by Molloy, Ruby
Tomorrow it’s the big celebration―me, Mason and our friends. I should be excited, but I could put that one off forever and a day. I don’t know Mason’s friends. What if I don’t like them? What if they don’t like me? And Nora and Carred will be there and God knows how that will go once they’ve had a few drinks.
It’s so much simpler when it’s just me and Mason having fabulous, glorious sex. Not that that’s all we do, though it does pretty much summarise our relationship. Which is no great surprise, seeing as he laid it out there for me all those weeks ago.
And it’s not as if I don’t like the sex, because sometimes it’s all I can think about. But it’s the small, intimate moments that mean the most to me. We’ve been back to Carmichael’s a couple of times and sipped drinks at a local bar, but it’s the quiet nights in that mean the most to me. Pizza, beers, a movie, and Mason sat beside me, with his arm slung along the back of the sofa. I’d rather it was wrapped around my shoulders, but outside of sex he doesn’t really do intimacy.
The thing is, deep down, I know this is wrong. I know I’m not getting everything I need from our arrangement. But I can’t say no to this. I can’t let him go. At least, not until he decides it’s time. I know I’m weak and I know if Nora, Ella or Kayla were aware of the true nature of our relationship they’d be horrified. But they aren’t me. I get to make my own life decisions.
Ivy snaps me out of reverie by clicking her fingers. “Away with the fairies again,” she says.
I watch her retrieve her compact from her purse. It’s the third time she’s checked her make-up in the last ten minutes. Mason is on his way to take us out to dinner. Damn, but I’m nervous as hell. I’m worried Ivy’s going to notice the lack of intimacy between me and Mason. And he’s going to realise she’s crazy as can be.
Ivy has a tendency to go off on a tangent, which means she can be incredibly difficult to follow. Plus, she likes to fire questions at you when you least expect it. Sid was always terrified of her. He’d sit in his car and wait for me to get ready rather than endure an encounter with Ivy. She called him a coward, and worse, and she’d give him the mean eye whenever she saw him. She scared the crap out of Sid.
And now it’s Mason’s turn to endure the torture. I have warned him and he doesn’t seem troubled, but I’m a frigging nervous wreck. I glance down at my chunky black shoes, my short, tight skirt, and my thin, oversized black jumper. If you disregard my face, I look like a Goth. Ivy, on the other hand, looks like she’s going to the Queen’s garden party. Her dress is cream, which is fine, but there are pink rabbits stamped all over it and it’s cinched in at the waist by a matching shiny, pink belt. And there’s poetic license in my use of the word ‘cinched’ because nothing on god’s green earth is going to pull in Ivy’s girth.
“He’s late,” she says, in a voice that’s heavy with disapproval.
“He’s travelling from London, Ivy. Who knows what the traffic’s like.”
“He has a phone doesn’t he? He could call.”
Great. They haven’t even met and already they’ve fallen out. Wait ‘til she gets an eyeful of his tattoos.
“If I knew where we were going I could have searched for some coupons,” she complains. “Botyn’s are offering a fifty percent discount on starters and desserts. Maybe I should just go fetch―”
“Ivy, honestly, there’s no need. Mason has offered to pay for dinner and trust me he can afford it.” I still don’t know where his money comes from, but that’s not my question to ask.
Ivy eyes me suspiciously. I think she’s making another judgement call. Strike two against Mason.
The tap on the front door doesn’t come for another five minutes, during which time Ivy has once again checked her reflection. Before I can get to the door, she’s up out of her seat, tugging her dress into place as she goes. This takes quite a bit of effort, after which she pastes a smile on her face. She wouldn’t look out of place on a crime programme about innocuous old ladies who turn out to be cold-blooded killers.
Whatever Mason was expecting, it wasn’t Ivy. And vice-versa. He does a good job of disguising his reaction, but he certainly didn’t foresee a blonde haired, aged tootsie, wearing red lipstick that’s straying from the corners of her mouth. And Ivy obviously didn’t foresee Mason being covered in tattoos, or maybe she did, just not so many. Her left hand grips the door frame while her right holds the door. She looks him up and down, emits an ‘hmm’ noise, and glances at me over her shoulder as if to tell me ‘I should know better’.
