by S. R. Jones
I go and do as he asks, finding it all easily enough. The blanket is tiny, like a baby blanket, and the corners are all frayed. I carry it back with me, and Ethan takes the duvet and places it on the sofa. It’s a double so once he’s placed Katie on it, he wraps what’s left of it over her, and tucks it in. She looks like a little bug all snug. He lifts her head and gently places the pillows under her. Then he hands her the blanket. She grabs it and brings it up to her face in her tiny fists and rubs her nose with it inhaling.
“Do you think you can bear to take some sips of water if I bring you some in?”
She nods and he heads into the kitchen. I follow him. His phone buzzes as he’s pottering about getting glasses down. He answers it and presses the speaker button.
“Hey, Wolfy.”
I recognise Luka’s voice.
“Fancy a pint?”
“No can do, mate. Got Katie here. She’s sick.”
“Migraine?”
Ethan nods, and then seems to realise Luka can’t hear that and says, “Yep, one of her migraines.”
“No worries. I understand. Hey, is that fit little thing still there?”
Ethan snatches the phone up and jabs at the speaker button, his face flushes a touch, and it makes me smile. He rarely seems bothered by things.
“Yeah, if you’re referring to Isla, she’s still here. Look, I’ve got to go. I’m getting Katie a drink. I’ll call you later in the week, yeah.”
He hangs up. “Wanker.” The word is almost a whisper, but I hear it and laugh some more.
“Don’t be hard on him,” I say, wanting to needle him a bit. “He’s a nice guy. And he seemed understanding enough about you staying in to look after your niece.”
Ethan grunts. “Give the guy a humanitarian award. Anyway, Luka’s in a similar boat to me. He lives with his sister, and she’s got a three-year-old daughter. Dad fucked off and left them both, so Luka does his fair share of baby-sitting, too.”
“Is that one of the reasons you’re good friends?”
He’s filled the glass and is heading to the door, but he pauses. “Nope, our friendship was forged a long time ago.” And then he goes to take the drink to Katie.
After he’s given her a drink, Ethan says he’s going to sit with her and read, keep an eye on her, so I offer to walk the dogs. He orders me to stay near the house in that bossy way of his, but I have no desire to stray too far anyway.
We’ve been around the field four times and the dogs are finally tired out, their tongues lolling as they run around me in circles, half-heartedly chasing one another every now and again. I let them in the door to the kitchen, where they all rush over to the water bowls in the corner.
I head into the hallway and see the door to the lounge is open a crack, so I go and poke my head in, to tell Ethan I am back. What I see stops me in my tracks. Katie is groaning over a bowl, and Ethan is rubbing her back with one hand as the other holds her hair back away from her face, and he’s singing to her softly as she rocks back and forth.
“I hate being sick, Uncle Ethan.” She’s crying as she talks, and he wipes her tears away before going back to holding her hair.
“I know you do, sweet pea. But fighting it makes it harder. Try to let it come if you can. There’s no need to be scared. I’m here.”
“But what if it chokes me?” She hiccups as she finishes talking.
“It won’t choke you, honeybee. And I’m here. You know I’m a certified lifesaver, right?”
She looks at him and sniffs. “What’s that mean?”
“It means I can save lives. Especially from choking.”
“Really?”
He gives her a jokey-stern look. “Have I ever lied to you?”
She shakes her head.
“It’s gone away a bit now,” she says.
“Lie back down then, and see if you can close your eyes for a bit.” He covers her up as she flops back on the pillow, and sits on the floor by the sofa.
He goes back to reading his book but as he’s reading he’s singing and I realise he’s singing Bridge Over Troubled Water.
“Love this song, Uncle Ethan.”
“I know, sweet pea.” He resumes his singing.
His voice isn’t the best. It’s not dire or anything, but he’s not going to be on X-Factor anytime soon, but something about the whole scene touches me. I blink back tears and move away from the door, creeping down the hallway and up the stairs. I’m still tearful when I reach the guest room.
