by Amy Daws
“You’re such an arrogant arsehole!” My hands stop their assault on Tanner’s backside in favour of covering my rump. This is mortifying. I hang my head and let my hair cover my face, praying like fuck I don’t see anyone I know. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it, woman.” Tanner pauses at the door and turns his body so my head is facing a different direction. “Now, tell this nice man I’m not a rapist.”
A bouncer-looking bloke turns his head upside down to make eye contact with me. I mumble, “He’s not a rapist. Just a walking dead man.” I straighten a bit with my crescendoed scream. The bouncer lets out a hearty laugh that dumps hot coals into the pit of my belly. So not the reaction I was looking for.
He moves to let us pass and then Tanner drops me down in front of a cab. I ball up my fists and wallop him a few times. “I’m not a petulant child, you animal.”
He doesn’t even flinch.
I exhale in concession and fold myself in behind Indie and Camden. When we’re all in the cab and it begins moving, Tanner breaks the silence with a surprisingly jovial tone. “Well, did you all have a fun night?”
BY THE TIME WE PULL up to Belle’s flat, she looks a lot less angry and a lot more green around the gills.
“I’m going to take Indie back to our flat,” Camden murmurs, looking down at Indie asleep on his shoulder. “I leave for Manchester at the end of the week, so…”
His voice trails off and my stomach drops at his mention of Manchester. In all the craziness of the past week, I completely forgot this weekend is when Arsenal plays at Man U. My two brothers will be facing off. Not only is it a pretty sticky rival, but Gareth is a starting defender and Camden is a striker. This is a huge weekend for my family.
Belle nods and hiccups. “Take good care of her. Make sure she has aspirin before she passes out. Tequila Sunrises give Indie a massive headache.”
She moves to get out of the cab and I don’t like how she’s looking. In a split decision, I decide that my family stuff can wait and I get out after her.
“What are you doing?” she croaks, trying to shove me back in.
“I’m coming inside.” I bat her hands away from me. They remind me of fluttering moths.
“No, you’re not.” She stomps her foot and tries to push me again.
“Yes, I am. You’re pissed and I don’t trust you to take care of yourself.”
“Bloody hell, you’re so overbearing!” she exclaims and then her eyes go wide as I move closer to her. She covers her mouth with her hand for a split second before bending over and retching all over the pavement. She cries out pathetically, “I got puke on my hand.”
I grimace, stepping away from the splatter. “Like I said, I’m coming inside.”
I help Belle up to her flat and unlock the door for her. She trudges straight for the stairs, not even bothering to take off the knockout boots she’s wearing. I tell her I’ll be right up and pop into her kitchen to get her a glass of water.
As I stand at the sink, I pull my mobile out to reread the twenty texts I fired off to Belle in a blind panic earlier this evening. Indie had texted Camden over two hours ago saying she and Belle were completely pissed and she wanted him to come dance with her so she didn’t have to dance with anyone else. Camden’s a bit of a possessive sod, so he texted her back immediately, asking where she was.
Then she never replied. So he made me text Belle to find out where they were. Not wanting to come off too clingy, I kept my texts light at first.
Tanner: What are you wearing? Want me to come check it out?
Tanner: Need a dance partner? You know I have great moves.
After an hour of nothing, they got less cute…
Tanner: Where are you guys?
Tanner: Camden is worried about Indie. Text me back.
Closing in on hour two of Operation Find Belle and Indie, my texts were a little more like:
Tanner: You ask me to text you and then you blow me off. Real mature.
Tanner: Belle, I am your fucking boyfriend. Fake or not, the least you can do is text me back.
Tanner: TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE. NOW.
Thankfully, Camden had an idea of where to start our search and we lucked out at Club Taint. Though, seeing that loser with his hands on Belle did not please me. She was clearly pissed and he was clearly taking advantage. Say what you want about my history with women, but I would never take advantage of a situation like Belle’s. Thank fuck I showed up when I did. And then she had the cheek to fight me when I told her we were leaving. I am not pleased.
