“How many bottles?” Lionel asked. At my confused frown, he said, “How many bottles of whisky did you put away?”
“In total? I have no idea . . . one a day?” I said with a shrug. “That’s not important, anyway. What’s wrong with Wiska?”
“She has the flu,” Casey sighed. “She looks terrible. It might be best to wait another week to see her, or you might get contaminated yourself.”
“Not fucking likely. You either tell me where she lives, or I’ll head over to Kink Harder and get her address from someone there. And where’s Decker and Andi? I was going to crash at their place, but there’s some girl working in Andi’s store, and she won’t let me upstairs.”
“Decker’s middle brother is having a love-life crisis. Apparently, his fiancée was found in bed with another woman, and he’s gone off the rails. They raced out to Vegas to drag his sorry butt home. And we’ll give you Wiska’s address, but you can’t just race over there guns blazing.”
“Damn straight I can . . . Drew was engaged?”
“Decker’s brother’s name is Drew? How anti-climactic. I imaged he would be a Dwight,” Casey mused.
“I imagined him as a Dermot,” confessed Lionel.
“Oh, I like Dermot. I could totally picture Decker’s brother being a Dermot.”
The two men grinned at each other. “I love you, you crazy bastard,” Lionel chuckled.
“And I love you like a back alley hooker loves crack,” declared Casey.
I looked from one man to the other as they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes. They’d clearly been drinking this morning.
“You need to woo Wiska,” Casey murmured, dragging me from the land of WTF.
“I already wooed and whisked. She’s mine!”
“Yes, but you bruised her heart . . . unintentionally,” he added before I could argue. “So you need to remind her you L-O-V-E her.”
I didn’t dispute him. I fucking adored her, L-O-V-E, shouty caps and all.
“She’s also been sick. She could use a pick me up.”
“So, what should I do? Buy her soup or something?” Both the men looked at me with raised brows. “Okay, that was lame.” I glanced around the room, and my eyes came to rest on a small pack of sticky notes sitting on the front counter. “I’ve got it,” I whispered. “I just need someone to get her out of her apartment for an hour.”
“She’s sick,” Lionel reminded me.
“It will take me a couple of days to put it together. Do you think she’d be up for a little sunshine by then? Maybe you can take her to Central Park for a bit while I fix up her apartment.”
Lionel looked to Casey, and he shrugged as he scooped up the terrier. “She will probably be dying to get out of her apartment by then,” he confessed. “Whatever you have up your sleeve, Bradley, it had better be fan-fucking-tastic.”
He moved to the back of the store, leaving me shifting nervously from one foot to the other while Lionel pretended not to watch me like a hawk ready to strike.
“You might need this, too.” Casey held a garment bag high off the ground, and my stomach churned with both anticipation and nerves.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“If you’re thinking it’s the sexy gladiator outfit you wore to our first Fancy Dress Friday . . . you’re wrong.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” I admitted with a raised brow.
“Oh, then you’re probably spot on. She was going to throw it away, and that would have been a travesty.” Casey confessed. “We had it dry cleaned and kept it here for her. It’s too beautiful a dress to throw away.”
I reached out and took it from him. “I never got to take it off her,” I whispered, regret over the way our night ended yet again flailing me, rendering me speechless.
“Maybe you can rectify that,” Lionel said softly.
“I hope so,” I breathed.
*
Two fucking days felt like a year! Casey and Lionel were kind enough to put me up in their apartment, but I would have been more comfortable in a shantytown. They were constantly pranking me, everything from whoopee cushions to blue dye in my shampoo. I’d scrubbed for an hour to make myself look less Smurf-like and more human. I was seeing Wiska today, and I was already nervous as hell. I didn’t need to look as blue as my balls felt.
I’d also been roped into helping out in the day spa. Washing the Great Dane, Marigold, would be one experience I wouldn’t soon forget. I’m not sure who came out of the cubicle cleaner—me or the dog. Perhaps I should try to spray off in there to get rid of the lingering blue from my skin. To top it off, I had a severe case of writer’s cramp, but it was more than worth it. I gathered the enormous pile of sticky notes into a box and kept the half dozen important ones separate.
“Hurry up, lackey, we need to leave. Lionel will be picking Wiska up in less than half an hour.”
“I’m ready,” I mumbled as I raced down the stairs and into the business section of Lionel and Casey’s home.
“Ohhhh, you’re not really blue anymore, more like a fading indigo.”
“And again, thank you,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
“You’re very welcome,” Casey replied with a grin.
It was a forty minute drive to Wiska’s apartment, and Casey called ahead to make sure Lionel had already left. They’d just reached Central Park which gave us an hour tops to do what needed to be done. Thankfully, Casey had a key to her apartment; it was an emergency key he had made Wiska give him when she came down sick with the flu. Thinking of her so sick, and on her own, made my heart throb with grief. I felt like I had let her down, even though I really hadn’t. The whole thing felt like my fault. Perhaps I should have tried harder to get in touch with her that first week. My Pappy pity party that followed sure as hell hadn’t helped the situation.
