by Dee Palmer
“I thought we could go out for a quick drink before dinner?” I give him a genuine, shy smile as I feel a surge of nervousness start to grip my tummy.
“Have I missed an anniversary or something?” He frowns, taking in the fact my face has little make-up and my coat isn’t all I’m wearing.
“No, I thought we could try something a little different.” I twist around so I’m now facing him, and with a boldness that surprises both me and him, I drag my leg up his thigh. The gap in the front of my coat widens and falls back, exposing my long leg, stocking, and suspender. I press the spike of my heel against his butt, impressed I can, one, get my leg up that high and, two, maintain my balance.
“You want to go out like that?” His derisive tone is as harsh as a slap in the face, but his mocking laugh is worse.
“Well, For a start, I’d quite like you to maybe not laugh at the suggestion.” I slip my leg back down. I don’t want to sound hurt or angry, or this evening will be a non-starter.
On the other hand, right now, I can’t ignore the real pain from the slice of rejection that cut deep with his response.
“I’m not laughing. I’m a little surprised, is all. This isn’t like you, RP—”
“Could you maybe not call me RP tonight?” I watch as more bemusement twists his features.
“Why? You know I don’t mean anything by it. It’s a nickname.” I can see he’s struggling to understand, but I don’t want to go into details. I want a bit of fun and a lot of intimacy.
“I know. Just maybe not tonight.” I try and keep my plea lighthearted but earnest, because it really is a shitty nickname.
“Fine. You’re acting really weird, Finn. Are you on your period?”
“Oh, my God!” I hold my breath and count silently to ten, thanking all that’s holy I don’t have a knife at hand.
“Sorry. Clearly not, although…” His accusation hangs in the air like a noose swinging silently in the gallows, along with the remainder of my surprise evening.
“Jesus, Dave.” My voice catches with an equal mix of fury and emotion.
“What? What have I done?” His tone has switched from confused to inflammatory with a tinge of aggression. “I walk in and, bam, you’re acting all weird, wanting to have sex and go outside with me, while looking like a stripper.”
“I’m weird for wanting sex?” I take a step back and cross my arms tight around my waist, covering as much of myself as I can. I still feel more than naked, utterly vulnerable.
“That’s not what I said.” He lets out a heavy sigh, his hands deep in his pockets, and he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Look, can we start this again, and maybe you can talk to me and tell me what the hell’s going on?” His tone softens, and I think that’s worse. I get an intense prickle at the bridge of my nose, and I have to blink to stop the tears from welling. I won’t fucking cry. I shake myself and straighten, pulling myself together.
“Fine, but I’m going to need a drink.” I grab my empty glass and the bottle of white wine from the cooler.
“Really, RP? You know that’s like a meal in itself. Do you have any idea of how many cal—” He wisely snaps his big, fat mouth shut as I spin to face him with thunder, and possibly murder in my eyes.
“If you say calories, I swear to God, Dave, this bottle is going where the sun don’t shine, and it’s not going in narrow end first.” I wave my weapon of choice at his startled face. The only words playing in my head are Hope telling me I fell in love with a bit of a dick. I pour a large glass of wine, making a childish point to fill it to the top, slurping from the lip of the glass before I can lift it. I watch Dave intently as he nervously draws small sips from his bottled water.
“Do you love me, Dave?” I hold his gaze as his eyes widen with worry.
“Is this a trick question?”
“It really isn’t.” I let out a sigh, feeling the warmth of the alcohol hit my bloodstream, calming me some. This conversation feels a little weightier than I was anticipating. I wasn’t expecting much conversation at all.
“Then yes, of course I love you. You’re my best friend, my little RP. Well, not so little.”
“Really, Dave? Is that seriously the problem here? That I’ve gained some weight?” I take another gulp.
“I was joking, and I never said that.” He has a look of mock hurt blazing across his face that I could make such an accusation.
“We hardly ever have sex, so there has to be some reason.”
“I love you, Finn. I’m not going to lie and say you are at your most beautiful now, because I personally think you’ll look more gorgeous when you lose a little weight.” He tips his head like that will soften the shallow, passive-aggressive insult.
“Just like I think you are most handsome when you’re not so bumpy with all those gross muscles.” I counter in all seriousness.
“No, but joking aside, Finn…” He barely gives my insult any recognition, and he certainly thinks it was a joke. “…you’re a very beautiful woman, and I’m a lucky guy.” He steps forward and sweeps his arms around me, pulling me close and holding me tight. This is all I wanted, to be held…well, held and some cock. I’ll take being embraced over indifference.
“And the sex?” I push, because, actually, I would really like some cock. I think I’ve healed over.
“I guess I’ve just had a lot on at work, and I know this might come as a shock, but guys don’t think about sex every five minutes.” He laughs out loud and playfully taps me on the nose. I’m not entirely convinced, but he holds my gaze, and I do see the love in his dark hazel eyes. It’s always been him, even if he can be a bit of a dick.
“So, we’re good?” I ask and grind a little against his erection, which is most definitely just as keen as I am.