“Well, come in, come in,” she says, totally oblivious to the fact that she’s blocking his entrance and there’s nowhere for him to ‘come in’. He doesn’t appear intimidated or terrified, but he’s definitely amused. His eyes are crinkled at the corners and there’s a slight compression of his mouth as if he’s slaying a smile.
Ivy finally loses patience with him and waltzes smartly into the living room. Mason stares at her departing back and switches his accusing gaze my way. “A word of warning would have been nice,” he says.
“What, for Ivy? She’s a pussycat,” I say. “Well, come in, come in, don’t stand out there all night,” I say, Ivy-style.
His glance promises retribution.
Just as he steps over the threshold, Ivy reappears with her purse swinging on her wrist. Mason looks confused for a moment, but he swiftly steps back when she advances as if he’s not there.
“Where are we going?” she says, her tone peremptory.
“Uh, Botyn’s,” he says.
Ivy gets that look on her face and I know she’s about to go searching for a coupon. “No way, Ivy. Come on, let’s get this show on the road.”
Mason leads the way to his car. Ivy follows and I trail behind, praying the night won’t be a total disaster. He does the right thing and opens the door for her, letting her sit up front, while I’m consigned to the back. He’s driving the SUV again and I can’t help thinking back to the night he gave Kayla a lift home, to the night we first had sex.
There’s an awkward moment when we arrive at the restaurant. Ivy can’t get out of the SUV. She might be sprightly, but there are limits to her suppleness, and stepping down from an SUV is one of them. She tries one foot, fails, and repeats with the other, again without success. Mason steps up, grabs her by the waist and lifts her down as though she weighs next to nothing. I gasp and hold my breath, waiting for Ivy to launch into a stinging diatribe but she simply rearranges her dress and nods, before happily walking towards the restaurant. I stare at Mason as if he’s grown an additional head, but he’s oblivious. He grabs my hand – the only touching he allows, outside of sex – and we head into the restaurant where Ivy is already communicating with the maitre d’.
Two hours later and I’m a spare cog. Or is that a wheel? Either way, I’m superfluous. Ivy and Mason have been engaged in a crazy conversation, the rules of which seem to involve Ivy asking Mason personal questions, with Mason answering as briefly as possible. She did the same to Sid way back when. He crumpled at the first question, but Mason is holding his ground.
“You’re hiding something,” Ivy accuses.
I stiffen, but Mason doesn’t look offended. If anything, he’s enjoying this. “No I’m not. You just haven’t asked the right question.”
“Oh, tush!” Ivy stares malevolently at him from across the table, her eyes bright. There’s a faint pink stain to her cheeks and her lips appear darker than normal. “You remind me of someone. Now who is it? I can picture him clear as day, but I can’t remember his name. Tall like you, with the same air about him. He was a tearaway. Got caught stealing from his employer.” She snaps her fingers to quicken her memory. “What was his name? Jack? No. James? No. Jasper! That’s it, Jasper! He was a bad lad. Got sent to prison ...” She stops suddenly and the atmosphere changes in an instant. Mason leans back in his seat, the personification of cockiness. Ivy’s expression is a mixture of triumph and disappointment. “You went to prison,” she says.
“I did.”
“Oh.” She mulls this over for a few seconds, taking a sip from her glass of sherry. “What did you do? Drugs? Guns?” Her enthusiasm is a little alarming.
“I beat up a teacher. Broke a few of his bones.”
It’s clear she has more questions and I do my best to stem the flow. “Ivy―”
“Did he do something to deserve it?” she asks and I wait on tenterhooks, because I really don’t know if that’s the case.
Mason looks relieved by her question, as if it was the right one to ask. “Yeah,” he says.
“Do you regret it?” she asks.
“I regret the consequences,” he says, as if he’s thought about this a thousand times before. I want to know more. I want to know what he means by that, but after asking one hundred and one questions, Ivy suddenly seems to have run dry.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she announces.
Alone, Mason and I swap awkward smiles. I pick up a lone spoon, spinning it around on the white, cotton tablecloth, wishing I knew what to say.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I was just about to ask the same thing. Ivy’s a little ...” I trail off, unable to find the right adjective.
