by C. J. Duggan
‘It’s fine. I’m excited for you. I think you have the foundations of something really good here, Kate.’
‘You really think so?’
‘You care about the content, the attention to detail and the product you’re putting out, all the key ingredients for a successful blog. But there’s just one last thing.’
‘What’s that?’
Jack grabbed my hand and pulled it across the desk, placing it over the mouse. ‘You gotta press publish.’
I swallowed. ‘Maybe I should just go through it one more time …’
‘Kate, push it.’
‘Really?
Jack slid his hand over mine, entrapping it and watching as I closed my eyes, silently counted down and pushed ‘publish’.
‘Kate on the Thames’ was out in the big bad world!
‘Where are you going?’ I glanced back from the bedroom door to where Jack was opening the terrace doors.
‘Taking the shortcut,’ he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I closed my door and quickly followed him, always nervous of more death-defying climbs on the ledge.
‘Be careful!’ I said, perhaps a bit too loudly.
Jack lifted one leg over the barrier, then the other, looking back at me with a huge smile.
‘Why, would you miss me if I fell?’ he teased, edging sideways, but still waiting for my answer.
I folded my arms. ‘No, but your girlfriend might.’
Jack stilled, his brow creasing as he looked at me.
‘Watch it,’ I said, snapping him back to his task. Now was definitely not the time to be distracted.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I saw the Amazonian brunette going into your house.’
Jack appeared genuinely perplexed, like he was searching through the archives of his mind. God, how many supermodels did he take home that he had to think about it? I was starting to get mad and was ready to call it a night – or rather a really early morning – when a sudden flash of realisation lit his face. ‘Oh, her.’
‘I don’t know; is “her” a six foot bombshell with legs up to here?’ Seriously, how could he forget her? I know she haunted my memories.
Jack laughed, really loud, hooking his legs back over the divide, until he sat precariously on the edge.
‘Jack,’ I said, pleading for him to keep it down, but all he could do was shake his head and howl with mirth, rocking back and forth. Against my better judgement, my instinct had me moving forward to grab his jacket, tugging it with great annoyance.
‘Stop it, you’ll fall.’
Jack’s smile curved into something else, his eyes searching my face, and a sudden stillness came over him as he sobered at my words.
‘Maybe I already have.’
‘What?’
Jack stood then, towering over me, forcing me to look up into his eyes. Dark and stormy they were, studying every line of my face as if committing it to memory, while my blood heated under his gaze. I so desperately wanted to kiss him, for him to kiss me, here on the terrace, the early morning still covering us in darkness, but with just enough light flooding the balcony so I could read every gorgeous line of his face. Right in that moment I had never wanted anything more than to have his lips on mine and the flicker of something mischievous in his eyes had me believing that he had somehow read my mind. I could tell by the way his cocky, sexy mouth creased at the corner as he moved closer, lowering his head, never taking his eyes from me as he hovered so, so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips. So agonisingly slow was his approach I almost expected him to pull away, but he didn’t, though it gave me just enough time for the rational part of me to object.
‘Jack, I really don’t think—’
Jack kissed me. Cutting off my words, pulling me against him, he kissed me so passionately that I found myself gripping the edge of his jacket with a white-knuckled intensity, anchoring myself in case my legs went from underneath me. Jack’s hands moved to cup my face to gain better access to my mouth, coaxing me to open for him. And I did, gladly, letting him taste and tease and take what he wanted, before he pulled back, allowing me to draw in some much-needed air. My eyes searched his, wondering if he regretted what he had just done, afraid that I might see something in him that would tell me as much. So when his mouth curved in all the right places, I was overcome with relief. The butterflies in my stomach danced as his thumb brushed against my cheek; his erratic breaths falling over my face.
‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ he said, before moving to kiss my forehead and pulling away, walking backward with a knowing smile, clearly amused by my shocked face, kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks. I watched him step over the side and manoeuvre his way across to his balcony like a seasoned trapeze artist. I didn’t dare breathe until his feet hit the floor of his terrace and he turned around, wiping the invisible dust off his pants and elbows with a huge grin.
