by Dylan Allen
It’s almost 9pm when I start to cross the courtyard that leads to the tube. I see Addie stand up from one of the benches and walk toward the station. Walking is not exactly the right word, she is trudging. Her shoulders are slightly hunched.
It is a cool night and she is dressed warmly, but it is more than that, she looks like she just lost a fight. I know I should just hang back and let her get on her train, but I can’t. I have been so hungry for a glimpse of her and this is the second time I’ve seen her looking like she has just finished fighting a losing battle.
So I speed up my pace and call her name. She startles at the sound of her name and stops suddenly. I catch up to her just as she turns around with a look of bewilderment on her face.
“Simon, you scared me. What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m going home and saw you and thought I’d try to catch up.”
In the harsh light of the tube station entrance, I can see how tired she looks. She has faint smudges under her eyes, and she looks like she’s lost some weight, but her beauty is not diminished in anyway. As usual, it strikes me slightly dumb. “Want to ride together?”
“Well, it’s the tube, it’s not like they have private cars, don’t see how we have much of a choice about that,” she quips. Without waiting for me she turns and steps onto the long, steep escalator down and I step on behind her. We ride down in a slightly uncomfortable silence.
We both swipe our fare card and go through the turnstiles. As we stand on the platform waiting, neither one of us has speaks.
I decide to try and break the ice. “So where have you been this past week. I haven’t seen you at all.”
Without even glancing up at me, all I get in response is, “I was at my office.” Okay. I won’t be deterred. Seeing someone as radiant and strong as Addie walking with her shoulders hunched feels so wrong. I am determined to cheer her up.
“How do you like being in Canary Wharf as opposed to The City?”
She turns her head to look at me at this question. She stares me at for a second like she is trying to decide whether to answer or to slap me.
Then she says in a voice that is animated, “I love it here. I hope this project lasts until the summer so I can watch the Red Bull Air Race. I hear the London Symphony plays a free concert in the courtyard, too.”
Turns out I picked the right topic. I don’t interrupt, but listen and watch with rapt attention as Addie’s eyes sparkle and her lips turn up as she talks about all of the things she loves about this revived part of London’s Docklands.
We change to the Northern Line train at London Bridge and continue our journey and she continues talking about London. Apparently, she is really loving her time here. She is so animated as she talks about her runs from Whitehall all the way to Brixton. Or when she runs from King’s Cross to Covent Garden and back again almost every single Sunday morning.
I watch her in awe those fifteen minutes, and I imagine my life differently. I imagine I had a family I could introduce her to. That I didn’t have a child I was raising I had to make a priority. I want to kiss her right then there.
I feel Addie’s hand on my sleeve. I realize she has stopped talking, and I was caught in my reverie. She is smiling at me. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and her eyes still have that sparkle.
“My stop’s next.” I look up and realize we’re at Angel. She continues, slightly less animated, “I am glad you caught up to me tonight. I needed the company. Thanks for letting me prattle on and on about London. It’s a subject I can apparently talk about nonstop.” She says with a self-deprecating smile.
“My pleasure.” I say. And I mean it. “I’m glad I caught up with you, too. Living here, sometimes I forget what a wonderful city it is. I might need to start exploring it again.”
I want to invite her to do it with me, but I stop myself. And then it’s her stop. She starts to stand up, but leans down to brushes a kiss on my cheek and whispers in my ear. “Thank you, Simon, for coming to my rescue.” As she pulls back, she looks me fully in my eyes. “Again.”
And then she pulls her coat tightly around her waist, hikes her bag up on her shoulder, and walks off the train, disappearing into the crowd.
When the door closes, I can still smell her. I ride the rest of the way home thinking I don’t know what the fuck I am going to do.
October 10, 2014
I have been working out of my firm’s office again and the distance has really given me time to think about that train ride with Simon.
I love that he was trying to cheer me up on the platform. Less than five minutes before, I had been struck by how lonely I was. And then he’d shown up out of the blue, and I was actually really glad. It was nice to have a conversation with him I’d hoped to have with my sisters. It left me feeling like I wanted to have more conversations with him. I want more with him in general.
He’s obviously got a lot on his plate. It doesn’t make up for the way he has treated me, but I see the size of his heart. I can see he is someone who loves his family enough to stay when things are hard.
I don’t know what it is about me that has made him want to keep his distance and to push me away whenever things get hot between us. What I do know is that he is making an effort to push me away. He doesn’t want to. I can see it. I can feel it. It only makes his rejection more infuriating.
So, I’ve taken the last few days to get some space between us and to spend time with Cara before she leaves.
Speaking of Cara, she was currently in my closet trying to find the tiniest shirt and the tightest jeans she can.
October in London isn’t freezing cold, but it was chilly and often rainy, but we are going dancing and it’s going to be hot.
I am ready to let my hair down. I want to drink, dance, and forget my woes. I only asked Cara for one thing—no men. Seriously, I couldn’t handle it.
