When I open the door, the familiar bell chimes loudly, alerting Mrs. Bell to my presence. The aroma of freshly-baked cupcakes wafts in my direction. I breathe it in, letting the aroma consume my nostrils and send my senses into overdrive.
Mrs. Bell pops out from the back kitchen and moseys her way to the counter. Her sandy blonde hair is rich and warm in color as it waves just past her shoulders. The hue is a perfect complement to her hazel eyes, which narrow on me. Her brow creases as she probably tries to place her recollection of me. Her full lips curve up into a genuine smile.
"Alyssa?" she asks, a hint of trepidation mixed with her questioning tone.
I nod.
"I can't believe how grown up you are. Holy shit, I'm old now." She doesn't look old, maybe her mid-forties. But I wouldn't describe her appearance as old.
"You are not old, Mrs. Bell."
She scoffs. "That's kind of you to say. But looking at you makes me feel older than dirt. Do you still have that massive sweet tooth of yours?"
I flash her a wide-toothed grin. "It has only gotten worse."
"Excellent! So, what can I get for ya?"
I peruse the glass display case, mentally devouring her entire inventory. There are cupcakes, pastries, cannolis, brownies, cakes, cobblers, pies, donuts, cookies, eclairs, and my all-time favorite: triple-layer bars. My mouth waters at the sight of it. With all three chocolatey layers of heaven wrapped up into one bar, it should be illegal. Although, I'm sure damn glad it's not. I wouldn't want to live in a world where eating a triple-layer bar is a misdemeanor, or worse…a felony. Scratch that; I couldn't live in that kind of a world.
"A triple-layer bar, please," I say, licking my bottom lip with anticipation. I can't wait to devour all three layers: the dark chocolate frosting on the top, the light and fluffy chocolate mousse in the middle, and the moist chocolate cake on the bottom.
Mrs. Bell slips on a pair of gloves, retrieves the promised land of desserts, and softly places it on the doily-lined pink plate. A smile tugs at her lips. "Enjoy."
I furrow my brow. "But I didn't pay for this yet?"
She shakes her head. "First one's on the house. I know you'll be back for more."
She's damn right too. I used to spend most of my hard-earned paycheck from working at Jones' Joe here. I will be back, in due time.
I thank her for her generosity and take a seat at the quaint metal table by the bay window, overlooking the dock that leads to Oar Lake. I remember that spot too well. That's where I lost my virginity. My college boyfriend at the time, Darren, picked me up that night and had rented a boat for a moonlight picnic under the stars. Neither of us planned for anything more than a make-out session, but things escalated rather quickly. Most women loathe their first time, but I didn't. Darren was thoughtful, respectful, attentive, and genetically gifted. With each article of clothing he removed, he asked my permission. Then when we were both stark naked, he asked: are you sure you want to do this? To which, I replied: there's not a doubt in my mind.
Tears start to well in the corners of my eyes as the beautiful memory replays itself in my head. That's when it hits me; this is the first time I've allowed myself to think of him in a very long time.
Chapter Six
Darren
I lean back on the cool leather bench, tightening my grip around the metallic silver bar. I suck in one deep breath as I bring the bar down to rest on my bare chest. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
My triceps are starting to strain under the weight. I can feel the burn traveling down my forearm and resting at my deltoids. Admittedly, it's been a while since I have had the chance to work out. With all the drama happening back home across the pond, I just haven't been in the mood to lift a weight of any kind. But I sure as hell regret that decision now.
I exhale on every upward thrust. Seven. Eight. Nine. And ten. One set down, two more to go. On the last rep, I add an additional twenty-five pounds.
Not to toot my own horn or anything, but being born as a British citizen, I can transition between the Imperial and Metric systems with ease. London embeds it in your subconscious. Think about it for a second. Back home, beer is measured in pints. Yet wine is measured in either centiliters or millimeters. Petrol is in liters, while fuel is measured in miles per gallon. Small distances are measured in either centimeters or meters, while farther distances are measured in miles. I guess we Brits like to be a union-jack-of-all-trades, pardon my pun, I just couldn’t resist it.