‘Sweet dreams, Kate.’ Jack winked, opening his door and disappearing inside, leaving me standing there in complete and utter bewilderment, staring at Jack’s closed balcony door. I slowly lifted my hand to touch my tender lips, barely believing it was real, before breaking into a smile, my mind rolling the event over and over again on a constant loop of disbelief.
Jack Baker didn’t have a girlfriend.
Chapter Twenty-Five
And so my life changed, though not in the way you might have guessed. I was not ensconced in a fairy-tale romance with Jack, nor had Jack’s kiss magically turned Nana Joy into a frog. In fact, from the outside, you could argue that everything looked much the same; my days consisted of ‘bonding’ with Nana, ignoring her nasty remarks and putting up with her temper tantrums (often at the crossword – ‘the puzzle-writers aren’t what they used to be, Katherine. Twitter is what birds do, not people’). And yet, even at her worst, her words seemed to merely roll off me; I refused to let them lodge themselves in my mind and erode my confidence like they may have done before. I simply smiled and ignored her, which I am sure just made her more determined to upset me but, try as she might, I was untouchable. Because, come night-time, she went off to Nana Napland and I became ‘Kate on the Thames’ and the fulfilment it gave me was life-changing: blogging, editing, building my networks on social media, working on my business plan; I finally had a purpose.
And of course, I was also kept rather busy daydreaming about Jack’s tongue in my mouth – oh yeah, that! Kind of hard to forget. For the entire week following, I found myself reading on the front stoop, waiting for Jack to get in from work so I could update him on my progress.
Wednesday: ‘Twenty-four followers, Jack.’ I beamed, sliding Nana’s embarrassing romance novel into the pot plant as I stood.
Jack smiled. ‘Excellent.’
Thursday: ‘Thirty-one followers and two comments.’
I wasn’t entirely certain that Jack was as excited to hear about my daily updates as I was to tell him; I’m sure he didn’t come rushing home from work to find out the goss, and come Friday, when I was all ready to update him that I had an amazing fifty followers (halfway to triple figures!), he was nowhere to be seen. Six p.m. rolled into six thirty, then seven; by 8.40 p.m. I had resigned myself to the fact that he was either not coming home, or maybe had drinks after work, most likely with people far cooler than me. He hadn’t mentioned anything last night when we’d sat on the steps, talking about when I was going to upload my next video. He seemed interested, engaged in my conversation, but then doubt set in. Maybe I was being too forward, too obsessive – he probably dreaded coming home after a long day’s work (wherever that was) to have me pounce on him with me-me-me. And since the night on the balcony he never moved to kiss me, or invite me up to his, or sneak into mine once Nana had gone to bed; it almost seemed like the kiss never happened, like it didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe it didn’t, maybe I had finally gone mad. I sat there, torturing myself with those very thoughts, and inhaled a deep, steadying breath.
Nope, it
was time to back off a little. And as the weekend went by, I busied myself with more filming and editing, and planning out the next week. Come Monday, I didn’t sit out the front of the terrace, despite having reached a hundred followers and wanting desperately to tell Jack about the milestone. I held strong; instead, I sat stoically at the dinner table, watching Nan as she scowled and grimaced, pushing around her food like a fussy toddler.
‘This is awful.’
‘Nana,’ I warned.
‘Oh, don’t worry about my feelings, Kate; according to Nana Joy, I don’t have any.’ Vera gave me a sly little wink. I was glad to see that Vera was being a little more feisty these days; between the two of us, we were determined not to let Nana get away with being so rude. Well, not entirely get away with it.
‘How can I be expected to eat this? It has no flavour,’ she complained.
I rolled my eyes, sinking my fork into the creamy and flavoursome mashed potato, when my phone vibrated in my pocket.
Eek, new follower!
