whole, made much more sense. Simple was always better.

  Say sorry.

  Give sorry flowers.

  Kiss and make up.

  Move on.

  It’s not that fucking hard.

  The moving on part was different this time around, as we’d moved forward in time but not forward with each other. Tash had been quiet all week and wasn’t sharing much of anything with me, and drawing her into a two-way conversation had been like trying to draw a kitten into a cage of hungry hyenas.

  It wasn’t happening.

  I’d tried telling her about my day and she’d listen but not — the proof being her general flippant responses such as “Things might change” or “You can only do what you can do” or “Hmm … okay”. Her disinterest was starting to piss me off but I didn’t know how to fix it.

  I couldn’t take back my fuck-up of talking to Mum about the menopause. Believe me, I would’ve if I could. Tash had been the angriest I’d seen her in a long time. She’d even gone so far as to kick me out of our bedroom and into the spare room, and I couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that, which was how I knew I’d majorly stuffed up.

  I still did
n’t understand how, though.

  All I’d wanted to do was help, and my mother was a great help. She helped with anything and everything; birthday gift ideas, dinner suggestions, medical questions … stain removal. So telling her about Tash’s problem seemed the best idea at the time.

  Obviously it wasn’t.

  Not wanting to dwell on it anymore, I swivelled my chair from facing the window and was just about to finalise my client’s BAS Statement to the ATO when my phone sounded an incoming text.

  Tash: I forgot to hang out Will’s football uniform.

  Can you please put it in the dryer when you get home?

  Dean: Sure. What time should we expect you tonight?

  Do you need dinner?

  Tash: What do you mean?

  I’m not coming home tonight.

  I have the Gala, remember?

  Dean: Yes, I do remember.

  I just didn’t realise you weren’t coming home at all.

  Tash: I told you I wasn’t at the beginning of the week.

  It’s easier if I stay here at the hotel.

  I’ll be back in time for Will’s footy game tomorrow.

  Kiss the boys for me xo

  Scrubbing my hand over my face, I couldn’t remember her saying anything about staying at the hotel. Not that it was unusual for her to do so after a big event. It was one of the perks of her job. Still, I’d planned on being a magician and giving her a massage once the boys had gone to bed, hoping a little magic might cure her of the I’m-still-pissed-at-my-stupid-husband shit she was suffering. And now, it appeared that I’d be watching Kink.com instead.

  “Fuck”, I sighed, buzzing Hillary on my speakerphone.

  Her chirpy voice responded instantly. “Yes, boss.”

  “Can I trouble you for a coffee. Double shot.”

  “Oh! Someone is stressed. Sure. Give me ten.”

  “Thanks, Hill. You’re an angel.”

  She let out a small giggle. “I’m actually not, you know.”

  I scoffed. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  Releasing the speaker button, I disconnected and smiled because I did find it hard to believe that my secretary wasn’t an angel. She’d been nothing but an angel for the past two years, and I could honestly say I’d be a mess without her. Hillary kept me organised; she kept me sane. She also kept my caffeine levels respectable, which was perfect timing when she knocked on my door several minutes later.

  “Come in,” I called out, looking up to see her enter my office, carrying a tray with two coffees and a paper bag.

  “Here you go. One long black. Extra long.” She winked as she separated the cup from the tray and handed it to me.

  I shook my head.

  “Annnnnnd,” she hummed, taking a seat in front of my desk while digging into the bag, “one double-choc muffin.”

  My eyes bugged. “Hill! I’m meant to be cutting back.”

  “Oh shush,” She broke it in half and placed it on top of the bag. “We can share. And anyway, I told you I wasn’t an angel.”

  I laughed and reached for the muffin. “Fair call.”

  A satisfied glint lit her grey eyes, which were partially obscured by thick black-rimmed glasses. “So, what’s up? Why the double shot?”

  “Mr Rodgers,” I mumbled.

  She popped a piece of muffin into her mouth. “Ahhh. Anything I can do?”

  “Na.” I shook my head but couldn’t help laughing. Bits of chocolate cake were stuck to her teeth. For a twenty-six year-old, she was beyond adorable, kinda like the kid sister I never had.

  “What?” she asked, paranoia prompting her hand to wipe her face.

  “Nothing, sweetie. So how’s things with the new boyfriend?”

  She shrugged and diverted her gaze.

  I narrowed mine. “What’s happened now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? That downcast look on your face isn’t ‘nothing’.”

  Sipping my coffee, I waited for her to feel comfortable enough to tell me. She always did after a minute or two.

  “It really is nothing.”

  I nodded and continued to wait.

  “Ugh!” she groaned. “He’s just never happy. That’s all.”

