No Ordinary Bloke

by Mary Whitney

  “I didn’t pick that fight,” I said bitterly.

  “What do you mean?”

  I took a deep breath. I’d already told her a lot. She could hear the rest. “That’s where my dad hit me.”

  “He caused a scar?” She said, jerking upright.

  “Ironically, it was his wedding ring that did it. He was a leftie.”

  “But to have the scar on your face.” She stroked my cheek. “You don’t need a constant reminder of him.”

  “It’s not really.” I sadly chuckled. “I’m not that riddled with self-pity.”

  “I don’t think of you as having self-pity at all.”

  “I think we all have a little. You can push things away, but they bubble up again. Maybe not in the same location or in the same form, but we revisit the issues again.”

  “You don’t think you’ll ever be over your dad?”

  “Not entirely. How could I? He was me dad.”

  “Same here.” She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “One of my friends says I have more daddy issues than a magazine rack.”

  “That’s not so nice.”

  “I don’t know… I think it’s true. I think some of the parts that I liked about Trey dealt with those things. He’s much older, established, and stable. I felt safe around him. He said he’d always take care of me.”

  If I could have sealed my lips together, I would have. It was dangerous to comment on what she’d just said. Of course, I’d thought that Trey represented some kind of fucked up father figure for her, but it wasn’t something I’d ever tell her. As for her rosy picture of Trey, I wanted to puke. Maybe she really did believe him that he only cheated on her once.

  What was I supposed to say though? “Are you sure he wasn’t fucking Melanie? Because I think he was and probably still is.” That would never do. I’d be dredging up the past and creating a terrible situation for her at work. So I shrugged and kept it simple. “Obviously, Trey has his own issues.”

  “Hmph. Trey…” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been nice to me when I see him at work. He says he wants to be friends.”

  I sat up like a spring had popped beneath me. “He what?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s not a big deal. He’s just being friendly. He feels badly. He wants forgiveness.”

  “But he—”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t remind me. I know what he did. And eventually I’ll forgive him.”

  “You will?” I was galled. “Why?”

  “If I can forgive my dad, I can forgive anyone.”

  She’d said it with such poise, as if it had become the guiding principle of her life. I stared at my darling girl. She was a better person than me. “Yeah, I’m not there yet,” I muttered.

  “You don’t think you can ever forgive your dad?” she asked as she sat up next to me.

  “Dunno. I might forgive him for what he did to me.” I looked around my comfortable room. “I’m doing great. I can’t imagine he’s doing too well if he has to carry around the fact he abandoned a wife and son, not to mention he’s probably still beating up whoever loves him the most. Most likely, he’s a pretty pathetic character.” Then I shook my head slowly. “But I can’t forgive him for what he did to me mum. No forgiveness to be had there. I’m still angry about it.”

  Her lower lip protruded in a sad pout. “David, you’re such a sweet guy. Have you ever thought about talking to anyone about the anger?”

  My face was motionless, but my eyes slipped to the side to look at her. “Um. No.”

  Time escaped us over those few days. It wasn’t like I’d made any plans for Allison. I’d only had hopes. I’d hoped I could take her to dinner or we might go to the gym together. I’d hoped she might like watching football in bed with me, preferably with her naked. We ended up doing all of those things, but we spent the majority of time in my bed. We never had a row or cross words. The only time things ever became tense was when my phone signaled a text as we were watching football.

  “Your phone is ringing.” She playfully poked my side

  “It’s not ringing,” I said with my eyes never leaving the screen. “I’ve got a text.”

  “Don’t you want to read it?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “How do you know?”

  I laughed and kissed her on the cheek. “I forgive you because you’re an American and you don’t understand. But Liverpool is one nil down with three minutes to go. One of their best players just got a red card. Very little in life is more important than this game right now.” I kissed her again as she giggled. Pointing to my phone, I said, “Feel free to read it yourself and tell me if I’m wrong.”