“We’re more than good, Finn. You are my perfect woman, and on Saturday, I’m going to prove it.”
“Saturday?” I ask, hoping for more, then not. I’m all tingly with the anticipation, and I kind of like the feeling.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not saying another thing.” He kisses the tip of my nose, then my cheek. His lips brush mine, and as soon as I open my mouth to take a little more, he withdraws everything. His heat and his body. I sag from the loss, but he takes my hand. ”Come here.” He pulls me over to the kitchen island and slides his hands over my shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles and massaging with just the right amount of pressure to make me moan. What am I saying? I’m so horny a gust of wind would make me moan.
“I’m starving,” he declares, and all ministrations cease. I tip my head up to meet his gaze. He has a relaxed smile, and I sigh, a little defeated but only a slight amount. I still have Saturday.
“So, do you want your dinner now?” My hope that he wants to give me more flatlines with his answer.
“Yes! Then you can give me a blowjob, how about that?” Talk about throwing the dog a bone.
“AND I TAKE IT YOU bit his dick off, and we’re off to visit him in hospital so your best friend can laugh her arse off.” Hope has her arm threaded through mine as we head back to the salon where I work as an artistic director, second to the owner, Carlos. I’m a hairdresser. I can polish it up however I like, but I’m a stylist, a fucking good one at the best damn Salon in Chelsea, London—most probably the whole of the UK if you believe Carlos’s hype.
“I shouldn’t have told you. It always sounds worse when I say it out loud. I like giving blowjobs. I mean I got off so, it was a win for me too.” I sound feeble even to my own ears. When did I become so pathetic?
“But that’s not what you were hoping for, right? For the evening, I mean. So, it wasn’t a win, by any stretch. Where the fuck is your backbone?” She’s keeping her tone remarkably soft, considering the furious glare sparkling in her green eyes.
“It will be a win on Saturday,” I mumble.
“You’d say yes? After that? I mean, after everything you’ve told me, you’d still say yes?” She stops in her tracks and faces me, utter astonishment shini
ng from her pale complexion.
“I love him, Hope, and he loves me. No relationship is smooth sailing. Everyone’s shit stinks. At the end of the day, though, he picked me.” I can’t hide the catch in my voice. “I’ve never been picked for anything. Parents, foster care, even my grandmother didn’t really pick me. I was dumped there. I know marriage isn’t the be-all end-all, but it means someone wants to commit their life to me forever. Dave wants me.”
‘“Even if one in two marriages end in divorce.” She throws out a random statistic which happens to suit her argument.
“Yeah, even then, because for now and for each day in our one-day-at-a-time relationship, he has chosen me.” I nod in affirmation with a little ‘so-there’ thrown in.
“You get the partner you deserve, Finn, and right now, he’s being a dick, and you’re being a doormat.”
“Hope!” My eyes water instantly, because she’s never voiced her view with such a mean spirit before, and she looks mortified right away.
“I’m sorry, Finn! God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” I bite back, and my voice cracks.
“Yes, I did. But you know I only want you happy.” She cups my face, her hands like silk from all the massages, and her eyes are as wet as mine. She holds my gaze as silent tears trickle down my face. She gives a tight nod. “All right, angel. But just so you know, if I swung your way, you would’ve been well and truly chosen a long fucking time ago.” She pushes out a light laugh, which is just enough to ease the tension.
“And I would’ve chosen you, but even though you have the most amazing green eyes I’ve ever seen, I’m still more of a penis girl.” I push the front door to the salon as she laughs with me. She’s just as much my world as I am hers, and I know she has my best interests at heart. It doesn’t mean she’s right, but it does mean she’ll always have my back.
“Preaching to the choir, sister. Speaking of penises, or is it penii? Carlos!” Hope calls out to my boss. The salon is packed, but Carlos is lounging in the luxurious waiting area, spread-out like a glorious God on the cloud-like, puffy, white sofas. His dark skin glows and thick, jet-black hair, hangs strategically for maximum impact across his handsome face. His sultry eyes, the shade of midnight, are just as bewitching. “Damn, sometimes I hate my one-night-stand rule.” Hope flashes me a wickedly carnal smile, and I suddenly fear for the safety of my boss. This is a match made in hell.
“Hope, you look quite edible.” Carlos sits up, and Hope leans down to kiss his cheek in greeting.
“Don’t I, though.”
I pull her back and step between them. It’s like rutting season; they’re both as bad as the other, and I know I’m grumpy about it because I’m hopelessly horny.
“Hope, when are you going to persuade Finn here to let me loose on those platinum locks? You know it’s a crime to work in London’s most prestigious salon and have glorious but utterly boring hair. She’s never had so much as a tint washed through it.” He drags his long fingers along my scalp and loosens the tie holding the mass of curls at bay. His fingers shake and pull the strands free. I think I might whimper. Hope certainly snickers.
“You’re on a fat chance there, Carlos,” Hope replies, and I seem to have entered a dream-state. “Dave likes the natural look: no color, no cuts, no tatts. Completely natural. You’d have more luck trimming her bush than cutting any length off her hair.” She snickers at her comment.
