by Amy Daws
“What the hell else would we talk about?” I honestly haven’t a clue. We used to talk about women, but now that he’s wifed up and I’ve got a ball and chain attached to my neck, that pretty much just leaves football for discussion.
“We could talk about how you’re doing. Maybe…your…feelings.” He looks like he regrets the words as soon as they spill out of his mouth. “Just forget it,” he rushes.
I roar with laughter, my stomach tightening with each exhale. “There’s no way I’m forgetting that. Did you just ask me to talk about my feelings?” I chuckle some more, completely disturbed by this entire exchange. I squint down at his groin. “Oh fuck, Cam! Your vagina is showing!”
He shoves me so hard I nearly fall backwards off the counter.
“My balls are right where they belong,” he seethes. “And they were emptied last night. How about yours?”
My good humour is lost at his low blow. “Mine are blue and likely to shrivel up and die before this month is over.”
Cam gives me a knowing nod, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “I’m genuinely curious how you’re going to handle this.”
“I don’t know. Fuck me, I wasn’t ready for Deep Talk this early in the morning.” I moan, tucking my hair behind one of my ears and taking a sip of hot coffee. “Santino emailed me the list of events we have to attend and the more I read, the more it felt like a bloody noose tightening around my neck.”
“But you said you like Belle.”
“I do, but not for anything long-term. So I can’t go there. I won’t hurt Indie like that.”
He frowns. “What does Indie have to do with it?”
“She’s your girlfriend. You’re in fucking love from what I and the rest of the world can see. I’m not going to fuck over her best friend and make life complicated for everyone. I like Indie too much to do that.”
He shakes his head. “Indie wouldn’t give a toss! She’s always moaning about how you two can’t get along. Maybe this would fix that?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a long-term fix. Therein lies the problem.”
He scoffs, “It sounds to me like you’re searching for excuses. Belle’s not some young, innocent bird you’re taking advantage of. The first night I started things with Indie, I picked her up at a club and she left Belle there with some random bloke like it was a normal weekly occurrence.”
I set down my coffee, trying to hide my level of shock. “Really?”
“Yeah, Indie says Belle isn’t into commitment. I think she’s a bit of a party girl, Tan.” He moves back over to his stool near where my legs are dangling. “They’re married to their careers. Indie was resistant to me at first, too, but it’s partly why we work so well together. We both travel a lot. Our careers are important and we respect that about each other.”
I’m not sure what to make of all of this. When I think back to the night Belle and I flirted so heavily at Old George, I will admit that’s the vibe I got from her. I’m quite accustomed to sussing out the birds who see me as husband material and the ones who see me as shagging material. But I’m always wary of going back for seconds because women will say they want casual and then change their minds after a few shags. Their vaginas are directly wired to their hearts. My dick is directly wired to my dick, like an infinity sign with a constant revolving movement. Shag and bag. Shag and bag.
However, Belle is a doctor. She’s crazy fucking smart and loads more mature than the women I’m used to. Maybe she is some female anomaly I’ve been mistakenly turning away from.
“Well, none of this matters,” I reply. “She bloody well hates me. She’s pretty clear, especially when she says those exact words to my face.”
Camden laughs. “She’s not overly subtle, is she? But can you blame her? You gave her the impression you didn’t want a shag and then started fucking anything with legs.”
I glower at him. “You were right there beside me not long ago.”
He smiles and shakes his head, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “I know I was. But you’d be surprised how great regular sex with the same person is. It gives you a chance to…fine-tune things. Find brand new buttons.” He winks and shoots me a dirty look that has me holding back the vomit climbing up my throat.
“You can’t talk to me about Indie like that. Ever. She’s…like a sister to me now. Just…no.” He continues leering at me like a creep. “I’m not kidding. We can’t talk girls anymore. Ever.” I lean down and grab him by the shirt collar, hitching my voice to be wildly dramatic. “Promise me, Cam. Promise me right now!”
