Endurance

by Amy Daws

  “You get it then?” he asks eagerly, leaning in and dropping a kiss on both of my cheeks. His blue eyes crinkle at the edges with a wide smile as he balls his rag up in his hands.

  “I did.” I smile politely.

  “Well done. I knew you would.” He swats the rag at me playfully. “I’m still brassed off you wouldn’t come here. You deserve to be doing a lot more than bartending, dear girl.”

  “Thanks Al. I’ll keep you in mind. But this is all I want right now.” I swallow a painful knot in my throat that’s been present since I left Club Taint.

  He looks sadly at me for a moment before he shakes his head and his mouth splits into a genuine smile. “Well, I’m chuffed for ye, lass.” He swings the rag at me in a wave. “Pop by later if ye fancy some fish n chips.”

  “Will do. Later, Al.”

  “Cheers,” he moves to head inside but turns back to me before he walks through the door. “You best call your mum and tell her the news, yeah?”

  I half smile and say nothing as I walk the half a block to my building. Alistair is well-meaning, but calling my surgeon mother and telling her about my new bartending job is the last thing I want to do.

  I reach my building and jump into the lift, punching the button for the fourth floor. My flat is located in a sweet, quiet neighborhood away from the buzz of tourism on every other street corner. I’m sure it costs a bomb here every month, but I don’t pay a dime of it. My mother gifted me this place the day I graduated from Oxford. You’d think that would make me appreciative and grateful. I miraculously manage to resent her for it.

  My mother, Doctor Elizabeth Miller, brought me to London from Indiana when I was seventeen. She received a prestigious job offer and research grant from the hospital and dropped everything to take it. Her research project on in-utero neonatal surgery was her life’s work, aside from me.

  She tried to sugar coat the move with promises of more European travel, a gorgeous townhouse in Chelsea, great education opportunities, anything I wanted. She also attempted to persuade me with how important her research was and how many babies she could save by accepting this grant.

  At that time in my life, all I cared about was the fact that she was ripping me out of school before my senior year. I didn’t have a lot of friends I was leaving behind. My frank honesty rubbed a lot of people the wrong way and since I just can’t do fake, I avoided most of the kids I went to school with.

  Regardless, I was a teenager and I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. This move was literally the only thing that my mother did to me my entire life that wasn’t the usual pampering I was always subject to. I had plans to move back to the States as soon as I turned eighteen. But when push came to shove, there was no way I could afford it all on my own.

  Not to mention, I fell in love with London. It wasn’t hard. The city breathes history and culture and opportunity. I had the world at my fingertips here. I took weekend trips to Paris, short flights to Barcelona, train rides to Scotland. I was the most well-traveled twenty-year-old I’d ever heard of. How could I leave it all behind when it felt like it was where I belonged?

  My strained relationship with my mother didn’t improve with my love for London. My entire life she treated me like I was made of crystal and would shatter at any moment. I was born a micro-preemie and she never stopped treating me like I could cease to exist at any second. I would do things to lash out at her and show her how strong I was. Anything to piss her off and evoke some type of reaction. Nothing worked. If anything, she treated me with kid gloves more during the times I was most horrid. It was infuriating.

  She was so protective of me that she rented a flat across from the university I attended in London. She was close enough to be a helicopter parent, but far enough away that she didn’t seem completely unhinged.

  She finally let me move more than a few blocks away from her when I started grad school at Oxford. Then my graduation present was this flat located behind the White Swan Pub near the River Thames back in London. I thought she would have bought me a flat close to the hospital where she worked, but she surprised me with this one. It fits me perfectly.

  I hop off the lift and head down the hall toward my door. I know he’s here before I even put the key in my door.

  “Hey, Hay,” I say dryly to Hayden as I round the hall corner to find him perched on my kitchen counter eating a Flake chocolate bar. He’s made himself at home like he always does. His messy, copper blond hair looks like it’s due for a wash but he’s still sexy in that relaxed, don’t give a fuck way.

