by Tillie Cole
He nodded and began to rub his lips together. He looked up guiltily. “What about with men?”
Well that’s a bit personal.
“Erm… well, my ex-boyfriend was a huge arsehole who cheated on me in a spectacular fashion. I had been with him for a few years and no-one serious before that. I figured if he could do that to me then he wasn’t worth it.”
I looked down to the pillow avoiding his eyes. “That’s the reason why Tink is protective of me; he was my rock during that fallout. My God, he moved continents for me,” I let out a single laugh.
Tudor nodded silently. “He seems to like Tate,” he said, moving the conversation to slightly safer territory.
“Yeah. A lot I think. I’ve never seen him react to anyone like this before. I’m happy for them. Who knows? It could be love at first sight. Like Romeo and, well, Romeo!” I teased.
Tudor grinned at my joke. “I think Tate is smitten too; he doesn’t really talk much about what’s going on in his head but I can tell. He’s a total introvert. I think Tink will be good for him, he might be able to bring him out of his shell. I’m glad. He copes with a lot working for me and never gets to meet anyone on a long term basis. Luckily, I’m here for a few months before pre-production starts on my next film. It may be the perfect time for him to meet Mr. Right.”
“Yeah I’m glad too, but then they have only just met. Can something that profound really happen in twenty-four hours? Enough for that person to impact your life to such an extent?” I mused sceptically, expecting him to agree with me.
The muscled-demigod turned and fixed his hooded dark green eyes directly on mine and pierced me with a look. “I believe so.”
Holy mackerel, Batman! What do I do with that titbit of information?!
Tudor suddenly changed the subject again, breaking the moment. His muscular back tensed. “Tink doesn’t like me much does he?” he asked quietly, avoiding my eyes.
How do I answer that? ‘No, he thinks you could potentially screw me over, shatter my soul and never let me in that Helms Deep fortress you call a heart.’
“He doesn’t know you, that’s all. I don’t either really, and you don’t know really know me. I only met you last night, for goodness sake!”
Tudor flinched at my words and rubbed my calf that was resting on top of my quilt. “I would like to know you. I don't understand it but I feel like I already kind of do. It’s... weird.”
Well that is a surprise.
He laid back once more and I patted his huge arm. “You have to understand a few things with Tink. He has very little family and the bit he does have are deeply religious and believe that he is an abomination who will burn in hell for eternity for being born attracted to men. When he was fourteen he came out to his parents, I thought he was so brave and encouraged it. Anyway, they freaked on an epic scale and sent him to a summer ‘retreat’ in back-country Alabama for teens who were sexually ‘possessed by the devil’. It was horrific for him. Obviously it didn’t work and he was made to leave his home and live with his uncle until he moved out to live with me.”
Tudor laid his hand on his cheek, absorbing every word. “Places like that actually exist?” I knew he was finding it difficult to wrap his head around. Most people do.
“Unfortunately they do. After that he practically grew up with me and my folks. We both had a tough time at school and really only had each other for friends. He has never even had a serious boyfriend, not once. I also wonder if it is due to his parents’ continued rejection of him as why he can’t commit to a lover for a long period of time, but I’m no Psychologist so I let it go. We have been everything to each other for so long that sometimes it becomes blurred to both of us just what the boundaries are. If I’m hurt, he feels pain. If he’s upset, I cry alongside him, and if someone he doesn’t know tries to take over his caregiver role, he gets extremely defensive,”
I prodded Tudor’s chest and grinned. He nodded in understanding.
“Quite honestly, I wonder sometimes if we are too close. I admit now that I was not fully invested in my previous relationship. I always put Tink first, whether that was as simple as choosing a night out clubbing over a romantic meal with Nathan, or as serious as taking his side in any argument between the two, or even missing Nathan’s grandmother’s funeral to comfort Tink over a horrendous argument with his parents. Tink always won.
“I worry that we’ve never had fully committed relationships because we don’t know how to balance the love we have for our boyfriends with the fact that we are soul mates. We’re a package deal – buy one get one free! Whoever eventually takes us on will have to accept that or it’s a no go.”