He laughs. “I promise you, drama queen. Just promise me you’ll consider it. Maybe by the time I get back from my match this weekend you and Belle will have found a way to make some fun out of this arrangement.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen a tiny glimmer of hope since the dark storm of Belle clouded my life.
Typically, my showers after work are consumed by thoughts about the cases we have going on at the hospital. I use the quiet time in my bathroom to mentally decompress from the day’s challenges. Right now, we’re preparing for a mother who’s coming in next week for selective laser ablation. It’s a treatment used to treat twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, or as Dr. Miller likes to affectionately call them, The Thief and The Giver. Essentially, one baby absorbs more blood than its sibling. With this technique, we go into the uterus using a tiny camera and are able to separate the blood flow between the two babies to help them both get an equal share. It’s a fascinating procedure that I should be consumed by.
Instead, all I’m thinking about as I stand under the pounding water, aggressively rubbing shampoo in my hair, are the texts Tanner sent me this morning. A stupid smirk flicks across my face.
Tanner: Do you mind if I pop by tonight to discuss Santino’s email?
Belle: Yes
Tanner: Yes you mind or yes I can come over?
Belle: Yes I mind. I just cleaned and I don’t want you dragging in the clap.
Tanner: Hey, that’s all cleared up now.
Belle: I’m going to be sick.
Tanner: Oh come on, take a joke.
Belle: STDs aren’t funny. I’m a doctor. I would know. I’ll show you pictures sometime.
Tanner: Seriously, I’ll bring food. Whatever you want.
Belle: Fine but this doesn’t count toward the massive favour you still owe me.
Tanner: Duly noted.
Fuck.
I hate Tanner. I really hate him. But mostly, I hate my attraction to him. That dumb, boyish smirk and the way he shakes his head from side to side to get his hair out of his face. And that stupid sweatband I’ve seen him wear around his forehead when he’s on the pitch makes him look like a complete man-child.
But he did not look like a child when he was naked in my car the other night. And he did not feel like a child when he was pressed up against me in the alley two nights ago.
He certainly kisses like a man.
My thoughts darken to how much more we could have done if we would have been alone. So the thought of him coming over to my flat tonight while Indie is away evokes ideas.
Indie’s suggestion to torture him while we go through this whole façade sounds like a fun sort of challenge. However, I can’t seem to quiet the small voice in my head that feels insecure around him.
Tanner blatantly rejected me that night at Old George. Perhaps the chemistry I felt with him was all one-sided? Perhaps he doesn’t even find me attractive? I’m certainly different than the women he’s been banging more recently, that’s for sure. Yes, he’s a scruffy manwhore who you’d think would shag anything that walks, but he’s also a famous footballer. They have stunning women throw themselves at them all the time.
“Bloody hell!” I exclaim, stepping out of the shower and towel drying myself off.
This sense of uneasiness reminds me of Sunday mornings as a child. My mother paraded my brother and me down the stairs for our father’s inspection before we went off to church. Our outfits had to be ju
st so, our hair had to be just right, and our mannerisms had to be completely devoid of anything resembling a human.
I loathed that feeling of being scrutinised and I refuse to let Tanner Harris put me back in that place. I need to know if he sees me that way or not. And if I get to torture him a bit in return, all the better.
It’s time to take the power back.
INDIE IS ON THE ROAD with Bethnal Green F.C. heading to God knows where, so I’m acutely aware that Belle and I will have her place to ourselves for the night. It gives me a bit of a thrill because I’m already imagining her naked on her bed, begging me to show her what I’ve been denying us for too long. I’m hopeful that Camden is right and that we can find a way to get through this month with better working conditions than stuffy, scheduled, photographed dates and dull events.
I ring her flat number and she buzzes me in, meeting me at her door wearing nothing but a long, black satin nightie.
“Jesus fuck,” I mumble, nearly dropping the Chinese as I stumble on the last step.