Ready to rip her a new one, I pause before I leave her kitchen, turning around and grabbing her a couple of chocolates out of her cubby. I may be angry, but I’m not a monster.
When I come upstairs to give her a piece of my mind, I find her hunched over the toilet with her head resting on her arms. Her long, booted legs are tucked up under her butt and her dress is riding so high I can see her arse hanging out of her thong. It would be hot…if it weren’t for the whole vomit/toilet conundrum.
“Why are you still here?” she groans and begins dry-heaving, her hair slipping out of her feeble grasp.
I set the glass of water down and grab a hair tie off the counter.
“Because I’d like to make sure you live through the night.”
She rolls her mascara-smeared eyes. “I’m drunk Tanner, not dying.”
I shake off her argument and bend over to scrape her hair back away from the toilet bowl.
“Stop messing with my hair,” she groans. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Hush,” I chastise. “Haven’t you seen my awesome mane? I’m an expert.” I ball her inky hair up into a messy bun and tighten it just as she begins puking again.
I kneel down behind her, rubbing her back in small circles, feeling the heave of every breath she takes. I hear her weeping a bit between retches, so I bring my other hand up as well.
God, puking is the worst. Self-inflicted puking is double worse.
After a while with no more upchucking, she inhales deeply and flushes the toilet again. I move with her as she drops off to her side, sidling up next to me against the wall. I stretch my arm over her shoulders and she tucks into me with a tremble.
“My breath stinks.”
“No it doesn’t,” I murmur and pull a chocolate out of my pocket.
“You’re a liar and a thief,” she mumbles, deftly unwrapping the dark bar.
My chest rumbles with silent laughter. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I grabbed them for you.”
“You have no power over my knickers, Tan.”
She looks up at me, nibbling on the sweet. Her lips are close, and it’s a strange sensation to want to kiss her right now after she’s been puking for the last twenty minutes. I kiss her forehead instead.
She tucks her head back against my chest. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“It’s no big deal,” I reply, realising I kind of like taking care of her.
“And sorry for fighting with you like that. You were just trying to help.”
My brows lift, surprised by her apology coming so easily. I thought for sure she’d make me fight for it. “I needed to make sure you were safe. You weren’t safe tonight.”
“I know,” she moans. “I just…I miss Indie and I got carried away I think.”
A sympathetic look creases my brow. “She misses you, too. She talks about you all the time you know?”
She looks up with a childlike smile. “She does?”
I nod. “We’re on the road together a lot, so there’s plenty of time for talking. She’s incessantly singing your praises. At work, as a friend, whatever. It’s completely mental because you two are bloody flatmates and you act like you’ve got countries separating you.”
She sighs. “We’re best friends.”
I nod. “I get it.”
“Is Camden your best friend? You two seem to have a rather natural bromance about you.”
I huff. “I suppose so. But it’s different for brothers I think. And with him at Arsenal and me at Bethnal…we’re changing.”
Belle giggles. “God, we’re a couple of pathetic mopes, aren’t we? Moaning over people we miss in our lives and we can’t even have sex with them.”
This makes me laugh. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you and Indie have a go at it.”
“Gross!” she exclaims. “Better, you and Camden get busy. I can just see Twin Brother Dearest blowing up as the next hot new romance novel.”
“God, you’re disgusting,” I chuckle.
“You like it.”
I squeeze her to me and trail my hand down her back in smooth, comforting motions. We settle into a natural, comfortable sort of silence on the bathroom floor next to the toilet. It’s peculiar but something that feels right in some ways.
“I think I’m good to go to bed now.” Belle’s voice interrupts my brooding.
I nod and stand to help her up. I watch her as she brushes her teeth, eyeing her handbag on the floor in the bathroom as we walk out. She slips into her closet and changes into a long cotton T-shirt. I strip down to my boxer briefs and tell her I’m going to go use the loo one last time before we go to bed.