  “I got you one,” he says with a proud smirk on his face. There’s a glass of red wine and two open bottles sitting next to him.

  “You better have.” I cross my arms and lean against the counter adjacent him. Hayden and I have been in a toxic whirlwind of shitty friends with benefits for almost a year now. Neither of us strong enough to put an end to it, nor happy enough with our lives to want more. “You’ll never guess who I’ve just run in to.”

  “Who?” He wipes his hands on his jeans and sets the wrapper down on the counter watching me warily, clearly sensing a shift in demeanor.

  “Liam,” I say simply.

  “Liam who?”

  “Liam Darby. The Liam. Your brother’s best friend. The one who was going to propose to—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence!” he snaps at me, jumping off the counter. His face is deathly serious. “Where at?”

  “At my interview at that club I told you about. He apparently knows the manager, Frank.” I shake my head still in disbelief at the odds. “I don’t know if he works there or what.”

  “I don’t think he does,” Hayden says quickly. “Theo talks about him a lot at the shop. Liam works as a controller at some medical device facility or something. I’m quite certain.”

  I exhale heavily. Hayden works with his older brother, Theo. They own a high-end, custom furniture shop in east London. Theo does the creating and lives in the loft above the store. Hayden does more of the scheduling and client meeting side.

  “Seeing him again was—” I start.

  “Weird. I know. I’ve run into him a few times.” Hayden looks out the plate glass door that opens to a small balcony off my kitchen. I can see that faraway look he gets in his eyes whenever his mind drifts back to the time that he wouldn’t even let me mention. “What did you say to him?” Hayden asks, refusing to make eye contact with me.

  “Not much. I pretty much got the hell out of there. He looked at me like…like I was…a ghost.” I shake my head sadly, a look of disgust smearing over my face.

  Hayden hands me his glass of wine and I take it and gulp it down in its entirety, relishing the instant warmth that shoots through my blood. I close my eyes and lick my lips, while handing him back the glass.

  “I haven’t seen him since—”

  “Don’t say it,” Hayden interrupts.

  I open my eyes and see him cringing as if in pain. He sets the glass down and snatches the bottle up off the counter and tips it to his lips. If he’s this worked up over what he already knows, I shudder to think of how he’d react if he knew the full history of my past with Liam. This is exactly why I’ll never tell Hayden. He can’t handle it. And I’m terrified at what he’d do if he ever did find out.

  After several swallows, he closes his eyes and lowers the bottle. “Easy there, sport.” My voice has a menacing tone to it. “We both said we were going to cool it on the drinking.”

  “You just nicked my entire glass of red!” he retorts.

  “You look like this isn’t your first bottle, Hayden.”

  He sighs heavily and glares at me. His damaged, hard gray eyes searching my face for further argument. Mindlessly, he glances down to my chest and the lids of his eyes droop as heat flourishes beneath them.

  I instantly know he’s no longer angry about the wine.

  He begins to stalk slowly toward me—his tall, wiry build gliding silently across the white tile floor. I back up until I hit the h
alf wall beside the fridge. “We said we weren’t going to do this anymore, Hayden.” I hold my hand out, pressing it to his firm stomach to stop him from coming any closer. I want to walk away, but a larger part of me wants to stop thinking about Liam. And there’s only one way to do that.

  Hayden sighs and grabs a piece of my hair. He brings it to his lips. “You look sexy as fuck, Rey. I like your hair like this.” He rubs the silky, dark strand against his lips. A playful smirk dances in his eyes.

  “Nice key change, Hay. But you should take those fuck me eyes elsewhere.”

  He hunches over and nuzzles his mouth into my neck, licking and kissing a trail up to my ear. “Now why would I want to do that?” he whispers, his voice husky.

  I can feel him grinning against my skin as goose pimples flare out on my neck beneath his warm breath. I ball up a chunk of his T-shirt into my fist for some semblance of control. His hands move to grip tightly around my waist and I could scream at my body as it arches into his embrace.