By the eighth rep, sweat slicks my forehead, matting my hair into place. I lift the bar one last time to lock it into place. Click! Mission accomplished.
My stomach gurgles obnoxiously, reminding me that it's dinner time. I lift my arm and take a whiff. I smell like shit and should probably shower first.
GRRR! My stomach growls in protest. Fine, you prat, you win this round. I peek around the corner at my couch. It's still vacant, meaning Kelsie isn't home at the moment. Since that's the case, the only one who's going to be bothered by my post-workout stench is Wyatt. Yes, I am aware that dogs have about two-hundred and ninety-four million more olfactory senses in their noses than humans do, giving them a sense of smell that's forty times greater than ours. However, I also remember his morning breath wake-up call yesterday morning. So, all’s fair, right?
As soon as I walk into the kitchen, Wyatt scrunches his nose. I scratch behind his ear as I walk by. "Sorry, chap. I'll take a shower after dinner."
Wyatt nods in understanding. I bloody love my dog.
I open the fridge, grabbing the container of leftover pork chow mein. I hoist myself up onto the counter, kick off my trainers, and grab a pair of chopsticks from the cupboard behind me. With a twist, I string the noodles between both sticks. As I bring the delightful Chinese cuisine to my lips, the door opens, and in waltzes Kelsie.
"God, which one of you reeks?" She brings her hand upward to barricade her nose.
Wyatt bends his right paw toward him as he straightens his tail toward the ceiling. With an intense blue-eyed stare, he thrusts his snout toward me.
“Traitor,” I accuse with a chuckle.
Kelsie furrows her brow in disgust. "Damn, Darren. Take a fucking shower."
I shrug. "It's not that bad."
She swipes away fictitious tears from under her eyes. "It's so foul my eyes are starting to water."
"Bollocks," I tease back, scarfing down the last of my chow mein. I wiggle the empty container in the air. "I'm finished."
Kelsie throws both her hands up in the air in praise. "Hallelujah!"
I can't help but laugh at her over-dramatization as I saunter into my en-suite and close the door behind me. I slide the waistband of both my trousers and my boxer-briefs past my hips, allowing them both to fall at my ankles. With a quick leg jerk, I kick them both into the corner of the room. The water hums to life as I turn the nozzle, the hot water allowing the steam to accumulate around me as I step through the glass door.
As they normally do this time of day, my balls ache, begging to be put out of their misery. Wanking has unfortunately become a part of my nightly routine. Being that I haven't had any interest in a woman since the last time, I haven't had sex in over five years. I might as well have become a Buddhist monk and practiced celibacy. Do you know what not having sex in five years does to a bloke? Let's just say, it is not pleasant. When you think about it, I have had a five-year case of blue balls.
If my mum didn't raise me to be such a bloody gentleman, I would be quite content with what my American students refer to as a fuck-and-chuck. I cringe at the mere thought of it. In my accent, it sounds even more ludicrous than it already is. I choose to believe that is the sole reason I haven't been with another woman because the alternative is far worse. The alternative is that she broke me. That she ruined me for other women. The alternative is the most probable of the two options. It's time for me to face that truth…I'm ruined.
My mind wanders to her. I can't help it. The way she tasted on my tongue. The intoxicatin
g smell of her fucking shampoo. How her tits fit just right in the palms of my hands. How squeezable they were. Oh, and let's not forget her overly-sensitive nipples. Christ, I would flick them just to hear her roar.
Shite! I haven't thought about Alyssa in over four years. Why the bloody hell am I letting my mind travel there now? My cock twitches with pleasure.
"Fuck, it's too late," I murmur under my breath. To hell with it. My mind already went there.
I grab my handle, lathering it up before I give it a quick tug. With my back to the spray, I start stroking. Up and down. My balls tighten like little fists. My shaft inflates with each pump.
Fuck, that feels good.
That's when I do it. I close my eyes, picturing her naked and under me. She rocks her hips as I slip into her. Her brown hair covering her supple breasts. Her heels dig into my ass, pushing me in deeper. In the palm of my hand, I feel my dick thicken even more.