I’ve just seen a side to Ethan I honestly wouldn’t have thought existed. And it’s made me yearn for things I can never have. I imagine him singing to me like that if I were sick, and I start crying for real.
I don’t want to make this into more than it is, as that way lies heartbreak, but I’m getting feelings for the man. I can’t deny it any longer.
Chapter Seventeen
Ethan
Ann comes for Katie three hours later because the interview took longer than planned. And by the time she picks her up, Katie’s feeling a little better as she’s had some sleep. She’ll be wiped out for a day or so though. Her migraines always make her exhausted for some time afterward.
As I say bye to them both and close the door, I wonder where Isla’s got to. The dogs are all snoozing on the kitchen floor in various baskets. Sadie’s curled up with my two, which gives me a stupid glow in my chest.
I head down the hallway and check in the gym, and the study, but she’s not there. I climb the stairs, and find her in the guest room, laid on top of the bed clothes, fast asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, I climb on next to her and scoot up.
She stirs though, and turns to face me, her eyes bleary as she blinks them a few times. “Hey there,” she says.
“Hey you.” I can’t resist kissing the tip of her nose. She’s got a cute, upturned nose.
She smiles and yawns.
“What do you want to do tonight?” I ask. Hoping she’ll say screw again, but know she might be a bit sore.
“You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m feeling a bit melancholy, not sure why. Anyway, when I feel like this at home, me and my dad play a board game.”
I laugh. “I love board games.”
“Yeah, right.”
I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at her. “No, honestly. I’ve got a whole cupboard of them down there. And not the usual stuff like Monopoly, I’ve got Settlers of Catan, and Pandemic.”
Her eyes widen. “I can’t seem to get my head around you having board games.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, it doesn’t go with the whole trained killer, male gigolo jive.”
And like that my bubble bursts. She must see because she bites her lip. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be nasty. Genuinely.”
“I know.”
“Speaking of the whole…gigolo thing.” She flushes. “I don’t want you losing money because of me staying here. If you need to go to work, please don’t let me stop you.”
I frown at her. “Oh, really?”
She nods.
“How altruistic of you.” Her suggestion fucks me off because I don’t want her to be okay with me screwing other women. I’d kill any man who touched her with my bare fucking hands.
She sits up and gets that look on her face. The one she gets when she’s about to get pissy with me.
“I’m trying to be thoughtful. I don’t want to impact your life.”
Doesn’t want to impact my life? She’s turned my whole fucking world upside down. “So what? I go out, fuck a client or two, come home, we play a board game, and then I fuck you?”
She flinches.
“Thought not. So, this is the end of our fun together? I thought you wanted it to last a bit longer?”
She bites her lip again, and I seriously need her to stop that before my last thread of control snaps. “I don’t want it to end. But no, I couldn’t have sex with you after you’ve been with
a client. But I don’t want you to lose money. I know you help your sister.”
“Firstly, I can afford time off. I’m more than okay financially. Secondly, I’m thinking of giving it up anyway.” I toss it out there, casual, offhand. But her face freezes as she stares at me.
“Really? Why?”
Because of you, I want to say. Although, that’s not quite true. It’s not entirely because of her, but she’s the catalyst. Instead, I say, “Because I can’t keep doing it forever, and a friend has offered me a job.”
“Doing what?”
“Security work.”
“Wow.”
I wonder if this changes her view of us as being only temporary. Do I want it to? Fuck me, I do. I want her to want more. I want to see where this can go. I’m falling for this girl. How it’s happened so fast, I don’t want to examine. But it’s happening, and I can’t deny it.
My heart’s hammering, and I’m more nervous about saying what I want to say next than I was in a war zone. “If I wasn’t doing the…sex stuff, anymore, would it change how you feel about things between us? If I asked you to date me, would you?” Since when did I get all tongue tied?