I didn’t wait for Tudor’s reaction to my soul bearing, as I became distracted by my favourite song coming on MTV.
“Aww, I love this song.” I commented, starting to sway slightly in time with the music.
Tudor turned his attention to the TV. “What is it? Are they British?”
“Yeah, they are. It’s ‘Beneath Your Beautiful’ by Labrinth and Emeli Sande. Just listen, it’s so perfect.”
We did, nearly the whole song in silence.
“The words are gorgeous aren’t they? Just imagine if someone felt that way about you? To write something so incredible, and the muse was you. To love someone that much and talk about them so passionately that it only did them justice in song, to declare it for the world to hear.” I sighed dreamily, “It would be everything to me, for someone to be so proud to be with me that they want everyone and their mothers to see.”
I blanched. Why did I just say that in front of him? I hope I can just pass it off as being heavily medicated.
Tudor was silent, his gaze flashed to the end of song playing on the screen, listening to the words. When the song had reached its end and I subtly wiped away a stray tear, he shifted his body my way and ran his fingers over my head, lips pursed in concentration.
“W-What are you doing?” I croaked.
Oh fuck, is he, is he going to kis–.
He reached for the bag of peas and grinned. “Just removing the bag, Tash. It’s been twenty minutes,” he said, pointing to rule number five on the laminated instructions propped up against the bedside lamp:
5. ‘Do NOT leave peas on for longer than twenty minutes at a time. You will freeze her freakin’ head off!’
“Oh yeah, thanks.” I deflated like a balloon.
What the hell was that all about, Tash? Do you want him to kiss you? I thought you didn’t like him? Oh shut up, I don’t know, okay?!
We slouched down again, lying to face each other as before. Tudor seemed content to just lie in silence, looking at me. Errrr, fuck that. I certainly wasn’t! To say he was intense was an understatement. He had asked a lot of questions about me, he claimed he felt like he ‘knew me’, and had turned me into a quivering wreck of a girl. But I didn’t have the foggiest about him! How bloody rude.
“Can I ask questions about you now?” I asked, nudging his arm tentatively and attempting to use my big brown eyes to lure him in – hey, it worked for Puss in Boots in Shrek!
He smiled and scooted closer. Very close in fact – boundaries were blurring.
“You can ask, I’ll choose to answer or not,” he responded gruffly and seriously as he rested his left hand on my hip on top of the duvet. My heart increased in speed while he looked as calm as the sea.
Go with it, Tash, throw caution to the wind and enjoy the sexiest man on the planet actually touching you in your bed! Way Aye!
“Okay. How did you become an actor?” I started off easy.
His eyes creased in amusement, he knew my plan.
“Ah, the million-dollar question. Let’s see. I used to play ice hockey in Vancouver. I was playing at a pretty good level, and after a match where I was awarded MVP, I was approached by a casting agent who was scouting out people for a movie about ice hockey–”
“The Mighty Ducks? Did you do the 'Flying V'?” I asked, excitedly.
He regarded me bla
nkly. “No, not The Mighty Ducks!” He shook his head laughing, and moved his hand to lie on top of mine. I didn’t even think he had done it consciously, and our new-found intimacy didn’t seem to faze him. I, on the other hand, was freaking out inside whilst trying to maintain a calm demeanour on the outside.
“It was a small–budget, indie Canadian film about how the game became professional. I was only paid about five hundred bucks. It ended up being awarded Best Film at the Toronto and Sundance Film Festivals. Long story short, I was given a small part due to my size and discovered I was pretty good at the whole acting thing. I was approached by a talent agent from the city, and she hooked me up with an acting coach and I began to audition. Up until that point, hockey was my life, but I found something I was better at, with more longevity, and I haven’t looked back since.”
That was easier than I had expected. “So you went from zero to hero practically overnight? Wow, that’s awesome. Surreal, but awesome.”