  “What do you mean he’s never happy?”

  “Nothing I do makes him happy; when I cook him a nice dinner, when I dress nicely and put makeup on … when I spend all my paycheck on lingerie and wear it for him. Nothing.” She picked at her last piece of muffin, sighing. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just being stupid. God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re my boss.”

  “Yes, Hill, but I’m a boss who listens and cares. I’m a boss that’s also a friend and wants his secretary to be happy.”

  Glancing at me briefly, she sucked in a deep breath and let it out before standing up and collecting her coffee cup. “Well, good, because I am happy.” She playfully snatched up the empty paper bag and produced the fakest of smiles. “Now get back to work. You’ve got lots to do.”

  I chuckled mildly and let the conversation end. “Who’s the boss here?”

  “You, of course.”

  “Hmm… ”

  This time, a genuine smile found her eyes before she spun on her heel and headed for the door, and although genuine, I could tell her smile harboured sadness that she was desperately trying to mask. And that worried me. It worried me because I had a gut feeling something else was going on.

  * * *

  For the rest of the day, I’d struggled to concentrate solely on my work, instead running through my mind ways I could keep tabs on Hillary without it being obvious that I was doing so. I felt a strange need to protect and watch over her, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it was her girl-next-door innocence, her self-consciousness and vulnerability, or maybe it was simply because she had no father or older brothers who could do it in lieu of me. Either way, her new boyfriend had my protective alarm bells blaring.

  I couldn’t understand why the meathead she was currently dating wasn’t happy. Hill was a gorgeous, sweet little thing with light brown hair, grey eyes, and freckles. She was smart, witty, funny, and she always thought two steps ahead. She liked sports, ate man food, and yet she wasn’t the size of a house. What’s not to love, you fussy fucker?

  Wanting to pound some sense into him but also knowing it wasn’t an option, I decided I’d make Hill feel better instead — by taking her out to lunch — so I pressed the speaker button on my phone and buzzed her desk.

  She didn’t answer.

  I waited a few more seconds before heading out of the office only to find her desk absent. Figuring she was probably in the loo, I went to turn back around when her mobile phone sounded an incoming text and vibrated over her mousepad.

  The name ‘Robbie’ appeared on the screen, followed by a preview of the message. I tried not to read it — it wasn’t my business — but curiosity was a cat murderer, and the last time I checked I was human, so I glanced at the words:

  Robbie: I’m sorry, babe.

  I didn’t mean it like that.

  Your arse is fine. I want to…

  Want to what? The rest of the message wasn’t displayed and it irked the hell out of me. And what the fuck did he say about her arse?

  “Oh! Sorry, Dean. I was just in the bathroom. Did you need something?” Hillary asked from behind me, as she approached her desk.

  I stood straight and turned to see her wiping her finger underneath her eye, as if to remove that black makeup shit that sometimes leaked when women cried.

  My eyelids narrowed, rage searing me. “What’s wrong?”

  She startled just slightly, and I felt awful for the angry tone of my voice. “N … nothing. I had something in my eye so had to go and wash it out.”

  Hillary was a horrible liar but continued anyway. “So what’s up? What can I do for you?” She took a seat and rolled her chair into place, poised at her keyboard and ready to type. “Fire away.”

  I spun her chair arou
nd to face me. “Lunch.”

  Her eyes bugged. “Lunch?”

  I nodded. “Yes. What do you fancy?”

  “Er … um … I don’t know. I’m not really hungry.”

  “Bullshit. You like Schnitz, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then Schnitz it is. Come on, we’re going now.”

  I walked to the reception door, holding it open and glancing back toward her, expectantly. She quickly gathered her phone and paused to read the screen, her shoulders slumping, her eyes blinking rapidly.

  I wanted to know what the entire message said and what the hell was going on. I wanted kill the little creep.

  “You coming?” I called out.

  She glanced at me and managed a small smile before standing up and shoving her phone in her pocket. “Yeah yeah, I’m coming. Gee, didn’t you eat breakfast?”

  “Yep.” I gave my stomach a good manly pat. “Sure did.”

  Hillary laughed and it was music to my ears. Now that’s better. That’s what I want to see and hear.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tash

  “Yesssssssss,” Alexis squealed, clapping like seal with Tourette’s. “Yes, yes, yes. You have to wear that one.”

  Brayden mimicked her action and clapped his toys together, smiling proudly at his mum. She cooed, “Who’s a clever boy?”

  He dropped the toys and reached for her.

  Alexis scooped him in her arms and rolled onto her back, suspending him in the air above her like an aeroplane.

  “I don’t know, hon,” I whined, turning around to assess my arse in the mirror. “I’m happy just to wear my own dress.”