I continue to thrust into my fist, imagining it's her sweet pussy. My breaths grow shallower as I increase my speed.
"Just say it, baby. I want to hear my name moaned on your tongue," I order, slipping out far enough for just the tip of my cock to remain buried in her paradise.
I'm so fucking close it hurts.
My balls tighten even more as the imaginary Alyssa comes around me.
"That's it, honey. Just like that. Christ, I'm coming," I groan on a whisper. The hot sensation filling my fist brings me back to reality.
What the actual fuck? Why did that feel so real? My wanking sessions have never been this intense before. It was like the line between my imagination and my memories blurred, morphing into one.
Knock, knock, knock!
"Yeah?" I query, washing away all remnants of my self-pleasuring session from my hand. For fuck's sake, please tell me she didn't hear me.
"Ms. Abney called me to remind you about some meeting tomorrow at ten," Kelsie hollers through the closed door. Damn, that woman is persistent. I'll give her that.
"Got it!"
Well, if she did indeed overhear me, she didn't call me out on it. But that could just be because I let her live here rent-free.
After I finish showering, I secure the towel around my waist and exit the en-suite just in time to hear the doorbell ring. I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Nine-twenty-three. Who could that possibly be at this late hour? It better not be Ms. Abney on the other side of that door, waiting to deliver me another reminder, but this time in person.
As I roam into the living room, I notice that Kelsie is nowhere in sight. Maybe she hopped in the shower as well.
Bark! Bark! Bark! Wyatt is already in the foyer, barking at our unexpected visitor. Despite being depicted as scary in the horror movie The Thing, Huskies are not frightening at all. At least, my Wyatt isn't. He's just enthusiastic and playful, and also brilliant. I watch as he wags his tail against my hardwood floor.
Ding-dong! The doorbell chimes again. What an impatient bastard.
"I'm coming!" I yell at the door. The words roll off my tongue differently than they did when I groaned them out a few moments ago.
Wyatt repositions himself out the way of the door, allowing me to swing it open with ease.
"About bloody time you open the door, you arsehole." Declan's familiar dialect causes a homesick feeling to churn in my chest. In an instant, I will it away. I won't allow myself to get swept up in those feelings again.
"You tosser," I spit out, waving my hand to usher my best mate inside.
He grins maliciously. "You still hate surprises, mate?"
I scoff. "Of course I fucking do. That's not something you just grow out of. You either love them, or you don't."
Wyatt, who was slouched over, straightens his posture as he strides his way over toward Declan. He eyes the stranger skeptically as he sniffs Declan's jeans. Declan glances down at him for a second before he pats the top of his head. As he ruffles his hand through Wyatt's fur, Wyatt's tongue rolls from his mouth.
"Ha! The pup likes me," Declan proclaims on a laugh.
"And he's usually such a great judge of character," I tease, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Declan punches me in the shoulder. "Shut up."
Time to cut the niceties and find out why he's really flown across the pond. Although we are best mates, I'm sure as hell he didn't fly out here just for me.
"What brings you by, mate? Did you finally run out of women you haven't shagged in the entire UK?"
He brings a hand to his chest, feigning hurt feelings as he pretends to clutch his imaginary pearls. "Why, I would never. How dare you accuse me of such treachery." Declan imitates his best posh accent as his voice rises a few octaves. The same one that he knows always makes me laugh. He succeeds yet again, uprooting a laugh from deep within my chest.
He returns his voice to normal. "No, I actually flew all the way here to tell you to put some fucking clothes on."
Crap! Up until now, I forgot that the only stitch of fabric covering me is my raggedy towel.
"If you weren't such a damn impatient bloke, I would've had time to get dressed," I quip, holding my towel into place as I head toward my bedroom.
"I'm knackered from the flight. Can I bother you for a pint?" he hollers from the other room.
"In the fridge," I yell back, tugging a white shirt over my head.