He moved his fingers and looped them in mine. He cast his green eyes down and stared at our entwined hands. “Yeah, you could say that. I have a unique look. I’ll always be given certain roles, but I’m good with that. I can act too, not many bigger, thug-looking-type guys can, so I'm getting offered a lot of good parts, not just dumb, muscle roles. The Blade Reaper franchise will take up the majority of my time over the next few years. It’s going to be a trilogy."
"So no gratuitous sex scenes or romance? Just knives, guns and violence?”
He shrugged. "The idea of being cast in a rom-com gives me hives. I’m good with action. Action, I can do. I'm not good with the flowery stuff. I'm no leading man like Mr. Darcy. People find me too abrupt, too scary, and I don’t think Colin Firth would have been as big a hit if he had looked like a ‘roided-up wrestler, eh?” he quipped, glancing up at me with a shy smile.
“Mmm, now that version of Mr. Darcy would have floated my boat, but, hey you, don’t knock a rom-com. Pretty Woman is my most favourite romantic movie ever. You shouldn’t be averse to love, mister,” I scolded.
He squeezed my hand and dropped the smile. “I’m not averse to love, not if it’s with the right person.”
With all my inner strength, not wanting to break the intensity of the moment, I held his gaze, and was rewarded when he inched a touch closer. “I just don’t want to put it on show for the masses. I hardly even do kissing scenes, they repulse me. I fucking hate kissing a woman I don’t want. I feel uncomfortable getting close to people, emotionally, acting or not.” His tongue wet his bottom lip. “When I’m in love, I want it to be complete heart-and-soul level, for all of my life. I’m an all or nothing kind of guy.”
I’m sweating, and I think heavy breathing. I reckon he needs to rethink the ‘I’m no good at romance’ crap! Time for a subject change.
“So you never lived in Hollywood?”
Tudor froze, his fingers rigid in mine. He looked down at his feet. “I did for a bit, but moved back to be near my family. It wasn’t for me, and they needed me more.”
That was obviously a sore point. The temperature in my room went from scorching hot to ice cold. But, never one to shy away from a challenge, I pushed further. “Do you have a girlfriend, Tudor, famous or otherwise? I'm not sure being here in my bed is a good thing if you do.”
He relaxed and laced my fingers once again through his. “No, I’m not good with relationships, especially with the public side I have to deal with. It’s fucking crazy.”
I blew out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding as his stunning eyes penetrated mine.
“What I mean to say is that I haven’t been interested in anyone for a very long time… until recently.”
I pulled away and sat up slowly. Oh shit, I’d obviously totally misread this whole thing. I couldn’t listen to him mention some Hollywood starlet he was chasing.
I needed to remove myself from this. “Can you walk me to the bathroom?” I asked abruptly.
Tudor scratched the back of his neck, frowning and rubbed his lips together. “For sure.”
Tudor stood outside while I sat on top of the padded toilet seat and breathed deeply. I recounted my earlier conversation with Tink. He was right; this guy was dangerous to me. He consumed my thoughts when he was near, I became lost in him, everything about him, and I'd only just met him. The touches he gave me were as natural as breathing and were shattering my defences; they made me nervous. I needed to keep my composure. I could fall for him. Hard. But it was so easy, effortless, and I can’t help but like him. Could we be just friends? Yes, friends. Nothing more. He probably saw me as that anyway.
Tudor was leaning against the wall when I opened the door. I took in the scene: he looked like James Dean. Well, if James Dean had been hitting the weights and protein shakes for a year, and inked himself up with an ungodly amount of tats. His arms were crossed, showcasing his overly defined chest; he was staring at his feet, and when he saw me he smiled his gorgeous lopsided smile. He was pure bad-boy in a six-foot-three package.
The combination of gorgeous male and the latest dose of drugs caused me to waver on my feet. Tudor approached me and, without saying anything, scooped me up and carried me back to bed.
He placed me down gently and rolled back the duvet, sliding in beside me. “Sleep now, Tash. It’s okay, I’ll look after you,” he kissed my forehead lightly and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, moving my upper body to spread across his chest. His massive, broad chest.
I sleepily asked, “What will you do now?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll just watch a bit of TV. Just cuddle in and rest.”
“Mmm okay…” I began to drift into sleep.
