A Brit Player (Castle Calder Book 4)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Yeah, I’ll stop by. You’re still in the same spot, right?”

  “Yep, exactly the same desk.” I let out a tinny laugh. “Same mess, too.”

  Tom’s desk was always pristine. Mine was – and is – a disaster. I’m lucky that I can find a pencil most days. He always used to tease me about it, but he doesn’t bite this time.

  “Great. I’ll see you soon.”

  He clicks off before I can say goodbye and I keep the receiver glued to my ear for a good ten seconds before hanging up with a clatter. Then I pick it up again and dial Gemma’s three-digit extension. When she answers, I say, “Meet me in the ladies’ room. Please.”

  Then I hang up, grab my bag, and sprint across the floor to the loo.

  I’m scrabbling through my make-up bag when Gemma comes in, banging the door softly against the wall. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Tom’s in town and he’s on his way into the office.” I find an eyeliner pencil and take off the plastic top. It’s a little dull but it will do. My undereye circles look like they were drawn on in Sharpie, but at least I can do some damage control.

  “Oh.” Gemma nods and pouts her lips. “And we want to show him what he’s missing?”

  “No. We want to look fine without him.” I run the pencil on the edge of my lower lid.

  “You realize you look great, right?”

  “I look exhausted and haggard, but you’re kind to lie.” I drop my eyeliner and pick up an eyeshadow brush.

  “What about ‘we worked up an appetite last night’ Max?” Gemma raises her eyebrows at me in the mirror.

  Thank God that Twitter shitstorm died down before we had to go public, although not before it caused an emotional tsunami for me. But I’m not thinking about that now and I shake my head at Gemma as I pick up the eyeshadow palette. “Unrelated.”

  “So, Max would have no opinion about the fact that you’re getting glammed up for your ex?”

  “I’m not going to ask him.” I let out a huff of frustration and whirl around on my heel. “And I’m not getting glammed up for my ex. I want to look decent.”

  “Okay.” Gemma tugs at my forearm. “Come on, then. Let me work my magic.”

  It probably says something about me that my two closest friends take over my make-up and I let them. Or maybe all it says is that I appreciate an expert when I find one. Gemma took drama at A-levels, although she found her true calling backstage doing make-up. She said she aspired to work in the West End, but an internship cured her of that. Regardless, her so-called magic is exactly that. When she’s done five minutes later, I look better than I have all week. Possibly all month.

  “You’re an angel,” I say as I study my subtle smoky eye in the mirror.

  “I prefer goddess, actually. That’s more badass and I think I’d rock a weapon.” Gemma laughs. “Every good goddess has a weapon, right?”

  “Obviously.” I give her a wry grin. “Tom knows I don’t normally look this good.”

  “Hey, for all he knows, now you do.” Gemma finishes putting my make-up in its bag and drops it back in my purse. She squeezes my shoulder and says, “Now go out there and look like you’re working so hard you completely forgot he’s coming.”

  That’s easier said than done. My attention is so scattered I actually start to clean my desk. I’m scowling at a pile of papers when I hear a light knocking sound from the cubicle across from me. My eyes fly up and I feel like I’ve been hit by the number 53 bus during rush hour.

  Tom’s standing there dressed in a navy-blue suit with an open-collared white shirt underneath. His hair is the same close crop he’s always had, and his glasses are no different. But his face looks leaner and more angular. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “Hey. How are you?” Tom’s voice is as deep and gravelly as I remember.

  “Good. How are you? It’s great to see you. What brings you to London?” My voice is thin and I sound a bit manic. I’m also crushing the papers in my hand and I slowly drop them in the bin, wiping my clammy palms on my skirt.

  “I’m working with the British Museum on a jointly sponsored traveling exhibit.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. What’s the exhibit?”