With a regretful sigh, I entered her home. I stopped and took in the surroundings. It was perfect, just as I imagined it would be. It was small, but homely. The colors were a combination of warm honey floors, a red arm chair, and red and grey pillows. The place was spotlessly tidy, except for a few errant dishes that crowded the dish drainer by the sink. Her fridge was covered in magnets that held pictures of her and her friends and family. Among the memories, I found pictures of Andi and Decker. They were in costume, so I assumed it was Fancy Dress Friday.
When I moved through the apartment to her bedroom, I looked over the small room and her comfy bed with longing. I could almost imagine Wiska laying there, her long blonde hair splayed over the pillows as she snuggled under the covers. I had come to realize she had a habit of sticking her feet under me, whether to keep warm or for comfort I had no idea. At first, it had irritated me, having her feet firmly wedged under my thighs or back. But three weeks without it had made me realize how much I missed it. I wanted her feet back under me . . . heck, I wanted her under me.
I moved forward and sat on the bed. It was actually quite firm, nothing like the cloudy oasis it looked. It brought me back to the first day she had been in London, when she bounced all over my bed like a sexy, albeit slightly crazy, angel. I’d wanted her then, even if my brain hadn’t been with the program yet.
“If you are thinking of jerking off in her bed, that will so not work.”
I frowned at Casey.
“Okay, okay, enough reminiscing and sulking. We need to put this plan into action before they get back.”
With a determined nod I handed him the box. “Get to sticking.”
CHAPTER 28
Wiska
“You’re looking much better,” Lionel said as we sat on the park bench. I guess, to be fair, I was feeling much better. I could almost breathe through my nose now. I still felt lethargic, which probably had more to do with being sick than my aching heart. For the past few days, I had overthought the situation with Bradley to the point where I didn’t want to think about it ever again. It was making my headache a million times worse than it should be. I was confused as hell. If B
radley hadn’t been in the wrong, if I had misheard him or had been mistaken, why hadn’t he tried to get in touch with me yet? I’d sent Andi a text message and asked her to pass my new number on to Bradley with a message that I wanted to talk. In return, I’d heard nothing . . . zilch . . . zippo . . . nada. I’d been so sick I wondered if I hallucinated the entire UK experience.
“How are your parents?”
Lionel’s arm was stretched behind me, and I rested my head into the crook of his neck. I missed having contact with people. I was a social person; I had many friends, and I was close to my parents, but the last few weeks I’d hidden myself away in my apartment in an effort to drown myself in misery, alone. Now that I was outside, the sun on my face helped make me feel a little better than I had in weeks. I could now admit I missed being around people. I especially missed physical contact. I missed hugs . . . I missed Bradley. I sighed, a long, drawn out, pitiful sound.
“Is my company so terrible?” Lionel asked with faux hurt in his voice.
“I’m a mess,” I admitted.
“You are, but we all need to make a mess every now and again. We can’t always be neat and tidy.”
“Have you heard from Bradley?” I finally asked, not daring to look at Lionel for fear I’d see his pity.
“As a matter of fact, I have,” he said without hesitation.
I sat bolt upright, which had the world around me spin violently.
“Whoa,” I murmured as I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Are you going to puke? There’s a bin I think we can reach in time,” Lionel said, only slightly freaked.
He’d seen me puke enough to last a lifetime. I’m pretty sure the threat of more had him crapping his tighty whities.
“No, just a little dizzy. When did you hear from him?” I opened my eyes, happy to see the merry-go-round had finally stopped.
“A few days ago.” He didn’t look at me while he spoke, which was my first clue that something was up.
“Really? What did he have to say?”
“He used the word ‘lads’,” Lionel said, shaking his head with a smile.
“And?” I ground out, my voice still voice.
“You’ll see,” was all Lionel replied with. Oh, and he added a small, patronizing pat to the top of my head like I was his pet pooch or something.
“It’s Casey’s birthday next month. I need something spectacular to surprise him with, any ideas?”
His abrupt subject change was frustrating. How was I supposed to think about birthday gifts when I had the mysterious ‘you’ll see’ looming over my head?
“What do you think about male genital piercings?”
And just like that, all thoughts of Lionel’s cryptic words were gone.
*
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you up?”
Lionel’s concern was sweet, but I was really feeling much better. I hadn’t been dizzy for over fifteen minutes now. Furthermore, my apartment was on the second floor. How much damage could I do between here and there?
“I’m fine. Stop being an old woman and go home to Casey. You have ball bling to talk about.”
Lionel didn’t drive away from the curb until I was safely inside the building. I leaned heavily against the wall as I waited for the elevator, the small excursion having zapped all my energy like a greedy, soul sucking bitch.
I once again leaned heavily as I rode the short ride to the second floor, then with a heavy sigh, I walked down the short corridor to my apartment door. When something caught my attention from the corner of my eye, I stopped, my head slowly turning to one side, then I gasped. There was a sticky note stuck to the hallway wall. Turning towards it, I took a step closer and read.
My heart leapt into action, and with a slow, shaky hand, I pulled the sticky note off the wall. When I turned and took another step, my heart and head dueling for rights to control my body, I noticed another note stuck to the wall.