  “I will then,” she said as she took the phone.

  I never thought twice about letting anyone use my phone, laptop, iPad, whatever. My life was an open book, and I wasn’t ashamed of anything in it. When she didn’t say a word, I turned to her. “You’re quiet. Was I wrong? What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in an icy tone.

  “What was it?”

  “You want me to read it?”

  “Yes,” I said, though her chilly attitude made me wonder if I really did.

  “You received a text from someone named Candy.” Allison scowled. “All it says is quote: ‘Coffee, tea, me?’” She put the phone down on the nightstand. “Who is she and what does she mean?”

  I turned off the TV. Now if she was British, she’d know that act alone for a guy like me in the middle of his team’s game was a very serious move. Alas, the importance didn’t register at all for her.

  Taking her hand in mine, I was as honest as I could be. I hoped she’d appreciate my sincerity. “Candy is an old girlfriend of sorts. I say girlfriend because I’ve known her a long time, though we’ve never been close except for the occasional sex. Like I said, I haven’t had sex with her or anyone else for quite some time. Not long after I first met you, Candy and I saw each other, and I couldn’t even get it up. I didn’t tell her this but I’m pretty sure it was because I was thinking about you the whole time. That’s the Lord’s truth.”

  “Okay…”

  She didn’t look convinced, so I continued, “Candy made that joke about coffee and tea in the text because she runs a coffee shop. I haven’t talked to her in months. She doesn’t know about you or that you’re here with me right now.”

  Allison’s shoulders slumped in hurt, so I pulled her into my arms. “And that’s who Candy is and that’s what she means to me. I think the more important questions are who are you and what do you mean to me.”

  “Huh? I don’t understand.”

  “Nothing would make me happier than if I could text Candy back and say, ‘I have a girlfriend. Her name is Allison Wright, and she means the world to me.’”

  Out went the bitter scowl, and in came her bashful blush blooming across her cheeks. “Are you sure you want to say something like that to her? She sounds cute.”

  “Not as cute as you.” I kissed her cheek. “And even if she was cute, I’m not a cheater, darling. If I was a cheater, do you think I’d let you look at my phone?” I bet old Trey never left his phone anywhere near her.

  “No, I don’t think you would.”

  “Please, love,” I said, kissing her along her jaw line. “Be mine. Nothing would make me happier or prouder.”

  She fingered the hairs on my chest and smiled. “Like I said before, it’s a miracle some other woman hasn’t snatched you up. You would make a wonderful boyfriend.”

  “So make an honest man out of me, woman.” I chuckled.

  She sighed. “It’s just…well…the ghosts of girlfriends past drive me nuts. They seem to pop up all the time.”

  “Don’t worry. Once you’re around all the time and people know about you, all the ghosts will go away.”

  She seemed to want to believe me, but she was coy. “I need a job description first.”

  “A job description? For being a girlfriend?” I threw my head back. “You HR people alw
ays know how to slow down a hire.”

  “Well, what do you expect of me?”

  “Dunno.” I tapped my head, coming up with some ideas. “Here’s the most important one: you must let me touch and spoil you until I become a pest.”

  “I can do that.”

  “You also must root for Liverpool, put up with my crazy family, and listen to my boring work stories.” I kissed her cheek. “And maybe one of your expert blowjobs now and then? Could we add that?”

  “Of course.” She grinned. “I like all those duties. I’ll take the job.”

  “You will?” I was giddy.

  “Absolutely.” She wriggled a bit away from me and raised her finger. “But, you need one, too.”

  “All right. Let me hear it.”

  “You must never stop giving me those kisses behind my ear. You have to go to my family’s farm at least once every few years and listen to all my boring work stories. And if you don’t mind, keep doing that thing with your tongue when we’re messing around.”

  “Sign me up.” I laughed. “Some of those tasks are mutually beneficial.”