Closing myself in the bathroom, I riffle through her bag until I find her mobile. Swiping the screen, I’m grateful to see there’s no lock on it as I pull my text messages up and delete all the crazy-sounding ones. After that, I tuck it away and ignore the fact that I’m trying way too hard to look cool.
When I slip into bed, she curls up next to me like it’s the most natural thing ever. I guess I just let it be because, all in all, this hasn’t been the worst night of my life.
THE NEXT MORNING, I WAKE to find Tanner perusing the shelves of my built-in bookcase. He’s standing in the morning light, wearing nothing but his underwear like an inky, muscly, mussed-up wet dream. The sight does wonders for a hangover, I’ll tell you that.
He picks up one of the several small drawings that I have stacked one right after another, similar to my books. I have so many drawings. I’ve been making them since I was five. It was a hobby my mother and father both pushed on me adamantly. I think mostly because it was something I was quiet while doing, and a quiet Belle made for a happy mummy and daddy.
A smirk plays on Tanner’s lips as he stares at one longer than normal.
“Which one is it?” I croak, my voice hoarse.
He jumps and his eyes snap to mine. With a sheepish shrug, he turns it around to face me. It’s a self-portrait I drew when I was fourteen, but I defiled it by adding devil horns, a pitch fork, and a curly mustache.
“That’s my parent’s favourite one.”
He chuckles. “I hardly believe that. You were quite cute, metal mouth and all. Are those dungarees you’re wearing?”
“Hey, they were in style back then!” I screech, feeling my headache a bit more now.
Tanner points to the bedside table. “There’s water and aspirin right there.”
I turn and snatch them up quicker than I thought humanly possible with this kind of hangover. “You just making yourself at home now? Digging around my medicine cabinet?”
His brows lift. “I didn’t hear you complaining when you swallowed the pills.”
“All right, all right, keep your shirt on. It’s not even nine.”
“Speaking of, don’t you have to work?” he asks.
“Took a personal day.”
“Nice. What are you going to do with it?”
My eyes trail down Tanner’s body. “After a shower to wash the stink off, I’m sure I can think of a couple of things.”
Tanner shoots me a mock-surprised look. “Why, Dr. Ryan, are you hitting on me?”
A ring stops me from responding. Tanner strides over to his jeans in a heap on the floor and pulls out his mobile.
“Hiya, Vi,” he says, walking back over to the bookcase to replace the drawing. “Yes, I did realise that was the match this weekend…No, I haven’t talked to him about it yet…I don’t know. He seemed fine last night I guess…No, Gareth hasn’t called. Gareth never calls…I agree with Hayden. You shouldn’t go, it’s too far…Sure, I’ll stop by later…Okay, bye.”
“Family problems?” I ask.
He shakes his head from side to side. “Sort of. Camden and our older brother, Gareth, are playing each other on Saturday.”
“Oh, that’s right! Arsenal and Man U rivalry is pretty epic.”
His brows lift. “Yeah, Vi’s concerned. She wants to go, but she’s way too pregnant to travel that far. She’s just mother-henning like she always does.”
Tanner sighs and flops down on the bed beside me, staring up at the ceiling, obviously deep in thought.
Not sure how to help, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Would it help if you went?”
He frowns and side-eyes me. “I don’t need to go.”
“Why not? You’re off. It sounds like your brothers could use some support. It’s the perfect time to go.”
“I’d have to see if Gareth has dumped his tickets yet, then find a hotel. I bet the trains are all full. Everybody and their dog will be at this match.”
“Can’t you stay with your brother?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs sullenly. “I guess.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll drive.”
He turns to look at me. “You want to go to the match?”
“An Arsenal and Man U game? Hell yes. I’m a Devils fan through and through. I thought you knew!”
He gives me a look like I’ve just committed treason, but then glances down at my breasts and redirects his thoughts. “Let’s get you in that shower.”