She doesn’t even hesitate, she nods immediately. I’m half elated and half terrified.
“Can I take you out to dinner later this week?”
“A proper date?” she asks.
“Yeah, a proper date.”
“I’d love that, Ethan.”
I give her an impromptu kiss on the lips and one thing leads to another. Before I know it, we’re fucking again. This time she takes the lead and goes on top. It doesn’t take her long to find her rhythm and she’s glorious. Bouncing away on top of me, those amazing tits jiggling about. When she comes, it takes me about two seconds before I lose it, too. She falls forward and hugs me, and the hug’s about as good as the sex.
Then we play board games.
I’m so screwed it isn’t even funny.
We spend the next few days getting to know one another. We take long walks with the dogs. We binge watch The Walking Dead, which she’s never seen, and scares her half to death. But she loves it anyway. I cook for her. She cooks for me. We’ve also managed to fit in lots of sex. Lots of vanilla sex, and I’ve loved every fucking moment of it. Straight up missionary with her is more exciting than any of the inventive shit I’ve done with other women. I want her more than them, but it goes deeper. She’s so responsive. Gets so hot and bothered, and seeing her so helpless makes me feel like a fucking god.
It’s finally our official date night. Although the last week, and a bit of having her at my house, feels like one long date. A break from reality that I’ve loved. I know once her dad gets back she’ll move back home, which is the right thing to do. And then I can hopefully date her properly, because I don’t want this to end.
As I drive her to our meal out, I think about starting work for Liam. I’ve met with him once since his email, and he wants me to meet the rest of the team tomorrow although I know them all anyway. I’m gonna take the job. Not that my clients know yet. I feel bad stringing them along, particularly Selina, who is as close to a friend as any client can get. But I’ve still not figured out if Rick Smythe is the one who came after Isla and me. His phone didn’t reveal much, and Luka’s gone back in today to lift his laptop.
Liam’s helping, too. One to create a distraction, the other to take the laptop. But until I know for sure who is fucking with her, I don’t want anyone thinking there’s anything serious between me and Isla. I doubt Selina would mean to create trouble, but she’s a gossip, and this place is a small enough market town for word to spread. I don’t want people knowing she’s staying here. Or what my feelings for her are. And they’re getting deep, fast…which messes with my head.
I’ve booked a table at Milano’s and as I pull up outside, I’m hoping she likes it.
I get out of the car and go around and open her door. She steps out, looking radiant and beautiful. She’s wearing a simple dress, something long and a bit floaty. I wish she owned a bit more confidence in her body, not because I care what she wears. I don’t give a crap if she wants to go out in a sack. But I know she’s self-conscious about her scars, and she’s no need to be. Her beauty shines through, both inner and outer.
“Wow, this place is fancy.” She looks around, her eyes wide.
Is it? I suppose so. I’ve grown used to it. Another thing I love about being with her is how she sees the world. I get to see it all through her eyes, and it’s exhilarating. The smallest thing, like walking the dogs, brings her pleasure. I’m not sure if it’s her youth, or her general character. Perhaps avoiding death at such a young age is what gives her this lease for life. Then again, I’ve avoided death a fair few times myself, and I’m jaded as fuck.
“Evening, Mr. Foston.” The head waiter shows us to our table, a nice quiet spot in the orangery out back as I requested. I sometimes bring clients here when they want to go out and not just fuck.
“Do you come here with clients?” There’s hurt in Isla’s voice as she asks me, and I suddenly regret my decision to come here.
“I have…sometimes.”
“Okay.”
She looks at the menu and bites her lip. I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. “They meant nothing. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. Nothing.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help being jealous.”