  “They are.” Her smile softened into something more serious. “And one more thing. It’s important to me, and I think mutually beneficial.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No more fights. None. They scare the shit out of me.”

  The way her lip trembled made me believe she was serious. I wondered if I reminded her of her dad when he became crazy. I wasn’t sure I could fully live up to it, but I still said, “Okay.”

  “Would you consider talking to someone about why you want to fight?”

  “I don’t think a bloke like me does that sort of thing.” That I was equally serious about, but I nudged her to make her smile. “A pint with Adam at the pub usually is enough to sort things out.”

  Running her fingers through my hair, she said, “It’s just because I care for you so much. I don’t want to see you hurt, and I don’t like thinking that you could really hurt someone else.”

  I’d heard the talk from her before. It seemed foolish to press the point that she or anyone I loved or even half-way liked was at risk. That wasn’t her issue. She questioned my ability to control myself if I became completely unhinged.

  A few hours before she headed back to the states, we were going at it like crazed dogs. She was on her hands and knees on my bed, while I was pounding her from behind. The noises that were coming from her just spurred me on. She was clearly into it, and there was something about that position that made a bloke feel like his dick was the most special God given thing in the whole fucking universe.

  We’d been pretty rough, though, so when we were both spent and on our backs, I nuzzled up to her. “Did I hurt you, love?” I asked.

  “No, not at all.” She smiled. “I’m pretty sturdy.”

  “Yes, you are.” I kissed her neck. “I don’t ever want to hurt you though.”

  “I know. I don’t want to hurt you either.”

  I inhaled her scent and hoped would linger on my sheets after she’d gone. My heart hurt just thinking about her absence. I knew she’d miss me, too, but did it feel the same for her? I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I did. I was sure of it, but I wasn’t sure she was ready to hear that from another guy again. Just getting Allison to agree to being my girlfriend seemed like a big step for her. With a sigh, I murmured, “I’m still falling in love with you.”

  I looked up at her, and she dazzled me with her broken smile that I believed was just for me. Grazing her hand over my cheek, she said, “I’m still falling in love with you, too.”

  The next three months were as much fun as I’d had in my whole bloody life. Allison and I saw each other as much as possible, and because both of our jobs required us to be on the road, we travelled everywhere together. Depending on our schedules, we’d meet up with one another either on the road or at home. From Dubai to Rio to Chicago to Beijing, we made the most of our time in the cities and their hotel rooms.

  We always saw each other at least once a week, even if it was only for a couple of days, and then of course, we would talk on the phone every night and text and email throughout the day. She made my life happier, and I was pretty sure I did the same for her. Life felt like a holiday with her. If this was love, then I was ready for it. Adam would just smile and pat my back, saying, “It’s only a matter of time, mate. Just a matter of time.”

  Sure, there were little fissures between Allison and me that would occasionally develop. Ghosts of girlfriends past always caused tension. Just as I told her would happen, they appeared less frequently the longer we were together, but there were still too many for her liking. The sad fact was that she was chastened by her experience with Trey, and she was wary of getting cheated on again. I couldn’t blame her for that reaction. It wasn’t like I could point to this history of healthy, monogamous relationships to recommend me.

  But I really hated the fact that he came sniffing around her all the time, just wanting to be “friendly” as he told her. I was certain his idea of “friendly” involved the removal of Allison’s knickers. I hated him for it, but I couldn’t say much. The few times I commented to Allison I got cold glares from my darling girl. She was worried I’d go mental and get into a fight with the twat.

  Now, I would never have done that, but unfortunately, past performance was an indicator of future potential. In my case, I’d fought over her before with less reason than I might have with Trey. After the incident in DC, I tried to be on my best behavior around her and never get into a fight, regardless of the issue, but it was hard.

  In the end though, the fissures were microscopic compared to the bond that Allison and I had. She was everything I could ever hope for—a strong woman with a soft heart who could make me laugh and cry, and who was pretty as a princess. She was the last person I wanted to talk to at night, and the first person I wanted to see in the morning. I’d already decided I wanted to make that possible on a daily basis. If that meant me moving to New York, I’d do it. I would do anything for her, but sometimes I didn’t think she believed me.

