by Carrie Elks
“Where he can, but as he keeps reminding me, he doesn't have the right plumbing. But don't worry, I'm working on weaning Max onto a bottle, then I'll have my revenge.” I let out a Dracula-style laugh. My mwah-ha-ha reverberates down the phone.
“Score one for the sisterhood.” Her tone is the oral equivalent of a high five. “Max might sleep better when he's on the bottle.”
He might... but then again, that little carrot has been dangling in front of my face for months. Maybe when he starts to roll, maybe when he starts on solids, maybe when he reaches fifteen pounds…
He's done all of those things, and still he isn't sleeping.
“Fingers crossed.”
“How's Alex?” As soon as she asks, an image pops into my head; the way he cuddled Max this morning, his biceps knotted and taut as he swung him in his arms, the delighted smile on Max's face as Alex blew raspberries on his pudgy tummy.
“He's good. Their band has a new manager, reckons he can help them hit the big time.”
“And that's a bad thing?” She must have caught my inflection. “Imagine if they become famous, you can give up work and be a groupie.”
“Can you be a groupie if you're married to the lead singer?” I ask, not hiding the sarcasm in my voice. “Anyway, what kind of groupie drags a six month old baby around with her?”
“The best sort.” Beth's voice is warm. “The baby-momma of the lead singer sort.”
“Ugh, I'm pretty sure nobody wants a groupie with stretch marks.”
“I'm pretty sure Alex does.”
That's true. The changes to my body haven't phased him one bit. He still constantly grabs at me, running his hands down my body the same way he always has. “And how are your lot? Is Allegra looking forward to the school holidays?”
“She can't wait. I've booked her into extra dance lessons. She wants to be a ballerina.”
“And Niall?”
“He's still Niall. Covered in paint and planning out his next exhibition.”
Everything has finally come together for her. There's nobody who deserves happiness more than Beth. It's been a long time coming. “Maybe we'll come over and visit soon,” I suggest. “I need a bit of Beth time.”
“That sounds great,” she agrees easily. “We could leave Niall and Alex with the kids and go out on the town. Paint the place red.”
A night out? Dancing and drinking and a giggle with my best friend? It sounds like heaven. “You've sold me. I'll text you some dates.”
“Perfect!” She sounds as happy as I am. “I can't wait.”
* * *
The first thing I notice when I open the door to our building is the smell. The usual musty aroma of damp and dust has disappeared, replaced by something I can only describe as clean. I shift Max on my hip and look around the hallway, wondering what on earth happened to the pile of envelopes that have been living in the corner for the past two years.
“Err... ooh... bwrll.” Max starts to babble, pointing at the stairs.
I nod solemnly. “Yes, we’re going to go upstairs now.”
A click to my right alerts me. I turn to see the door to the ground floor flat open. Our new neighbour, David, pops his head around, smiling when he sees me. “Hey.”
“Hi. What happened in here? Did I miss a nuclear bomb? A tornado?”
“I had a bit of time on my hands. Decided to give the place a clean-up.” He shrugs, walking out of his flat and leaning on the doorjamb. “I took a look through all that stuff in the corner, I don’t think any of it belonged to you. If it did, it’s only out the back in the yard.”
“It’s okay, it’s not mine. I think it belonged to the last tenant. Or the last but one, something like that.” I look around, marvelling at the lack of dust motes and the way the black marks no longer line the wooden floor. “It looks great. You should have said something, I could have helped.”
“Nah. I figure the ground floor is my responsibility. You guys can have the upstairs.”
This time I start to laugh. “I’m glad you haven’t seen it up there. It’s almost as much of a pigsty. I haven’t had a chance…” I look at Max as if he’s an excuse. Not that he is, really. I’ve had a hundred opportunities to clean, every time he takes a nap.
“Ahhh, you can’t do everything when you’ve got a nipper. Maybe when he’s older.”
David is way too nice for his own good.