“Unusual,” Mason fills, and I laugh because it’s too simple a word to describe all of Ivy’s quirks.
“Yeah, I guess unusual works.”
“She like this with the other guy?”
I realise he never says Sid’s name and I wonder why. I test him, waiting for a reaction when I say, “You mean Sid?” but there’s nothing.
“Yeah.”
“Worse. Much, much worse,” I say, smiling.
His gaze lowers to my mouth, lingering too long. I can see the effort it takes for him to lift his gaze. “Come back to mine tonight,” he says. It’s clear his request is spontaneous and I like that. Usually our encounters are arranged in advance. It’s cold and clinical, but when we come together it’s hot and needy and I wonder how I survived without him.
“I can’t. I promised Ivy I’d help her with her garden tomorrow.”
“I’ll bring you back in the morning.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed I have a car of my own, but it makes no difference. My birthday is a big deal to Ivy. She has a cake and candles back home and a present waiting to be unwrapped.”
He looks a little moody. Muttering a profanity, he says something about wanting to unwrap me. If we were alone, or if there was somewhere private we could go, I would show him exactly how his words affect me. As it is, we exchange heated glances until Ivy rejoins us.
The remainder of the night goes smoothly. I don’t know exactly how or why, but Ivy has taken a shine to Mason. She flirts and giggles outrageously and I can’t quite believe what’s happening. Poor Sid. He’d be pissed if he could see her behaviour.
Mason sees us home, walking us to the door. We swap chaste kisses because Ivy doesn’t get the hint when we linger outside. She stands in the hallway, chattering and fussing like the old woman she is. Mason squeezes my hand and lets me go, calling goodnight to Ivy. As much as she likes him, she’s easily distracted, and she’s waves him goodbye with a dismissive flick of her hand. Mason raises his brows and I shrug my shoulders. The sooner he gets to know Ivy’s quirks, the better.
I sleep well. My bed is comfy and warm and familiar. I wake the next morning to pancakes and maple syrup and a gift wrapped in pink paper with a pink bow. I unwrap it carefully, saving the paper because I know Ivy doesn’t like waste.
It’s a dress. A beautiful, black dress that I’ve seen in a shop window in the High Street. Ivy wasn’t with me and I haven’t mentioned it to her. Despite her own questionable taste in clothing, she knows my style and she has a knack for buying me the perfect gift. I hug her and kiss her soft, powdered cheek. “Thanks Ivy.”
Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are watery. There’s a proud smile on her face and, shit, I think I’m going to cry.
“Love you, Frankie,” she says.
♥ ELEVEN ♥
Tiger’s & Champagne
Frankie
I’m wearing the black dress Ivy gave me for my birthday. I’ve teamed it with a pair of high black pumps because I want to be able to kiss Mason without getting into the whole neck contortion thing. We’re going to Tiger’s in London. Shaw, the band’s go-to guy, has arranged a limo.
I know it’s the same club Mason took Nora to the night of their failed hook-up. I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m not dwelling on it or anything, but it’s there, in the back of my mind. It’s the whole Second-Hand-Finnegan thing again.
I’m also freaking out about Carred and Mason. They haven’t seen each other lately, but there’s still animosity on both sides. Nora keeps telling me to chill, but her saying that won’t make it happen.
We’re meeting Mason and his friends at the club. I’ve already met Jack and Tag, though I didn’t get the chance to speak to them. God, I don’t know why I’m so frigging nervous. It’s not like Mason and I are heading anywhere, so it’s not like I need to impress them, but my stomach is churning and I can’t concentrate on what’s going on around me. I run my fingers through my curls, catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and quickly smooth them back down again. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Kayla marches in, grabs my wrist, and tugs me from my room. “Come on Birthday Girl, limo’s here,” she says.
The girls gave me a joint card and present earlier. The card had a pink badge glued to the front with a sparkly 21 written in silver font. They’re making me wear it tonight. I’ll go with it for now, but I’m sure as hell taking it off before I leave the limo. I don’t want to look like a dork when Mason sees me.