My feelings about Simon are totally fucking with my head, and I don’t need another single thing to worry about right now.
I also wanted to enjoy Cara for the last few weeks I had her to myself in London.
We’ve been spending a lot of time together. Mostly just talking. She challenged me to think about what I really love doing and what makes me happy. It has made me think hard about what I would be doing if hadn’t spent my life running from my father’s legacy and my mother’s choices.
I am not sure that I know the answer to that just yet. I know I’ve run to the law as a way to provide stability for my future, and that my choice of career has been very focused on making money, on not being in the position of needing to rely on a man to provide for me.
But what I’m doing is soulless. I mean, it’s great to be part of the historic project, but my role has nothing to do with the actual heart of the project.
When I think about the ways the law can actually be useful, I think about how ignorant my mother was about our family’s finances and how easy it was for the courts to strip her of everything because she couldn’t afford a good lawyer. I want to find a way to volunteer my time to women who need good advice, but can’t afford it.
I’ve reached out to several clinics and talked to Jack about the firm starting a Pro Bono initiative. He didn’t seem that excited about it, but he didn’t say no.
Either way, it’s time to start living. I know that means I’ve also got to confront the stuff with my father, but that is for another night.
Tonight is all about feeling good. I’m getting dressed up. My makeup is heavy with smoky eyes and nude lips.
I am wearing my favorite pair of True Religion skinny jeans, a pair of plum colored Givenchy pointed toe booties with a four-inch heel, and a slinky, halter neck top which is completely backless.
Cara is in a tiny black dress and impossibly high black heels. Her blond hair is loose, and hangs down her back while her lips are red and sumptuous. She looks gorgeous.
I throw my vintage leather jacket on and we run out of the door to our waiting cab.
When our cab pulls up, we walk straight into a very crowded, red walled room. You can feel the music pumping from the club downstairs and the lights are casting psychedelic shadows across the rooms.
I leave my jacket at the coat check and immediately regret my choice of top. I feel dozens of eyes on my back as we cross the room. I am already anxious to be done with dinner and in the relative safety and anonymity offered by the dark dance club downstairs.
As we approach our table, Cara grabs my hand. “Don’t freak out, I just wanted you to have a nice time.”
I look at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She nods toward the table we are approaching. I follow her prompt. Who is sitting there? No one other than Louis and Simon.
I think if this happened a week ago, I would have been pissed. But tonight I am glad to see him. This is actually great. I need to have a great time. I am insanely attracted to him. I know he wants me, too.
He doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see me. So, he must have known I was coming and here he sits. He looks slightly apprehensive which bolsters my confidence.
I smile brightly at both him and Louis, and they both stand as we reach the table. I lean forward and press a kiss to Simon’s cheek and then to Louis’.
“Hello fellas, nice to see you both. What are you drinking?”
Everyone, especially Cara, looks at me like I just sprouted a second head. Clearly the expectation has been that I would react somehow, maybe even want to leave. I want to laugh at the collective surprise on their faces.
But then they all apparently decide to play along and Louis answers my question. “Vodka tonic, our waiter will be back in a sec. There’s a menu if you ladies want to take a look.”
We order dinner and drinks while our conversation flows easy. Apparently, Louis is part of the aristocracy. His dad’s an earl or something, and his older brother is all that stands between him and the title. Crazy.
But he is a very nice guy, and I can see Cara really likes him, which I’m pretty sure he reciprocates. I am pleased for them.
And Simon looks gorgeous. He is dressed in a very thin, but obviously expensive black cashmere sweater and dark jeans. His face is clean shaven, his ever present five o’clock shadow is nowhere to be seen.
He seems relaxed, but is checking his phone a lot. “Expecting a call from work on Friday night, Simon?” I tease.
He smiles self-consciously and puts his phone in his pocket. “Bad habit.”
I smile back at him. I know why he is checking his phone. He’s probably got his mind on his nephew, which only makes me want him more.
We eat and settle the bill before heading downstairs. As we walk downstairs, Simon’s hand rests on the small of my back. The heat from his touch sends ripples of want straight to my pussy.
I had two vodka tonics with my dinner and am feeling nice and warm by the time we hit the dance floor. Cara and I go out by ourselves while the guys sit at the bar talking.
I have my third drink in hand and am feeling good. I love to dance—I always have. Music is my first love. And dancing is a release for me.
I close my eyes as Beyoncé’s Drunk in Love comes on. I giggle as I remember what a big fan of hers Simon is. The thought of him and the music combined make me feel heady. I immediately start to sway to the music.
Suddenly, I feel a pair of hands grab my hips and wrap around my waist. I instantly recoil because those are not the hands I want.
My back is bare and I can feel the front of Mr. Gropey’s sweaty chest touching me and I want to retch. I pull away and his grip only tightens.
“Come on, sweetheart, you look like you need a partner,” he says in my ear. I pull harder and then suddenly he releases me with a start.
I start to feel good about my conflict resolution skills until I see Simon’s hand on his shoulder and lips at his ear. The guy’s eyes widen for a second before he glances at me, back at Simon, and then back at me.