“That gives me a bit of time to think up a better excuse. Thanks for that.” I give him a cheeky grin.
“At your service.” He takes a mock bow and sends me a wink. Not that he needs to, I’ve already decided I like him. “So, what do you guys have planned on this beautiful Friday evening?”
“I’m going to a gig.”
“Isn’t he a little young? Or do they have high chairs at venues nowadays?” David walks towards us and tickles Max, who starts to giggle uproariously. “Although I can see this guy being the life and soul of the party.”
Max wriggles in my arms, more interested in David than staying safe. I try to pull him back. “This little fella has a date with a cot and a babysitter. It’s my husband’s band, they’re playing at a club in Hoxton.”
“He’s in a band? Anybody I’ve heard of?”
“I’m pretty sure you haven’t. They’re good, though. Come along if you’re free, I can introduce you.”
David nods, a grin unfurling on his lips. “Sounds like a plan. Count me in.”
When I get upstairs, Alex is bouncing off the walls, buzzed on adrenaline and anticipation. Before I can even close the doors he grabs Max out of my hands and starts dancing him around the room. He sings to him loudly, sweeping him up and down, and I’m grinning like a lunatic.
“What caused that smile, gorgeous?” Alex moves back towards me, pulling me into his free arm. His hand cups my hip, fingers digging in deliciously as he bends his head to my neck and presses his lips there. I breathe him in, fresh and clean from a shower, hair glistening and moulded into an almost quiff.
He’s all gel and rolled-up sleeves. There’s no collar on his t-shirt, so I can see the dark inked scrolls that lick up from his chest and shoulders peeking out from the material. Even though Max is in his arms, I can’t help but trace them with my fingers, feeling him tense up as I flutter my hand against his skin.
“Maybe Max should have a nap.” Alex’s voice is thick. “He seems really tired.”
Max starts babbling again; sleep is clearly the furthest thing from his mind.
“He’s not due another nap until this evening.” I try not to laugh at the disappointment on Alex’s face. He stares at me through narrowed eyes, and I smile in response. I’m caught somewhere in the middle of turned-on and amused.
“He seems really tired,” Alex repeats. “And those lips of yours look really empty.”
I know where he’s going with this; I feel like playing.
“They are. Really empty. Desperate to be filled.”
“Then put the baby to bed,” he growls.
I lean forward and press my mouth to Alex’s. He kisses me back, his movements heated. Cupping my chin, he angles my head, slowly running his tongue along the seam of my lips. “Put the baby to bed, now, Lara.”
As if he knows he’s being talked about, Max lets out an almighty shout and then hits us both in the face. Not softly, either; there’s nothing about his slap that could be classified as a ‘love tap’. He’s forceful, and my skin stings from the impact.
“Ow.” I pull back, rubbing my chin with my palm. Either Alex is sturdier than me, or Max didn’t hit him as hard, because he doesn’t appear to be wincing. “I don’t think the baby wants to go to sleep.”
“Little cockblocker.” Alex nuzzles Max affectionately. Then he whacks me on the bottom.
“Hey, that hurt.”
“It was supposed to. A gentle reminder that your arse is mine. Tonight. When Max is asleep.”
I flutter my eyelids at him and turn to walk into the kitchen, sending him a coquettish smile over
my shoulder as I walk. “My arse is always yours, darling. And if you can manage anything after being on stage followed by God knows how many pints of lager, I’ll be impressed.”
“You’re always impressed,” he shouts. I pretend not to hear him, but he carries on, anyway. “And so you should be. I’m fucking impressive.”
“I’m not impressed by your modesty,” I sing out, opening the cupboard to find some rice. I bite down on my lip in my efforts not to smile. I love it when he’s home. With all the nights he’s been practising, and weekends at the recording studios, I’ve missed this.
“It’s not my modesty you want to be thinking about. It’s my hard, dirty…”
“Max is listening!” I peek my head around the door. “Do you want his first word to be ‘cock’?”