Like the emotional, miserable wretch I had become lately, a tear slipped down my cheek as I pulled down the note. Then I noticed another, and another. The final note was tacked to my front door.
My hand shook uncontrollably as I unlocked my door and stepped into my home. There, I froze. My head was spinning again, and I had to hold the kitchen counter to keep my legs upright. The walls of the entire living area were covered in sticky notes. On wobbly legs, I stepped toward the closest wall.
More tears fell as I moved around the room, reading the little innocent notes that he had poured his heart into. After a short while, my eyes settled on a small, brown box perched on the loveseat. On the box sat a picture of us before our paint date, a selfie I had demanded we take before our first official date. I sat down and placed the box in my lap, pulling a sticky note off the top.
I opened the box to find a whole bunch of silver padlocks. I thumbed one of them, my mind a whirl of ‘what the hell’.
“You left too soon.”
I jumped at the sound of his voice. Oh, god, that voice, I had missed it so much, and hearing it brought instant relief to my abused heart.
“You didn’t hear everything. I was so mad at those men for the way they spoke about you, for devaluing something I value above everything else in this world.”
He stepped from my hallway and rubbed a hand through hair that didn’t look like it had been brushed in days. Over his forearm hung a garment bag, and I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what was in it.
“If you had stayed, you would have heard me give them a very impressive tongue lashing.” His small smile was adorable. “I’m so sorry, honey. I would have come sooner, but I kind of lost the plot. At first I was confused, then I was miserable, then I was angry. I drank . . .” He gave me a sheepish look. “A lot. Then Decker talked some sense into me, and I dragged my drunken ass into the shower and sobered up. I came as soon as I could.”
He stepped forward and handed me another padlock. I couldn’t take my eyes from him, though; he looked so tired and dejected. Nothing like the confident, somewhat arrogant, man I had met in London. This look didn’t suit him, and it made my heart ache for the misery we had apparently put ourselves through needlessly.
Eventually, he nodded to the cold, steel lock in my hand. “Read it.”
My gaze lowered to the lock.
No Running.
Bradley and Wiska
“No running, pussycat. You need to promise me you won’t run again. It almost destroyed me. You need to promise me that if I ever fuck up that you’ll give me a chance to explain myself and fix whatever I did wrong”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered.
“Perhaps, but I still feel like shit for what happened, and I hope you can forgive me.” He nodded to the box I had placed beside me on the couch. “That’s for every other fuck up we encounter. I have no doubt there will be a few. I’m not a perfect man, I’ll make mistakes, no doubt you’ll make a few, but they’ll inevitably be my fault.” He said it with a cheeky smile. “But each time we fuck up, we’ll fix it with a promise and a padlock.”
“That’s so romantic.”
“I have my moments.”
“What’s in the bag?” I wondered, my eyes dropping to the garment bag he’d hung over the back of the love seat.
“I think you know what’s in there. I never got to take it off you. I had big plans for this dress that night. Admittedly, it was only going to end up on the bedroom floor, but if you’ll forgive me, I can show you exactly what I had planned for the woman who wore it.”
“I do,” I quickly said.
Bradley’s head tilted to one side in confusion. “You do what, pussycat?”
My eyes fluttered shut at the sound of my nickname falling from his lips, and I took a nervous step forward.
“I forgive you,” I further explained. “There was really nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong, apart from maybe taking too long to come home. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run; I should have screamed, and maybe cursed a little, which wo
uld have given you a chance to defend yourself.”
“Really?” he asked, almost disbelieving. “You forgive me, just like that? I kinda thought I might have to grovel a bit first.”
I smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. My shoulders sagged forward with relief, and I no longer felt like I was drowning under the tears that spilled down my cheeks. “You can grovel later if you really want to, but you really didn’t do anything wrong. I overreacted, and as soon as I’m feeling a little better, you can cock-slap me all you like.”
Bradley took a small, hopeful step forward.
“Are you sure? Maybe the drugs are affecting your judgement . . . maybe I should come back when you’re feeling better.”
“I’m not on any drugs, and if you walk out that door, I will tear off your nuts, put them in a blender, and feed them to Mrs. Waters’ toy poodle two doors down.”
He smiled, a big cheeky-ass grin that made me melt into a puddle of sobbing mess. When my tears grew harder, he quickly enveloped me in a hug, holding me so close it should have hurt, but instead, I felt like the missing half of my soul had been found.
“I really would prefer to keep my testicles,” he whispered, his words accompanied with the familiar part American, part British lilt I had come to love.
“I love you,” I murmured.
“Pussycat,” he breathed, and as he did, it seemed as though all the tension in his body evaporated. “I love you, so damn much.”
We held onto each other for the longest time, before his words broke the comfortable silence we were cocooned in.
“That’s a lot of tissues,” he noted.
I glanced to the bag sitting on the floor by the front door, filled to the brim with snotty, white tissue paper.
“That’s only today’s supply.” I pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Can you still love me knowing I produced that much nasal waste?”
Bradley laughed and hugged me close again. “Pussycat, it takes more than a little snot to scare me off.”
Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) Page 26