  This is exactly what Hayden does to me. He makes me lose all sense of thought and purpose. It’s part of the draw. He’s a freaking mess like me and I ache for the pleasure I know he can grant me.

  “We say a lot of words,” he mumbles against my neck and nips playfully. “Let’s do less saying…and more fucking.”

  His words send an instant shock to all my erogenous zones. Suddenly, he shifts his head and swipes his lips against mine in a painful, biting kiss. The taste of red wine passes back and forth between our lips and tongues. My eyes roll to the back of my head as I let his assault intoxicate me.

  His tall frame is at an awkward angle, so he slides his hands down my butt and lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he slams me back against the fridge. The cozy press of his hard on against my center instantly has my groin thrusting into his.

  “God, I fucking love your legs wrapped around me,” Hayden growls and bites at my collarbone with his teeth as he carries me over to my rumpled mattress on the floor in my living room.

  Fuck, I can’t resist him. This is what Hayden and I do best. We fuck to forget. We’re a mess of dysfunctional, codependent, sex-starved garbage together. And it is hot as hell.

  I’m airborne for a split second as he drops me onto my mattress and stares down at me with those smoldering charcoal eyes. He begins unbuckling his jeans and I quickly ditch my own. I slide my panties off as he takes himself in his hand and slides on a condom.

  He lowers on top of me and between my legs. His tongue plunges so deep into my mouth that I can do nothing but suck on it. Hard. I match his moan with my own as he slides himself deep inside of me.

  “Make me forget,” I whisper into his mouth.

  “Always.” He bites his lower lip and our eyes connect for one painfully hard moment. So many unspoken words pass between us in that one silent moment. So many memories. So much hurt.

  We both ache to forget and fuck to ignore.

  That’s what we do for each other.

  That’s what we’re good for…and nothing more.

  Breaking eye contact finally, Hayden growls and begins slamming into me at a punishing pace, over and over. Our bodies making an erotic clapping sound every time he hits deeply inside of me. I slam my eyes shut and focus solely on the climb to the orgasm that I long for. The climb to ecstasy that grants me the oblivion that I need.

  The oblivion that allows me to forget.

  The worst part of our fucked up arrangement is the fact that Hayden doesn’t even know everything about me. My normally, never-fail, blunt honesty is completely nonexistent with him all because I’m too afraid of losing him. If he knew everything about me, then I really, truly would be alone.

  After what feels like only moments, his hands grip painfully on my thighs wrapped around him as we climax at the same time. He drops down beside me, and we both lie on our backs, sweaty, panting, and sated; naked from the waist down. Hayden and I stopped with the foreplay a long time ago. We fuck and we finish. That’s it. No sexy strip teases. No undressing each other. No pillow talk. Just kissing and screwing. And even the kissing has grown nastier the past year in the hottest way possible.

  The familiar self-hatred creeps slowly over me as my heart rate returns to normal. “You need to leave,” I croak, my voice hoarse.

  In the corner of my eye, I see him nod. He stands, pulling his jeans on as he rises. His sexy happy trail down his lower belly is on full display as he stands above me, his jeans still hanging open.

  “You’re still my best friend, Rey.” He’s twitching his jaw from side to side and refusing to make eye contact with me. The self-loathing he feels right now is as potent as my own.

  My brow crinkles at his admission. I close my legs, roll on my side, and pull them up to my chest to lie in the fetal position. “And you’re mine,” I utter softly feeling my heart break over and over. “But you know this isn’t good for us.”

  He looks down and sucks his cheeks into the hollows of his mouth. “I can’t lose you, too.” His voice cracks and he turns quickly, striding down the hallway and out the door.

  I flinch at the loud slam. When I open my eyes, tears spill freely down my temple. I roll onto my stomach, crying myself to sleep, and praying for that freedom once more.

  Continue reading Not The One Here