  “It’s a collection of Jordanian artifacts. They were donated to the British Museum by Queen Noor of Jordan, and one of her conditions was a reciprocal arrangement with the Met. They’ll end up back in Jordan eventually, but people don’t realize what a rich history the country has, so education is part of her mission.”

  “Wow.” I nod. “That’s really cool. Do you like the job or does it sound better than it is?”

  “I like it.” Tom grins. He always has had the nicest smile. “What about you? How’s WS treating you?”

  “It’s good. I’m doing a lot of refurbishment work on listed buildings, which is interesting. Bradley’s way nicer with Scarlett in his life, so that’s good, too.”

  Tom used to sit across from Scarlett, so he had a front-row seat to her and Bradley’s budding romance. Of course, we all had a front-row seat to Bradley’s moodiness when Scarlett broke things off because she didn’t want to be his bit on the side. That was short-lived, thank God, because Scarlett took a job at a different company, which meant they could finally admit how loved up they both really were.

  “They seem happy,” says Tom. “I saw Brad in New York last month.”

  Tom is the only person I know who calls Bradley ‘Brad.’ Although I guess Tom is also the only person I know who’s genuinely friends with him.

  “They’re doing great. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an engagement soon.”

  Shit. As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. Tom and I broke up when he asked me to marry him and neither one of us need to be reminded of that.

  “Same.” Tom gives a sharp nod. “Well, maybe I’ll see you at the wedding. It was good to see you again, Tara.”

  That’s it?

  But, but, but… I open my mouth and close it once before managing to say, “Yeah, it was great to see you again, too.”

  “Take care.” Tom raps his knuckles twice on the desk and then walks past me without looking back.

  I stare after him for what feels like a long time. He’s long gone by the time I sink down into my desk chair. I glance at my computer screen and there’s a message from Gemma in my chat window: So??? How was it???

  I don’t feel like I got slammed in the chest by a bus anymore, but that’s a pretty low bar.

  I let my fingers rest on my keyboard and take three deep breaths, then I type: Believe it or not, it was a non-event.

  Gemma: Is that good? How do you feel?

  Me: Honestly…

  I hesitate because it takes me a few seconds to make sure the emotion I think I’m feeling is real.

  Then I type: Relieved AF.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The two-and-a-half-hour train journey from London to Norcastle was not enough to prepare me for the reality of being in Max’s home. If I can call it that. It’s more like an estate – complete with a heated pool and a cinema room. And there are still several rooms I haven’t seen.

  “Are you sure you don’t live with ten other people here? Because I don’t think you’d know.” My head keeps swiveling to take it all in.

  “It’s an investment,” Max says, although he has the grace to look sheepish. “My mum did a lot of the decorating, for better or for worse.”

  “It’s nice. It kind of reminds me of Castle Calder. But, you know, without the paying guests.”

  Max wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Who knows? If the football thing doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll open a bed and breakfast.”

  “I think if the football thing wasn’t going to work out, you’d know by now.” I roll my eyes and sink into Max’s side. “I assume you have about twenty loos in this place. Do you think I could use one?”

  “Sure. Right there.” Max points to a closed door on my right. “Why don’t you meet me in the kitchen after?
I’ve made tapas.”

  “Tapas?” I raise my eyebrows. “That sounds impressive.”

  “Hey, my time in Spain was good for something.” Max shoots me a grin and I make myself smile back.

  It’s only once I’m safely in the exceptionally large loo – with the door locked – that I give my head a firm shake. Spain is not a dirty word. But it is a reminder of what I’m here for.

  I’ve thought about how – if – I can tell Max about everything that happened after he left and I can’t find the words. I also can’t find the courage because telling him changes nothing. And everything. There is no in between.

  This will be my last weekend with Max. The end. And if that makes me feel a little wistful, well…all the more reason.