“I’M DRIVING,” I SAY TO Belle, walking up to her car as she parks along the side of the road by my flat. Her window is down and she looks at me like I’m deranged as I toss my suitcase in the backseat and move to open her door.
Her jaw is dropped. “It’s my bloody car. You’re not driving!” She closes the door.
“I’m not going to have you driving in the dark for five hours, woman. End of.” I open it again.
“Well, you’re the one who changed the plans from leaving tomorrow morning to tonight instead. I was perfectly fine with leaving early tomorrow.”
I exhale. Everything with Belle is a confrontation. She can’t just follow the simplest instructions.
“I want to beat the traffic and have a lie in tomorrow. You haven’t seen Gareth’s house. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this.” I head nod for her to get out.
“Well, I can still drive! I’m not some meek female who can’t handle the treacherous motorways without my girdle. Fuck off. I’m driving.” She closes the door.
Shaking my head, I rip it open again, unbuckle her seatbelt, and pull her out. I do my best to ignore the hateful words spewing out of her mouth as I walk her over to the passenger side. When she’s still moaning on and on about what an arrogant prat I am, I spin on my heel and shove her hips back until her arse is pressed up against the door. My fingers bite into the arc of her hip bone, pinning her to the vehicle. I drop my mouth into the same breathing space as hers and she still won’t stop.
With a frustrated growl, I mesh my lips with hers. She lets out a whimper of surprise but catches up quickly and returns my kiss with vigour. My tongue swirls deeply between her lips, aching to taste more than just her mouth but knowing this will have to do for now. She pulls me to her so our bodies are flush together. I swear our pulses synchronise because the whir of traffic around us goes silent and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart inside my chest.
A smile teases the corner of my mouth when a pleasant hum rumbles from somewhere deep inside of her. She practically thrusts her groin against me when my hands slide up to the sides of her breasts. I smooth my thumbs over her nipples and nearly fall apart when I feel them bead beneath my touch.
No. Fucking. Bra.
And in a blink of an eye, she’s topping from the bottom again.
I like to think
I’ve got Belle all figured out by now. Her day off from work consisted of us spending the majority of our time in her bed. In her shower. Even in her kitchen at one point. So to say I’m familiar with how to stimulate Belle Ryan’s body would be a gross understatement. But somehow, she still finds a way to make things interesting. To stir the pot. To get me going. To surprise me. And something simple like not wearing a bra is a perfect example of the control she manages to maintain.
I’m becoming addicted.
Thankfully, she had a big surgery at the end of the week that she needed to focus on so we were forced to part ways until this evening. My mind and my cock needed a break. It also gave me a chance to call Santino yesterday to check in and see how we’re doing. He said he’d been talking to Belle’s father and they were pleased with the coverage thus far. I let him know we would need some addendums to our scheduled dates for this weekend, and he seemed chuffed that we were headed on a mini holiday to Manchester. He said he’d spin that to the press and they’d lap it up like dogs, especially with it being such a high-profile game.
So far this fake dating hasn’t been hard at all. Belle’s a bit of a head case from time to time, but it’s nothing a good swizzle stick can’t fix. I think a fair amount of dickin’ keeps us both in better spirits.
But apparently I haven’t had enough because the bulge pressed up against her stomach seems to have a strong muscle memory.
“Fine, you can drive.” Belle gasps against my lips as she pulls away. She’s breathless as her eyes glance down between us. “But only because that thing can’t take care of itself.”
Belle’s Mercedes isn’t the most masculine of vehicles, but it’s been a while since I’ve driven and it feels good to be behind the wheel again. The drive to Manchester is congested, dark, and bland, but Belle’s nattering on beside me makes time pass rather quickly. She’s a funny storyteller. Her eyes get so big in the blue dashboard lights as she animates her story. She likes to ask a lot of questions, too, like, “And then do you know what happened?” It’s kind of adorable.