“What?” She quirks a brow like she doesn’t have a clue what my reaction could be about.
I grin. “This night just got a whole lot better, Ryan.”
She bats her eyes and watches me thoughtfully for a few seconds, like she’s trying to get a read on me or something. I thought I was usually a pretty obvious bloke.
“This is a business meeting, nothing more.” She twirls on her heel and strides back into her flat. I have to hustle to catch the door before it closes. When I walk in, she’s rummaging in the refrigerator.
The swells of her arse look positively edible beneath the smooth fabric of her nightie. Her dark hair hangs long and straight over her shoulder as she reaches into the lower drawer. Then she turns around with two brown bottles in her hands.
“Beer?” she asks, the bottles pressing against the tips of her breasts. My dick jolts with excitement as I place the food on the counter.
I reach out and take one from her, relishing in the sight of her firm nipple that the exchange of possession reveals. Fuck me, she’s stunning. She grabs a bottle opener off the fridge and pries the top off of her beer and then steps into my space to do mine. She smells like eighty different kinds of girlie shit all rolled into one mouthwatering bouquet. My lips quiver with need to taste her.
“I’m liking this side of you, Ryan.” I barely contain my crooked smile as I take a cooling drink from my bottle, wishing my lips were wrapping around something else.
“What side is that?” she asks, remaining so close to me I can feel her breath on my shoulder.
“The side that includes soft nighties.”
I reach out and trail the backs of my fingers down her ribs. She sucks in a sharp breath like she didn’t expect me to touch her. She doesn’t move away, though. Instead, she stands firmly rooted in her spot. Her body squirms beneath the fabric, warmth radiating in the wake of my touch.
She clears her throat, a surprising blush colouring her cheeks. “Well, it’s nearing my bedtime and I have to work tomorrow so I don’t know what you expected.”
She grabs the bags of food and waltzes out the kitchen door toward her dining room table. I watch her through the cutout opening, begging my dick to stand down. We haven’t even eaten yet. No need to embarrass yourself, Tanner.
When I walk out and sit down in the chair near her, she looks like she is trying to work something out in her head.
“Everything all right?” I ask as she opens the cartons and swaps the chopsticks for real forks.
Her head snaps up to look at me. “Just fine.”
She asks me which dish I want first. This is only the second meal I’ve eaten with Belle, but I’ve already noticed she doesn’t seem to care what she eats.
“Most girls are picky eaters,” I say, dunking a spring roll into a plastic cup of sweet and sour.
“Most girls don’t look like me.” She says it so matter-of-factly, I’m not sure I know what she means.
“Don’t they?”
She stops eating and narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t act like you don’t notice.”
“Notice what?” I ask around a mouthful of cabbage.
She scoffs.
“What?” I push.
“Tanner, I’m not a size eight. I’m a fourteen. And that’s during the months that I haven’t eaten my weight in chocolate. Stop skirting around it. It’s insulting.”
Her words stun me. Does she seriously think this way? I swallow. “What’s insulting is how you see yourself. It’s fucked up if you ask me.”
“You are so full of crap,” she snipes, stabbing the food in her carton like she’s trying to envision it as my eyeballs instead of the delicious Kung Pao chicken it is.
“How am I full of crap?” I drop my fork loudly and sit back, crossing my arms over my chest, impatiently waiting for her reply.
She spears me with a glare. “I’ve seen the women you shag.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“They are thin, Tanner!” She throws her head back. “I’m not. I’m the before picture for a weight loss challenge. I’m not ashamed of it, but I don’t appreciate you acting as if this isn’t reality.”
I shove my food away, annoyance pulsing through my veins. Does she seriously think of herself like that? She can’t. I won’t believe it.
“That can’t honestly be how you see yourself. If this is your way of fishing for a compliment—”
“Fishing for a compliment?” she screams and I swear I think she’s going to lunge across the table at me. “Why the fuck would I care what you think? I don’t care that I’m fat. And I sure as hell don’t need your reassurances to feel good about myself. I know exactly what you think of me.”