  I wash my hands and run my wet fingers through my hair to get out some of the inevitable tangles before heading out to find the kitchen. I take my time and look around and, wow, his mum has good taste, although I wonder how much veto power Max had. From colorful paintings on the walls, which I’d bet are originals, to wide plank oak floors covered by plush area rugs, his home is impressive. But more than that, it’s inviting. I can imagine happily sinking into that L-shaped sofa for the duration of a rainy Saturday.

  If I were imagining that kind of thing and I definitely am not.

  By the time I’ve found the kitchen, I’ve only taken one wrong turn that led me to a well-equipped home gym. Funnily enough, I couldn’t imagine myself in there, although it’s easy to picture Max sweating and working out.

  When I come through the door of the kitchen, Max holds out a glass of red wine to me and says, “Rioja, in keeping with the theme.”

  “I’m impressed.” I smile and take a small sip, looking around the kitchen as I do. There’s a big American refrigerator in the corner and a stainless-steel dishwasher built in, but everything else is all white cabinets and shiny black countertops. On the counter are a few brightly colored plates with carefully arranged food on them, and I’m pretty sure I smell chorizo cooking.

  “I was hoping you would be.” Max grins back at me.

  “Is that your aim? To impress me?” I raise an eyebrow over the rim of my glass.

  “No, but it doesn’t hurt.” Max laughs and winds an arm around my waist. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s been a long week of waiting.”

  “Same.” I let myself sigh a little with the truth of it before pasting on a smile and nodding at the counter. “Are we going to look at that food or are you going to let me eat some? Because the sandwiches on the train were grim and I’m starving.”

  “We don’t want you getting hangry, do we?” Max laughs and moves towards the counter and hands me a plate.

  For the next twenty minutes we nibble and chat, eventually settling in at the stools by the counter. My knees are crossed between Max’s legs as he faces me, and it all feels so normal and comfortable that I let myself imagine this as my life. It’s almost too easy and I have to give my head a sharp shake to dislodge the fantasy.

  “You have fleas or something, T?” Max laughs and scoops a piece of bread into a warm, gooey, cheesy chorizo dip he made and holds it out for me to take a bite.

  I take the bread because that dip is seriously delicious and then shake my head, more softly this time. “No fleas. Just trying to reconcile this with my real life.”

  “What’s your normal Friday night like?”

  “Well, I usually hit up the pub with friends from work. Friday pub drinks are pretty much mandatory. Then I’ll either stay out with the girls or go home and have junk food for dinner and watch a movie. It depends on how brutal the work week has been.”

  “No dates in there?” Max’s tone is casual, but his expression is a little too intent.

  “Here and there, but you know how it is.” I give an exaggerated shrug. “Most of the time I can’t be bothered.”

  “I do know how that is.” Max nods. “I’m flattered then to have gotten two Friday nights out of you.”

  “You should be.” I bite back a grin. “I’m behind on Barry as we speak.”

  “Is that what you’re watching?” Max’s eyes light up. “Have you watched the one where he auditions for the big role yet?”

  “Oh my God. You’re watching it, too?” I clap like I’m six and I’ve discovered his favorite superhero is Batman, too. “It’s so random, but I can’t stop watching it. Tariq told me about it. I’m totally hooked.”

  “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

  “My twisted sense of humor?” I smile.

  “Among other things you can twist, yes.” Max leans over and kisses me – the first since his kiss on the cheek when I arrived – and although it starts off with both of us laughing, it quickly morphs into more. His hands thread through my hair, my hands rake over his back, and we’re both panting within minutes.

  My skirt has ridden up on my thighs and Max pushes it up around my waist as he lifts me onto his lap. His arms brace around my back and I wind mine around his neck. “Well, hello there.” His voice is a low growl.

  I feel his erection and I can’t help grinding against it a little as I reply, “Hello there to you, too.”

  He groans and says, “Do that again and I’m going to have to undress you right here.”

  I meet his eyes and move my pelvis again, slower this time, but harder. Even through four layers of fabric, he feels amazing.

  “Is that an invitation, T?” Max’s eyes darken with desire.