Out on the street, the chauffeur is waiting beside the limo with champagne-filled glasses balanced on a tray. We each collect one before stepping into the limo, though Cooper and Carred skip the champagne and grab one of the beers from the ice bucket.
Me, Ella, Nora and Kayla sit along the widest seat, while the guys sit opposite each other on the side seats. Pink helium balloons with swirly pink ribbons have been tied to some of the fixings and small LEDS in the floor cast an iridescent glow on Kayla, Ella and Nora.
By the time we reach the club I’m already a little buzzed. Heavy bass filters out from the club, increasing my excitement. There are screams and shouts as girls in the line recognise Carred and Cooper. I stick close to the group, grateful when a bouncer leads us past the line and into the club.
We’re taken up to the second floor where Electro House beats fill the club. A gold roped VIP area has been reserved especially for us, and drinks are already lined up on the table―champagne and beers galore. I don’t know who arranged this, but it looks amazing. There’s no sign of Mason and we’re on our second bottle of champagne when he finally shows. He’s with his friends, but they don’t get a look-in because I can’t take my eyes from him. His beard is always bad-ass, but especially so tonight when it’s combined with a black Fred Perry t-shirt that looks stunning on his lean body. He’s wearing black trousers and I love the way they fit against his hips and thighs. I realise I’m full-on salivating and I have to swallow fast because he’s approaching and I just know he’s about to kiss me. He does, and it’s long and hot, and I don’t care that I need air or that everyone can see. I need this.
“Alright?” he asks against my ear. His hand is on my buttock. I’m wearing a thong, which means my butt cheek can feel the heat from his palm. If we were alone I’d be grinding up against him right now, tormenting myself with delicious friction. I can see the heat in his eyes and I know I’m exhibiting all the signs of a willing female. He dips back down for another kiss, his hand softly squeezing my butt again before he releases me.
He introduces me to his friends, and I get a couple of birthday kisses; one on the cheek from Tag, and one on the mouth from Jack. Mason gives him a warning glance, but Jack simply grins and lifts his eyebrows, as if to say, what’s the problem? There’s obviously some private communication going on there,
but I don’t have the chance to satisfy my curiosity because Nora is dragging me towards the dance floor. I want to stay and hang out with Mason, but it’s out of my hands.
Purple lights pulse above our heads, fired from a futuristic ball that’s criss-crossed with acid green bars. Arms raised above our heads, it’s not long before our skin is glistening with perspiration. I’m lost in my own world, dancing to the music, feeding off its energy.
Ella and Kayla gesture towards the VIP area, but Nora and I are having too much fun. We shake our heads and watch them head off. The atmosphere builds and I know we’re not going to sustain this energy for much longer, but it’s a blast. I’m not sure how long we’re out on the floor, but it’s long enough that when we return to the guys, their empties are being collected and there’s a fresh bottle of champagne waiting. My eyes skim the area, looking for Mason. He’s in the corner, talking to a guy in a dark blue suit who nods occasionally as Mason talks. When their conversation finishes I watch the guy head out into the club, towards the exit. I’m curious, but it’s forgotten when Mason joins me on the sofa.
“Happy birthday.”
“It’s my birthday?” I ask in false surprise. “My, how did I forget such a thing?”
His hand reaches out and for a second I think he’s going for my breast, but it’s my badge he touches. I grimace, embarrassed. “I meant to take it off.”
Mason carefully loosens the pin. I don’t know if it’s deliberate, but his knuckles brush my nipple and I can’t help the small gasp that passes my lips. I know he can’t possibly have heard, but he does see my reaction. He drops the pin to the table and there’s humour shining from his eyes.
Acting like he doesn’t rock my world, I take another sip of my champagne. Of course, it goes down the wrong tube and I commence coughing and wheezing like a demented cat. Mason pats me on the back and watches me with concern. “You okay?”
I nod, wiping the moisture from my eyes. I’m still doing this when his hand slides down my back and comes to rest on my hip. I don’t move, or breathe, or do anything that might have him moving his hand away. I sit perfectly still, absorbing his touch, memorising every detail. I want to remember this; the heat of his hand, the fall of his arm around my back.