“I am so sorry, ma’am, I apologize for touching you. Have a really nice night, and I hope you can excuse my rudeness.” Then he scurries away. I stare after him completely dumbfounded when Simon steps closer to me.
“What in the world did you tell him?” I shout over the music.
Simon takes a step closer so he doesn’t have to shout. He smiles while he says, “I told him you were Barack Obama’s niece and that I’m part of your Secret Service detail.”
I look at him for a second before I burst out laughing. I laugh so hard I have double over and grab my knees to catch my breath. Simon joins in the laughter.
We both stand up and wipe our eyes, the music changes when Coldplay’s Shiver comes on.
Simon holds out his hand and I put my hand in it. He pulls me to him, and I feel his other hand on my bare back. It feels so good it almost hurts.
Why do I want this man so much? Does he want me the same way? He is clearly attracted to me, but something is holding him back.
What am I saying? I am holding a lot back, too. There is so much he doesn’t know about me. My father is a fugitive from the law and he has no idea. Besides Cara, who has always known, nobody in my “after” life knows.
“I can feel your brain working. Relax, enjoy the music,” Simon says into the top of my head. All I know is that it feels good to be standing, swaying in his strong arms with my head resting on his chest like it was born to lay there.
The song disappears; the lights disappear, and all that is left is this moment with this man.
He pulls me into his body and we are hip to hip, my head rests on his shoulder as we sway to the music. His head moves down so that his mouth is close to my ear. I feel his breath ruffle my hair as he hums along to the song.
My hands wrap tightly around his neck as his tightens around my waist. I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the music and in the feeling of being wrapped up in Simon’s arms.
The song ends, but we don’t pull apart as the next song, Alicia Key’s Like You’ll Never See Me Again, comes on.
Simon stops humming and starts singing. “If I had no more time… No more time left to be here…” A tremor, hard and undisguised, wracks my body.
His hands move from my waist up my exposed sides, tickling my ribs, his thumbs dip into the open sides of my blouse and brush the sides of my breasts as his hands, rough and large, continue their upward journey. They round up my shoulders, up the sides of my neck until they are cupping jaw, his fingers meeting at the nape of my neck and tangling in my hair.
He forces my head up from its position on his chest so that I am looking at him. The unmasked heat and hunger in his dark eyes sends a jolt of desire through me so acute I know if he touches me right now, he’d find my panties wet and my nipples stiff.
We’ve stopped dancing and are standing there just looking at each other. Simon dips his head so that his lips are a hairsbreadth away from mine.
“You look absolutely stunning tonight. I haven’t been able to stop looking at your perfect lips, your perfect eyes.” His forehead touches mine. “I want you so much. Can I kiss these perfect lips? Right now?”
His hushed tone only amplifies the urgency in his words, and I am powerless to resist.
I only nod.
Simon lowers his head the rest of the way and brushes his lips across mine, back and forth. Each touch makes me suck in a breath.
I don’t know why, but these kisses feel different from the others we have shared. There is an intent that wasn’t there before. His eyes are open and so are mine. We watch each other as our lips dance.
His thumb reaches up from my jaw to tug on my lower lip. He whispers, “Perfect.” And my tongue darts out to taste his tongue.
He groans and closes his eyes, tipping his head back. When he looks down at me again, I read frust
ration in his heated expression.
He glances around and then back down at me. I am dazed from the desire simmering between us and the tenderness of the kiss we just shared.
He takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor. We walk along the bar and down a hallway I hadn’t noticed earlier.
At the end of the hallway is a door that is guarded by a man who looks like a real member of the Secret Service. Simon says something to him in what sounds like German and slips him some cash. The man responds and opens the door to reveal a brightly lit stairwell.
“What is this?” I ask. The haze is wearing off, and I am wary now.
Simon looks at me and ducks his head close to my ear. He whispers so that only I can hear. “My friend has an office upstairs. I want to take you there. I need to be inside you, Addie. Now. Do you want that, too, baby?”
I swallow. I do. No question. As happy as I am that he wants to go there with me, we need to clear the air. So, I shake my head, as contradictory words leave my mouth.
“Yes. So much.”
He turns back to the stairs and starts to walk up, but I pull him back.
“First, we need to talk, Simon. I need to know why you’ve pulled back every time we have been together and why this time will be different,” is all I can manage. My heart is racing and my throat is dry. If he says no, I know that I won’t go any further with him. I want to tell him what I’ve been holding back, too.
Our eyes hold, I see him flinch, but he doesn’t look away. His lips purse and his jaw tightens and I am afraid he is going to deny my request.
The air around us is tense and heavy as we just stand there.
“Okay, beautiful. Let’s talk.”
I almost sag in relief. I want this, and him, so much, but I need to be sure that he is sure.
He kisses me lightly and grabs my hand to lead me up the stairs.
We walk up the stairs, Simon in front of me, holding my hand. Neither of us says a word.