“You said it, not me.” He laughs, his eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe you’re teaching our son dirty words. Wait until I tell Mum.”
“You do that and I’ll tell her that you tried to make me suck you off while our son was wide awake. Imagine her horror.”
He puts Max in his green and blue striped chair, and the baby starts to bounce and kick happily. When Alex stands up, he looks at me, still peeking around the door. His hands are on his hips, eyes narrowed.
“Are you threatening me?”
A little thrill shoots through me. I love it when Alex is playful, but his hard, strong side is what really turns me on. “What if I am?”
He walks towards me, bare feet slapping against the floorboards, the angles of his face sharp and strong. My heart starts to speed up. I know that look—intense, intent; Alex on heat.
“You want to be careful.” His voice is soft, but the timbre doesn’t fool me. My throat tightens as he steps into the kitchen, and I back away until I’m caught up against the work surface with nowhere to go. Even though he’s only a man, he fills the room, charisma radiating from him. He’s not touching me, but I can feel him all over my skin, pressing against my body. This is what he does.
Every single time.
“I’m not the careful type.”
“I can see that.” He puts a hand either side of me, clutching the worktop, caging me in. Lowering his head until his brow is pressed to mine, he stares at me, his thick, long eyelids fluttering as he blinks. “You’re a very bad girl.”
“I am,” I breathe.
“And you deserve to be punished.”
Yes I do. I really do.
He moves his face against mine, kissing me softly, little more than a brush of the lips. “Tonight I’m going to bend you over and fuck you so hard the snark flies right out of you, baby.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I can’t think of a single, witty reply.
Then he hits my arse yet again, and saunters out of the kitchen, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Laters.”
4
There’s nothing I love better than London on a summer’s evening. The streets are alive, thronging with people, the air thick with conversation and laughter. David and I walk past restaurants and bars, the open doors allowing the sweet fragrance of food and drink to escape into the night, wafting around us until my stomach starts to rumble.
The walk to Hoxton Square only takes us ten minutes, but it’s long enough for me to grill David about his life. He tells me he comes from the Northern Territories, that he has a one-year-old daughter, and his ex refuses to allow him access after an argument that got out of control. His voice drops when he describes Mathilda, and I can hear the pain that laces it, the ache that coats every word he says.
“I’m only here for a few months,” he explains. “I couldn’t stand to be near her. It was driving me crazy not being able to see her. I was close to a breakdown. I’ve always wanted to live in London, so I thought bugger it.”
“Are you planning to work while you’re here?”
“I’m a website designer. I’ve scaled things back a bit while I’m here, but there’re still a few commissions to finish. I can do that as easily here as anywhere else.”
“So you’ll be tapping away downstairs? God, I hope Max doesn’t disturb you too much.” Since our flats are part of a house conversion, the noise sometimes travels in the most embarrassing of ways. I know this, because Nancy, the previous tenant, used to wink at me after Alex and I had a dirty night.
“It’s all good. I don’t mind hearing a baby cry.”
When we get to the club, I give our name to the bouncer and he lifts up the rope, letting us into the lobby. We get our hands stamped and walk into the main hall, which is already half-full despite the set not starting for another hour.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask, grabbing my purse and taking out a couple of notes.
“I’ll get these.”
“It’s fine. Think of it as recompense for the noisy baby. You can get the next round.”
“In that case, I’ll have a beer. A proper one, not lager.”
We get our drinks and find a spot to the right of the stage. As we walk I see some familiar faces, smiling and saying hello to those I know. Alex’s band, Fear of Flying, have a pretty loyal following, but with the exposure they’ve been getting on some fairly popular music blogs, it has started to grow. I notice that at least half the audience is made up of younger women, drinking white wine spritzers and talking excitedly. Though I try not to listen too closely, I can’t help but notice the words some of them use about Alex.
Yes, he is ‘fuck hot’, but he’s also mine. A tiny dart of jealousy shoots through me. Not a big one; there’s no green-eyed monster here. Maybe a bit of territory guarding.