  One long weekend in June, Allison and I visited Adam, Nicki, and Little V at the Kincaid place in Scotland. I hadn’t briefed Allison much about the trip because frankly, if I told her, she wouldn’t believe me. The taxi driver was the first to tip her off that we were going somewhere special.

  Before we got in the taxi at the airport, I told him where to take us, and he only nodded. His questions began after we got in the cab. First, he looked at me in the rear view mirror with suspicious eyes, and I knew what he was wondering. Admittedly, it was a good question. Why is the cockney bloke in the fancy clothes taking the American bird to Lathan, the Kincaid family estate?

  As soon as he started the car, he said, “Lathan is a fine place. The caretaker’s name is Gerald. He’ll show you around. Tell him Duncan says hello for me.”

  Allison gave me a curious look, and I answered it by answering the cabbie. “I know Gerald. Good man.”

  “How do you know Gerald?” he asked, taking his eyes from the road and onto the rear view mirror so he could watch me answer.

  “Adam Kincaid’s my cousin.”

  Now a snooty arse might’ve called Adam “Viscount Kincaid” rather than “my cousin,” but that seemed unnecessary. Most people in this Godforsaken, far corner of Scotland knew the Kincaids and who they were. Certainly, Duncan, the nosey cabbie knew.

  “You don’t sound like a Kincaid,” Duncan said

  “That’s why my last name is Bates,” I said with a laugh.

  Not liking being left out of the conversation, Allison asked Duncan, “How long has Gerald worked there?”

  “Long time. As long as I can remember. I think this may be his third Viscount Kincaid.”

  We might’ve been interrogated by Duncan for the rest of the way, but thankfully, his mobile rang. As he talked to his wife about their shopping list, Allison turned to me. “Are you taking me to Downton Abbey?”

&nbs
p; “Similar, but not so much.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a big fucking house, but Adam’s family only has a large apartment there now. The state owns the house, and now it’s mostly a museum.”

  “Wow.”

  “I hate it.”

  “You do? Why? It sounds fascinating.”

  “I feel like a peasant when I’m there.”

  She gently pushed my leg. “What? How can you say that?”

  “To some people all that grandeur is exciting. To me, it makes me feel like I don’t belong there.”

  “Right…” she said, though not convinced at all. “I’ve seen how you live. I’ve seen your car. You’re not a peasant.”

  “That’s what Adam and Nicki say.”

  “They’re right.” She laughed.

  As we drove down Lathan’s long road to the main house, Allison looked around at the fields. I smiled and pointed to a distant tractor. “It’s a farm.”

  She shook her head. “No. I grew up on a farm. This is an estate. Now I know why you feel like a peasant.”

  “Will you ever take me to your farm?”

  “Absolutely.” She kissed my cheek. “Just don’t expect much. It’s nothing like this.”

  I kissed her cheek right back. “I bet it’s great.”

  What did I say about luck? That it had to do with chance? The bloody universe had its own ideas about our fate, and it also laid out our path. The different paths people got were fucking unfair, but it wasn’t like you could choose your path. You only had a choice in the chances to take and decisions to make. Sometimes those choices were ultimate, moral choices, sometimes just simple decisions, and occasionally, something in between. And sometimes those simple decisions altered everything for better or for worse.

  Despite all the times I griped about Lathan for this and that, I did usually enjoy it there, and I was excited to show Allison around. I’d never, ever admit it out loud, but I was also a wee bit proud to have a connection to the aristocracy even if I always railed against it. As an American, Allison was fucking agog about it all. I understood a little more about why she thought Trey was so interesting. He was a blueblood American, the closest thing you could get there to an aristocracy. He was a world away from a poor farmer who blew his head off in the barn.