I could hear Tudor flicking through the music channels as I floated away. He stopped with a jerk, and I once again heard ‘Beneath Your Beautiful’ play from the TV.
Tudor’s breathing stilled and the remote dropped to my side. He let the song play out and shifted to wrap his body around mine even closer. His lips ran back and forth along my forehead, brushing against my skin.
He slid his hand under my pillow and pulled it back almost immediately. After a few seconds his breath hitched in and he let out a painful low groan. A wool cover draped over my shoulders. It smelt of Tudor.
Fuck, he found his scarf.
I couldn’t be sure, as I was nearly unconscious and internally debating how to deal with the scarf situation, but I thought I heard him whisper sadly. “Natasha Munro, you have completely bewitched me. I would like– no, I know I could be everything to you. But it’s impossible.”
CHAPTER 12
Friend-Zone
Morning came, bringing with it the sun, bathing the room in yellow hues, and Tink, leaning on one arm in my bed and regarding me with a suspicious gaze.
I groaned and stretched, pleased that my head felt less fuzzy and that the whopping lump at the back seemed to be shrinking.
“Morning, chuck,” I greeted Tink sleepily.
He raised an eyebrow and clicked his fingers about an inch from my face. “Natasha Munro, you little slut!”
“What?”
It’s too early for this shit.
He sat up, placing one perfectly manicured hand on his hip. “What??? I come home to find you coiled around a mammoth chunk of Canadian beef and you say ‘what’???”
Aww, bugger. Busted.
I quickly looked around the room, but no Tudor was to be seen. I turned to Tink and opened my mouth to relay the events of the previous night, when he held up a hand, effectively silencing me.
“He’s not here, Ms. Desperado. He left when I came back in the early hours of this morning, reluctantly, might I add. I practically had to boot him out, and believe me that would have been a David and Goliath-style battle.”
He shook his head, looking disappointed. “I shouldn’t have left, should I? When he said he was going to look after you I didn’t expect him to take the job quite so seriously. I didn’t expect him to weasel his way into your suddenly slack knickers,” he ping
ed the waistband of my pants to underline his point.
“Ow! I–" A cocoa butter-lotioned hand muffled my explanation.
Oh, this bitch is going down…
“You need to shut up and listen to me, Wilbur!” Tink squealed, and finding my inner Zen, I did what he asked, and gestured for him to continue.
“I walked in to check on you, only to find you both under the duvet joined together like a freakin’ jigsaw puzzle: you fast asleep and him wide awake nuzzling your hair! What the fuck happened?”
I grimaced. “Nothing. He looked after me and I fell asleep… end of,” I answered truthfully, and pulled the quilt over my head.
Tink immediately pulled it back down and rolled on top of me, pinning me down spread-eagle. “End of nothing, you little hussy! I knew he’d try it on. You were concussed, for frigg’s sake. You don’t see nurses climbing in bed with their patients, do you, stroking their arms and kissing their heads? Well, at least not until after the watershed. Why was he wrapped round you like a pretzel? And don’t lie to me,” he demanded.
My heart began to pound.
What did happen? Looking back we did touch a lot but in a very chaste way, and there was all that cuddling, but nothing happened… did it? No…
“Tink, calm down. Nothing happened, we talked, watched TV, he got me my pills and I fell asleep. The next thing I know, you’re glaring daggers at me and I’m being interrogated by the Flamboyant Friggin’ Inquisition!”
Tink leaned back against my black faux-fur head frame, flicked his hair with his hand and pursed his lips into a severe pout. “Well, fine. If you’re gonna say nothing happened then I’ll have to believe you. But it sure looked like something. I entered the bedroom, and when I reached the side of the bed to try and pull you both apart, he didn’t even look at me, he kept his focus solely on you and said, ‘I’m not leaving, so don’t even ask’.
“It took Tate to persuade him to get his fine ass out of the bedroom – I was having a bitch-fit! He said he just needed to stay this one night, he only had this one night, whatever the fuck that meant. And then he finally left… in a right mood too. He slammed the friggin’ door so hard it nearly fell off its hinges!”