My spirits were instantly lifted. Even though I knew better than to take my life into my own hands by checking the notification at the dinner table, curiosity got the better of me when the phone vibrated once more.
‘Excuse me, I just have to go the bathroom,’ I said, sliding out from my chair.
‘Are you finished, Kate?’ Vera asked, reaching for my plate.
‘Yes, and thank you, Vera, it was utterly delicious,’ I said, throwing a pointed look at Nana, who simply harrumphed.
Things had slowed down somewhat over the past few days; I had only hit one hundred and four followers. Despite my newly uploaded vlog exploring vintage accessories and the perfect shade of red lipstick to keep on hand, there wasn’t anything happening, no new comments or likes. I tried not to be disheartened about it; after all, this was always about me and my passion – sharing it, yes, but if people weren’t interested, would I stop? No, of course not. I started to believe that maybe Jack’s earlier enthusiasm might have been a little misguided; despite doing all the things I had set out in my business plan, including developing a website, Twitter account and Facebook page, and investing a tiny amount of my savings in Google Adwords, things were still pretty quiet. Maybe the fashion and travel scene was just too crowded for a newbie voice like mine to be heard. After all, what did I really have to offer? A great wardrobe, sure, but not one that I had any part in creating, some nice lighting and a dearth of industry experience. I was lucky to have found one hundred and four people interested in listening to me.
Well, I’d be grateful for every last one of them, and I couldn’t resist looking at my phone to see if I’d found one more like-minded soul. I closed the bathroom door behind me and leant against the vanity, clicking into my email notification to find that my blog had a new comment.
‘Ooh, hello, anonymous,’ I said, following the link that guided me to the comments section.
‘Oh my God.’
I blinked, once, twice, my gaze lifting up to see the reflection of my mouth agape as I reread the message over and over again, barely believing what it said.
‘Surely not,’ I said, reading it once more.
Anonymous says:
Balcony now!
‘Honestly, you are the most sickly child I have ever met; then again, maybe Vera gave you food poisoning.’
I blew out an impatient breath and turned away from Nana. ‘Vera, you did not give me food poisoning, I assure you.’
Vera lowered her voice so Nana couldn’t overhear. ‘Let me guess, some “me time”?’
I hid my smile, thinking how well Vera could read me. ‘Something like that.’ Or at least I hoped so as I excused myself from the dinner table and bounded up the stairs, skipping every other one. Breathless, I burst through my bedroom door, turning on the light to see that everything was as I had left it, but it wasn’t the room that held my interest. Intrigued and fighting to control my breathing, I went to the terrace door, edging the curtain aside and opening the door just wide enough for me to step through, then stopped.
There, on top of my small balcony table, was a line of flickering tea candles, a cold beer placed on either side, and a small plate of biscuits, soft cheese and strawberries. Silver ribbons fell down from the roof, brushing against my face – they were attached to at least a dozen balloons, one of every colour.
‘I thought it was about time we had a balcony party.’
I turned toward Jack’s balcony. There he stood, holding a singular red balloon with ‘100’ written on it. I laughed, covering my mouth, barely believing that any of this was real. Jack once again climbed over to my balcony with the greatest of ease, closing the distance between us and handing me the balloon with a huge grin.
‘Happy one hundred followers,’ he said.
‘One hundred and four, actually.’
‘Oh bollocks. See what happens when you’re not around to keep me in the loop?’
‘You want to be kept in the loop?’
Jack pulled a balloon string away from my face and stepped closer. ‘I don’t party on balconies with just anyone, you know.’
I stared into his eyes for a long moment and, maybe it was the sparkle of the candlelight, but there was something reflected there. I turned away from him reluctantly, taking in the scene before me.
‘Wow, this is amazing. I am very impressed, and slightly horrified, at how you managed to cart all this over here.’
‘Well, don’t worry, I stashed nothing down my pants,’ he said, lifting up a small esky from under the table.
‘Oh, happy days!’ I said.