“And what’s that?” I roar, nearly boiling over the fact that she used the word fat in reference to herself.
“That I’m good for a laugh but nothing more.” Her face is stony serious as I sit before her, stunned into silence.
Belle comes across so confident. So sure-footed. She never missteps and if she does, she has a sharp tongue to bring it back to recover so she’s in complete control. Couple that with the fact that she’s drop-dead fucking gorgeous and you get stone cold fucking crazy bullshit, which is right where I’ve found myself.
“Are you mental?” I ask, finding my voice again. “No really, I want to know. Have your proper pyjamas run off with all your sanity and left you with a hole in your head and a skimpy nightie that’s what…supposed to tease me? Is that what this is? Are you trying to issue a payback, Belle?”
“This is just what I wear to bed.” Her shrug is weak and I can see right through it. I can’t tell yet if this is a chink in her stunningly-crafted armor or if she’s crazier than I ever anticipated.
“Oh come off it. You knew I was coming over.” I rise up out of my chair and lean over the table. My voice is husky and hot against hers. “You wore that to throw me off and make me not think straight. Well, I’m seeing everything very clearly now, Belle.” My eyes drop to her lips.
Her gaze lifts to mine and I watch her pupils dilate. “What is it you’re seeing, oh brilliant, superstar, Tanner Harris?”
I pull away, breaking the cosmic crackle between us before I give in to what my body is begging for and what my dick is already pulsing with need to get inside of.
“I’m seeing that it was good I didn’t shag you that night at Old George. That you’re a head case with more issues than any man can handle.”
I sit back down with a huff, exhausted by this exchange already.
She laughs. Full-blown belly laughs. The timbre of it makes me grimace because it reminds me of the sound of tyres screeching right before a mighty crash.
Through a scary, forced smile of gritted teeth, she replies, “I may be a head case, but your diseased dick is the one that’s going to show up on a bad Google search.”
This makes me laugh. “My cock is perfection, woman. Just like it is in your fantasies.”
She sneers.
“Yes, thank you for that, Tanner. You’ve made it crystal clear that your dick and all of this”—she stands, gesturing to her body—“have no place in your reality.”
I growl like a madman and rake my hands through my hair at this total, utter hysteria. I meet her eyes with a cold and calculated stare. “The things I could do to your body are endless, Belle Ryan. You’re fucking perfect and you know it. You’re the kind of woman blokes marry, not fuck and leave!”
Silence stretches out before us as my words sink in. I revealed more than I meant to, but it’s the truth. I’m hard just from fighting with her. But, no matter how badly I want to show her how fucking gorgeous she is, I have to be smart.
“So is that why you blew me off that night?” she asks with a haughty laugh.
I sigh. “That and I didn’t want to cause problems with Indie or Cam when I buggered off afterwards.”
“What kind of problems?”
“The kind that happen when a girl wants more than one night.”
And now the truth comes to a head between us.
“Well, luckily for you, I’m not the marrying kind.” She crosses her arms over her chest and her breasts push together, drawing my eyes to the beautiful valley of cleavage that rises and falls with her every breath. Her angry voice is shaky when she adds, “In fact, quick and casual is my preference.”
My eyes snap back to hers to search for proof that she’s telling the truth. Her teeth come down on her lush lower lip, practically laying it all out there for me to grab.
“So what are you saying?” I grind the words out like I’m a second away from losing my mind.
She exhales. “I’m saying neither of us are able to get it from anybody else, so why don’t we get it from each other?”
When her voice abruptly halts and the only sound that’s left in the room is our heavy breaths, I know exactly what’s coming next. It’s all there, plain as day. Her chin is dropped. Her eyes are nearly black. Her hands clutch the edges of the table like she’s holding on by a tiny thread that’s about to snap.
Sex.
Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex.