“Don’t you want to go and see your husband?” David asks after he takes a sip of beer. “I don’t mind hanging around here.”
“I try not to see him before a set. He’s too amped up, we’d end up having a row.” It’s true; by this time Alex will be almost high on adrenaline. Electric and punchy and liable to explode. It’s what he does to get through the painful anxiety that accompanies him going on stage, though once he’s performing you’d never know it.
“Oh, really? I never would have guessed.” David grins. I find myself blushing, mostly because he must have heard all our arguments. Alex and I love hard and we fight hard, and though that kind of relationship isn’t for everyone, it works for us.
Most of the time.
A little over an hour later the chatter in the room hushes into silence, and I look up to see Alex walking onto the stage. Behind him, the rest of the group take up their spots, lifting guitars and sticks, and placing fingers on keyboards. But it’s Alex everybody is staring at, the one they can’t drag their eyes from. He has this incredible presence that is difficult to ignore. Stage-Alex commands the room, struts about as if he owns the place, caressing the microphone as if it’s his first love.
This is the Alex I first met. Intense and serious, he stares out into the crowd, the corner of his lip curled up. I bite down on my own lip, feeling my heart start to race. I’m nervous for him, but there’s something more, a need that vibrates inside me from my head to the tips of my toes.
It appears that the rest of the girls in the room feel the same way. There are cheers and screams as he strums the first chord, then Stuart hits the drums and the whole crowd erupts. I glance at David, who is staring up at the stage, and I see his foot tapping out a rhythm in time to the beat. But when Alex starts to sing my gaze swings right back to the stage, and he leans forward, singing into the mic, his voice low and sultry and full of swagger.
The boy’s got game, and he knows it.
As the set continues we’re pulled into the crowd, dragged along with the surge as everybody moves towards the stage. I reach out for David’s sleeve, holding on tight, trying to keep him by my side.
That’s when my eyes meet Alex’s. I can tell the moment he spots me. His gaze stays on me for a drumbeat longer than anywhere else, and he smiles as he sings, his wink causing a hundred women to whistle and call. At the end of the song he mouths ‘I
fucking love you’ and I mouth it right back, feeling the pounding of my heart and the aching need in my body. I’m so busy staring at him, I almost forget David’s here.
He leans in to whisper in my ear. “They’re bloody good.”
I nod, smiling hugely. “The best.”
“Your old man is the singer, right?”
“Yep.” A couple of heads turn at this, and I feel the disapproval of nearby females.
“Even I think he’s hot,” David says.
I start to laugh, but then I see Alex’s eyes narrow as he stares at me from the stage. Is he jealous? For a moment I feel indignant. What right has he got to feel anything approaching resentment when most of the women in this room want to jump him? All I’m doing is having a laugh with our new neighbour, while Alex is practically humping every female watching.
So I do the adult thing and stare right back. Then I stick my tongue out at him. He shakes his head and laughs softly, staring down at his guitar, and I feel marginally better.
* * *
We go backstage after their set is finished. Alex is in what masquerades as a dressing room, though really it’s a living room with a couple of mirrors. He’s sitting on the black leather sofa, legs stretched out in front of him, a cold bottle of beer in his right hand. His eyes are closed, his head is back, and the sweat is pretty much dripping off him. His hair glistens with it.
“Hi.” I walk over and he sits up, making a grab for me, pulling me into his lap. “Let go, you’re soaking.”
“I love making you wet.”
“Um, this is David. From downstairs,” I say, alerting him to the fact we have company. Other than the band, of course. Those boys have known me for years. They’re used to the way Alex makes me blush like a teenager.
“Downstairs where?”
“He’s our new neighbour, I invited him along. David, this is Alex, Alex this is David.” I stand up and let them shake hands. Though Alex seems friendly enough, I can still sense an edge to his voice. Like he's sizing David up.
“All right?”
“Nice to meet you.”