Jack pulled the chair out for me, like it was our first date, while I move around him, awkward and nervous. On the other hand, well, Jack was as confident as ever. I could never imagine him being unsure of himself.
‘Are there plenty more where this came from?’ I asked, lifting my beer up.
‘Why, yes, there are.’ Jack reached for the esky, drawing out another bottle.
I knew I would have to pace myself; I was by no means a tank when it came to alcohol, but I did need a little help to loosen my inhibitions. I could already feel it taking effect as I snared a strawberry from the bowl and bit into it, looking at Jack all sexy and suggestive, until juice ran down my chin.
‘Oh shit,’ I said, wiping it away with the back of my hand and cringing at the mess.
‘Yeah, they’re pretty juicy.’ Jack laughed, finishing the last of his beer and reaching for another.
‘I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘This, us, any of it.’
Jack seemed troubled, like something was rolling around in his mind but he didn’t know how to put it. ‘Kate, are you … a virgin?’
‘What?’ I said, my voice high enough to shatter the glass on my balcony doors.
‘Because, you know, it’s totally okay if—’
‘No, Jack, I’m telling you, I am not a virgin!’
Jack looked at me as if he wasn’t totally convinced.
‘I’m just awkward. And when I’m around you, I can’t think straight, and when I’m not I … I … I have very impure thoughts,’ I said, taking a deep swig of my beer, mainly to prevent myself from talking. Christ, since when had this turned into a confessional?
Jack grinned broadly. ‘Do you?’
‘Oh, don’t sound so pleased with yourself.’
Jack looked delighted, and I knew that I had said too much. Running my mouth off was one of my more painful quirks and one that, unlike pimples and a love of boybands, I unfortunately had not left behind at high school. I was mortified, and braced myself for Jack’s laughter. But he didn’t laugh; instead, he placed his beer down and turned to me, his eyes dark and heated. It was enough to make me shift in my seat and hope that he would say something, make a joke to ease the tension. I simply sat there staring back at him. Maybe it was the alcohol, or an attempt to regain some ground after my humiliating confession, but when he pushed his chair b
ack, crooked his finger and said, ‘Come here,’ I lifted my chin defiantly.
‘You come here.’
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Must everything be an argument with you?’
I giggled, admittedly loving the game we were playing. I placed my hands on the table slowly. The sound of my chair legs scraping across the floor was painfully loud, but I didn’t care; instead, I walked around the small table, never once taking my gaze from his. I came to stand beside Jack’s chair, running my hand across his forehead to brush the hair from his brow, looking into the face of the man I couldn’t get out of my head. I felt the warmth of his hand slide up my outer thigh, drawing me closer to him as I brushed my finger along the soft bow of his gorgeous mouth, watching it break into a sinfully sexy smile. Only then did I realise something that I had dared not hope for, something I felt with the utmost certainty when I looked into Jack’s eyes.
I wasn’t afraid anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I moved to sit on his lap until his hand stilled me, touching my hip. My heart stopped.
Oh god, had I misread the signs?
But no, it seemed that Jack had a very different interpretation of lap-sitting, as his hand ran down my thigh to the back of my knee, pulling my leg over his so I was straddling him. Sliding my hands over his shoulders and linking them around his neck, I could feel the searing heat of his hands on my hips, and the hardness pressed between the junction of my thighs, my breath hitching at the pressure as Jack shifted in his seat. Reading my reaction, he did it again with a big grin, a movement that incited the most delicious kind of torture, and he damn well knew it.
I breathed out. ‘You’re a bad man, Jack Baker.’
‘A bad man who can do very good things,’ he said. He slid his hands down my thighs, and up again, this time skimming a slow, deliberate line under the material of my skirt, just enough that his fingertips grazed the elastic edge of my panties, only to pull away again, in an agonising dance. It was like he was playing me, watching my face and reacting accordingly. I bit down on my lip, locking down my traitorous body and trying my best not to let him see how he was pressing my buttons. But who was I kidding? If he wanted to play games, then game on.