  I reach down and undo the button on his jeans, tugging at the zipper before looking at him and saying, “Does that answer your question?”

  The next minute my feet are on the floor and Max is shoving down his jeans and underwear. He steps out of them and then reaches for me, yanking my thong down under my skirt, groaning as he runs a finger over my wet center. Then he stops and his voice is rough as he says, “My condoms are in the bedroom.”

  I’m about to tell him to lead the way when he lifts me up by the waist and sits me on the counter. Sitting on the counter makes me almost the same height as Max so I take full advantage, running my fingers through his hair and pressing my chest to his.

  Then he starts kissing down my neck, undoing the buttons on my blouse as he goes. He sucks my nipples through the lace of my bra and I buck off the counter so hard, Max has to hold me in place. Then he pushes me back until I’m resting on my elbows and moves his mouth between my legs, kissing one thigh and then the other.

  His one hand stays splayed on my abdomen while a finger from the other teases my entrance. I moan and I swear I could orgasm from those tiny kisses he’s raining on my thighs. Then he moves his mouth higher and gives a satisfied moan as he lavishes my clit with his tongue.

  I lose track of everything except the feel of Max’s mouth on me and my fingers in his hair. Just when I feel like I might fly apart into million tiny pieces if I don’t get some release, he pushes me over the edge and I’m flying and drowning at the same time. I don’t realize I’m crying until Max is standing over me, wiping my tears away with his thumbs.

  “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

  “That was intense.” I swipe at my eyes and push myself up to a seated position. I intentionally look down to Max’s erection, still in display. “But I could definitely be persuaded to go another round.”

  “I’m banking on it. I just figured you deserved a head start.” Max grins and wraps an arm around my waist.

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “Why not?” He pulls me towards him and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist.

  For a second, I think how easy it would be to lower myself down and let him sink into me. Because amazing orgasms aside, I’m craving that closeness. I let myself slip a tiny bit down Max’s torso and then tighten my legs around his waist before saying, “Where did you say your condoms are again?”

  I don’t have to ask twice.

  Max carries me upstairs and sets me down on the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. He fumbles in a drawer in the bedside table
and pulls out a box of condoms and it hits me. This is our last weekend together and the realization feels almost unbearable. If Max is tender and loving right now, I’m pretty sure I’ll shatter.

  I grip his wrist before he rolls the condom on and shake my head. “I have a better idea.”

  “Oh?” Max raises an eyebrow.

  “Uh huh. Come here.” I pull Max’s hand and he falls on the bed next to me. I kiss him hard on the mouth, but as his hands tangle in my hair, I pull away.

  My lips move down his body, worshipping his skin with my mouth until I move between his legs and grip his cock. For a moment before I bend my head, I glance up at Max’s face. His lips are parted, and his eyes are dark with desire, trained on me. I lower my head and wrap my lips around Max’s cock. He groans as I move my mouth up and down and both of our breathing accelerates.

  “You know I can’t last long like this, T,” Max gasps.

  I remember.

  I move faster and my hand picks up when my mouth can’t keep up. Max starts thrusting into my mouth and I feel him tense, right before he lets go with a long moan. I keep my lips wrapped around him and look back up at him. His head is thrown back, mouth open, and cheeks flushed. One hand grips the duvet and the other is clenched in mine on his thigh. He’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it.

  I wish I had a photographic memory because this is how I want to remember him.

  Not wrecked by my words, but undone by my mouth.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Things I’ve learned about Max by Sunday afternoon:

  He starts every day with a run, during which I blessedly stay in bed. Joining him for his post-run shower is an added benefit.

  He makes his bed every day.

  He’s ticklish behind his knees.

  The last one was an accidental but hilarious discovery, and I’m currently trying to reach Max’s weak spot to elicit a giggle from him as much for its entertainment value as its level of distraction. My train is in half an hour and to say I don’t want to go is a massive understatement.