When I'm finished getting dressed, I hang the wet towel on the back of the en-suite door and rejoin Declan in the living room. As soon as I walk through the doorjamb, I spot him…being him.
Declan has his leg propped up against the kitchen island as he leans against it. He drags a hand through his sandy brown hair and grins. I know that particular grin all too well. It's his infamous I'm-going-to-get-in-your-knickers-tonight grin. He better stay the fuck away from her if he knows what's good for him.
"Get away from her!" The words escape my lips before I could send them through my brain filter. Dammit! Both Declan and Kelsie crane their necks to shift their gazes upon me. Declan's sage eyes send a primal warning, but frankly, I don't give a shite.
He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a swig of his pint before he speaks. "Have you gone bonkers?"
Sensing a threat to my dominance, I erect my posture and puff out my chest. I've got two-inches on him. Granted, it's not much—but it sure bloody helps. I shake my head and point a finger at his chest. "I'm not going to tell you again. Stay away from her. She's off-limits."
"Christ, I can smell the raging testosterone in the air. Why don't you two just whip out your dicks and compare sizes already?" Kelsie rolls her eyes as she taunts us.
He arches his brow defiantly. “What are you going on about? Off-limits? Are you taking a piss right now?"
My jaw ticks as I grit my teeth. "Test. Me."
Kelsie steps between us and waves her hands in the air. "Whoa. Calm down, fellas." Her mocha colored eyes focus on me. "Darren, I'm a big girl and can make my own decisions."
"And mistakes," Declan interjects. Sometimes, I swear I don't remember why we're even mates in the first place. He's such a pompous arse, and sometimes, a nob.
"Those too," Kelsie clarifies.
"You can't honestly be falling for his shite, can you? He's like a dog with two dicks."
"What the hell does that mean? I swear, you guys and your British colloquialisms. You speak English, but I don't understand half the shit that comes out of your mouths."
Declan winks as he flashes her that same fucking grin. "But it sounds delicious, doesn't it?"
I can't help but roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of this entire conversation.
"It means he shags anything with a pulse," I further clarify. "You'd have to be off your rocker to fall for his crap."
Kelsie pushes at my chest; it doesn't make me falter. "C'mon, he's just flirting. There's no harm in that, right?"
I exhale in defeat. "I suppose not."
Kelsie smiles. "Good. Now I hate to be a Debbie-downer, but we don't have enough room for three people in
this house."
Brilliant. Just brilliant. Declan and his love of surprises is going to be the death of me one day. "Fine. Declan gets the couch. Kelsie, you can sleep in my bed."
Kelsie quirks a questionable brow. "And where exactly are you going to sleep?"
I shrug. "On the floor next to Wyatt."
At the mention of his name, Wyatt comes running toward me at full speed, his tail wagging with excitement. I kneel to his level, letting him shower my cheek with kisses. "You'll let me sleep next to you, won't you, chap?"
BARK!
"It's all settled then."
As if he understands what is going on, Wyatt drags his bed into the living room. Wyatt rests on his back, his four legs in the air as he closes his eyes. That's a new sleeping position for him. He looks so at peace, without a single care in the world. If only I could trade places with him for a day.
Chapter Seven
Aly
"That's not a lot to go on," my mother says as if I don't know that already.
I drag my hand through my hair and sigh. "I know. I have less than twelve hours to prepare some kind of fun way to learn a historical time period."
Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. I excel at teaching history in both a fun and educational way—it's one of my passions. But not knowing which of the five-hundred-year timespans he is going to give me for my interview makes it immensely difficult to prepare for it.
I cycle through all the major historical events that occurred within the past five centuries, dating all the way back to the early sixteenth century. There is no way I'm going to be prepared for this. Too much shit went down in the past five-hundred-years. There was King Henry VIII's separation from the Roman Catholic Church, the Protestant Reformation, Queen Elizabeth I's reign, Copernicus' theory that the Earth revolves around the sun, the Renaissance, and so much more. To make matters worse, those are just events that occurred in the sixteenth century, and the United States isn't even in the picture yet. I'm screwed.
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