“Hope!” I choke out a cough and feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. She may have bumped uglies with Carlos and now obviously thinks she has no need to engage her brain-to-mouth filter, but he’s still my boss.
“What? I’m just saying…” She waves off my concern with a shrug. “You haven’t changed your appearance since you were sixteen, and he nearly threw a shitfit when we both got our noses and navels pierced. He said I was a bad influence.” She drops her tone to mimic Dave’s reprimand, but ends up laughing.
“You are a bad influence.” I join in, because she’s too infectious not to.
“I like her essence.” Carlos’s rough grumble and thick accent make Hope sigh loudly.
“Influence,” I correct.
“Oh I heard what you said.” His gaze cuts to Hope like she’s the only person on the planet; it makes the hairs on my neck stand at attention. I miss that. I’m seriously suffering from sensory deprivation if I can get this turned on by my boss’s husky voice and a few choice words in the middle of my work shift.
“At least let Carlos do something special for Saturday?” Hope goads after some seriously heated seconds of eye fucking, then winks conspiratorially at my boss.
“Oh, yes, the big day. Please, angel, I will make you utterly irresistible. Not that you aren’t already, but I will make the icing. Yes?” He turns his attention to me, and I notice Hope fans herself while his gaze is diverted.
“Fine! But you’re not cutting the length, because Dave likes it long.” I hold up my index finger to indicate that is my number one rule.
“Who doesn’t?” Hope gushes under her breath, and I cringe because, for the love of God, she’s now blatantly staring at my boss’s pants. Ground, swallow me now.
“So Saturday, you’re coming, Carlos?” I ask quickly to keep his eyes on me and not on my wayward friend.
“Of course.” His smile is bright, wide with perfectly straight, dazzling teeth. Killer smile.
“Good. Dave’s friends and family always makes me conscious of the fact my side of the room looks like someone forgot to mail the invites.” I half joke.
“It won’t look like that this time. He has invited the whole salon, and what we may lack in number we make up for with style and glamour.” Carlos wiggles his thick, dark brows wickedly.
“And interest. Dave’s mates are narcissistic boring fuckwits. Again, I’m not judging, I’m stating a fact.” Hope holds up her hands and tightens her lips as if she has finally finished with the unsavory comments. Unlikely.
“Oh God!” I slap my hand against my head with a sense of doom and exasperation.
“Ah, don’t be like that, Finn.” She jumps onto my part of the sofa and throws both her arms around me, squeezing until I can’t breathe. “It’s going to be fun with a big fat capital F.”
Present day
“NAME?” THE LADY AT THE check-in desk fails to hide her irritation, but judging by the exaggerated roll of her tarantula-lashed eyes, she really isn’t trying very hard. I may be holding up the queue, but this trolley is possessed by Satan, won’t go where I push it, and does in fact weigh about the same as my car. Oh, if she huffs one more time, I swear. I abandon the trolley, jutting across the path between the desks and the roped-off hordes of impatient travellers.
“Sanderson.” I pinch out a tight smile, and even then, I’m being generous.
“Have you checked in already?”
“That’s why I’m here at the check-in desk.” I smile for real this time because I get to use my own dramatic eye roll. “No, I haven’t, but I’m all good to go now.”
“Would you wait a moment? There seems to be a problem.” Her eyes dart from me to her screen and then back to me. Her brows furrow with confusion and now her nervous smile, although genuine, makes my anxiety reach new heights. I know I have the right day. I double-checked the booking and there’s no fucking way I’m hauling all my stuff back to Hope’s. If it isn’t the right day, I’ll just stay here. After all it’s not like I don’t have my whole life in those cases.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Sanderson, you are in the wrong queue.” Her smile now dazzles it’s so wide and white.
“Um—”
“Please follow me.” She is all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and I take a step back at this miraculous transformation. “The porter will bring your bags.”
“Porter?” I numbly follow her at the gentle tug on my sleeve, watching with my mouth agape as a burly porter pushes my trolley and follows us to the first class check-in desk.
I snort out an unlady
like sound, cupping my mouth to contain the sound, and laugh. I look around for the prankster; this has Hope written all over it. Not that she has the money, but she’d think nothing of causing a little chaos.
The lady who brought me over, hands me to an elegant, immaculately groomed man with a deep tan and bright blue eyes.
“I’m so sorry for the confusion. Marc will take very good care of you.” She smiles again, and I’m sure her cheeks must be aching with the stretch of her lips.
“Not a problem.” My brain hasn’t engaged, and I’m still waiting for the big reveal.
“Is that all of your luggage, Ms. Sanderson?” Marc drags my attention away from nervously scouring the area for where Hope might be hiding.
“Um, yes, but we can stop this now. I get the joke. Really very clever, but—”
“I’m sorry? What joke?” Marc asks with genuine confusion.
“The flying first class joke.” I drop my hip and tilt my head in lieu of another eye roll.
“You don’t want to fly first class?”
“No.”