I get it, I truly do. I’d be jealous if she’d only been with one person before me. I want her to be all mine. But at the same time, I can’t change the past. “Isla. Listen to me. I’ve not dated for over five years. Before then I dated like two women, and had one relationship. And to be honest, the only reason I had that relationship is because I fell into it. It was easy. It was nice to come home to a warm bed. But I can honestly say I didn’t love her. I didn’t even like her half the time. None of my clients meant anything to me. They’re not lovers, hell, they’re aren’t even friends. I don’t kiss them. Ever. You’re the first person I’ve kissed in years. Do you get what that means? What I’m trying to say is, you’ve no need to be jealous. None.”
The waiter comes over and I order a whisky and ginger, and she requests a sparkling water.
“I know you say they didn’t mean anything. But, Ethan, you did the most intimate thing a person can do with them.”
How do I explain this without sounding like a total bastard? “I don’t see it that way. I don’t see fucking someone as intimate.”
Tears spring to her eyes, and I put my hand over hers. “Let me finish, Isla. Generally, sex to me is no more intimate than anything else I do. It’s a pleasant distraction for twenty or thirty minutes. If I’m with a client, it’s not even that, because I must focus purely on them, but in an almost clinical way.” I feel my face heating and I never fucking blush. Shit. I hate talking about this with her, but I owe her the truth. “Some of the time I don’t even come. I use a condom and tie it off and put it in a bag to throw away at home, and they think I have, but I haven’t. I get paid well to take care of them, and I don’t think what I do is disgusting. Most of those women are in cold, frigid marriages. They haven’t had sex or been held in ages. They’re not like guys. They don’t screw because they get the chance, or for the sake of it. They are doing it, paying me, because they’re neglected. It’s a job. I do it for money, and I got into it through a friend of mine who does it. It’s flexible and meant I could help Ann. But, I don’t think I should have to justify it.”
The waiter comes over with our drinks, and I take a sip of mine before fixing her with my gaze. I want her. I want to try and make this work. But I’m not going to beg forgiveness for something I don’t see as wrong. “Look.” The waiter heads off and I resume our conversation. “You’re jealous, I get it. And that I can reassure you on. You have no need to be. I had zero feelings for my clients. I didn’t even have the hots for any of them. Yes, they are attractive women, but it’s like I put up a barrier in my brain, and they were clients to me. Nothing mor
e, nothing less. I’ll reassure you as much as I can on that score. But, I won’t apologise for what I did. Bottom line, you’re jealous, we can deal. You’re disgusted by it? I take that as you being disgusted by me, and that…we can’t work out.”
I take another sip of my drink as I wait for her to speak. She takes her time, mulling over my words. “I’m not disgusted. I understand it, why they do it, why you did it. I mean, I offered to pay you myself, didn’t I?” She flushes and I smile, because yes, she did. “But I do get jealous. I can’t seem to accept how different it is for you. Must be a man and woman thing.”
I shrug. “Just a different types of people thing, Isla. I know plenty of women who screw around casually. And my friend, Liam, the one who is offering me the job, he’s like a monk. Only has sex if it means something and as far as I’m aware, he’s not had someone mean anything in a very long time. Everyone’s different. And as far as I’m concerned, so long as all parties are consenting adults, then it’s no one else’s business.”
“Okay, but…” she trails off.
“Spit it out. Better we get this aired out, here and now.”
“Those women were married. Yeah, they may have been consenting adults, but they were cheating on someone.” She holds my gaze.
“Yeah, and we already discussed that.”
“But how do you know what they told you is true? I’m sure some of them have unhappy marriages and all the rest. But maybe some simply fancied a bit on the side.”
“It’s none of my business why they hired me, or if they’re lying. I’m not the morality police. And the only morality that matters is here.” I gesture into the space between us. “Between you and me. I’ll never cheat on you. I saw what my dad’s affairs did to my mum, and I won’t ever do that to someone else. If I want out, I’ll say. I’m not the shy and retiring type. This becomes something I don’t want, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay.” She nods. And shuts up for a moment as the waiter comes to take our orders and drop off olives and bread. I can tell she still has some doubts though.
“There’s more. What is it?”
