“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Text me, call me, email me,” I tell her. “Just please show up here.”
“In a trench coat with nothing underneath?”
I groan, hard again, and press my cock against her hips. “Don’t do this to me,” I whisper harshly into her neck.
“I’m doing nothing,” she says, kissing my cheek like she’s suddenly chaste and heading out the door.
It closes behind her and I stare at it, feeling a sense of loss and lust like nothing else.
Winter barks from behind me.
“I know,” I tell him. “I miss her already too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Natasha
Brigs had said we were starting from square one.
I hadn’t believed him at the time. I thought it would be impossible to erase our past and while that still holds true, I think I know what he means.
Square one means a new us, it means an us that can breathe, like wine uncorked. Granted, I think the two of us are still a bit cagey about shouting from the rooftops that the two of us are together. I’m still afraid of telling Melissa (I’ve had to tell her I’m back to seeing Bradley again), Brigs is cautious about the school. But still – this is, in some ways, so new.
We never got a chance to date before. We worked together and it became something more – briefly – before it was taken away. But we were never able to get to know each other freely, in the ways that we wanted to.
After we slept together – in his office, in his flat – we spent the week together in each other’s arms. Every chance I got I was over there. Sometimes we went for dinner or the pub, but most of the time he was fucking me senseless, sometimes in his bed, sometimes in the living room. Pretty much anywhere that the dog wasn’t. I know we’re making up for years of lost time and I don’t have any complaints, even though I’m pretty raw at times and walking around like I’ve just gotten off a horse. In a way I have. The man is massive and I’m still getting used to his size. I’m pretty lucky that he can get me wet just by gazing at me with those carnal eyes.
Naturally he’s clouding my thoughts when we’re not tangled together with raw lust and sweat-soaked skin. He’s all I’m thinking about and I’m falling back into the rabbit hole, lost in this discovery of a new us, the feeling of finally moving forward. In fact, we aren’t just moving, it feels like we’re galloping and I can’t hold on tight enough.
Melissa has been suspicious and I honestly don’t know why. Maybe it’s that she sense I’m lying about Bradley, I don’t know. She’s told me she wants to meet him but I keep making up excuses and I know I can’t keep it up forever. Really, I shouldn’t be afraid but I have this niggling feeling at the back of mind that I need to keep my cards close to my chest for now.
That said, I still went lingerie shopping with her. I don’t need Sponge Bob anymore – he’s been regulated to comfy days – and I definitely need a set of bra and knickers that will set Brigs’ heart on fire.
Of course, I know he’d rather have me naked all the time and barely notices what I’m wearing, but still. This is one of the sweetest parts of dating – getting yourself all gussied up for someone day in and day out. I love getting to pick out red silk and black lace undergarments, I love getting special exfoliants and body lotions to make every part of me touchably soft, I love putting on the right outfits, the right makeup, doing everything I can to be as attractive to Brigs as possible. I know none of it is needed – he never looks at me so adoringly as when I don’t have makeup on and my hair is a mess – but the process makes life so much sweeter.
And to be honest, it makes it all that much more real. Sometimes it still feels like a dream and I have to pinch myself during class when my mind starts to wander. My classes are getting harder to concentrate on and my thesis is totally out the window because my brain just wants to focus on him and my body craves his touch no differently than it craves the air I breathe.
On Friday he texts me during class and tells me to come over at three, that he’s whisking me away somewhere for a few hours. There’s barely enough time to rush home and slip on my new bra and underwear, even though the elastic band of my hiphuggers dig into my skin too much, causing a muffin top. I sigh, making a note to start working out more, then the other part of my brain kicks into gear and tells me not to worry about it. If Brigs doesn’t care, neither should I.
Luckily Melissa isn’t home to bug me about where I’m going, so I’m in and out of the flat in a dash and hoping on the train to Brigs’ flat.
I buzz the intercom and Brigs tells me to stay put, that he’ll be right down.
I wait by the entrance to his building, my eyes drawn to the tourists lining up to get into the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Then his front door swings open and he comes out with Winter on a leash, the pooch’s coat looking sparkling white in the autumn sunshine.
Brigs grins at me, eyes bluer than the sky, looking positively dashing in his dark jeans, T- shirt and charcoal waxed cotton jacket. A grey scarf sits around his neck. “There’s my woman,” he says to me, kissing me quickly. Winter, as usual, shoves his nose into my crotch. Like father like son.
“Are we going for a walk?” I ask happily, feeling so much lighter, brighter, when he’s around.
“Going for a drive,” he says, slipping on aviator shades. “I even have a cigar. Do you have a light?”
I quickly pull one out of my purse and wave it at him. “Of course I do. Just in case Professor Blue Eyes wants to smoke a cigar with me.”
He gives me a wolfish smile. “And what if Professor Blue Eyes wants to fuck you silly?”
I raise my finger to make him pause and then bring out a stack of condoms. “He can fuck me silly as many times as he wants.”
“Thatta girl,” he says and we round the corner of the building to the back where his Aston Martin is parked.
“I can’t believe you still have it,” I say, running my hand over the black hood, the finish like new even though it was made in 1978.
“Call me sentimental,” he explains, unlocking my side and flipping down the seat so Winter can hop in the back. “I rarely use it anymore but I thought it might be nice to go for a spin.”
I totally agree. I get in and we’re off, zipping through the city and then onto the motorway, heading in who knows what direction. I don’t really care where we’re going and I don’t ask. The radio plays the oldies, some good old soul, and I’ve got the wind in my hair. The weather is absolutely perfect for a drive and though the air has a chill these days, the sun has never felt better on my face.
“So how is our date going so far?” Brigs asks randomly as he brings the car onto the A2.
“Date?” I ask, glancing at him.
He shrugs and shoots me his trademark grin. “Well, I thought we ought to make it official don’t you? None of this screwing here and there, even though that’s a given at this point. I mean, well, sorry to sound old fashioned but I’m rather fond of you and I’d like us to be, you know…a couple.”
“A couple?” I repeat. Silly me kind of thought we already were.
“Aye. I want to do things properly with you now,” he explains. “I’m going to woo the hell out of you.”
I laugh. “Believe me, you’re already wooing the hell out of me.”
“Good, good,” he says, nodding. He glances at me. “But you know, you’re something close to magic, Natasha. I’m not going to treat you like you’re anything less. You deserve to be wooed and wined and dined.”
“And fucked,” I add, feeling a bit embarrassed at his proclamations. I don’t think I’ve ever been called magic before.
“And fucked, of course,” he concedes.
And loved I add in my head but my mouth doesn’t dare mutter the words. It’s much too soon for that, even though the longer I’m with him, the more that I’m sucked into this heady vortex of feelings I can barely describe. It’s not that I believe I deserve his love but, god damn it, I want it more than anything.
r />
“Well, Professor Brigs,” I tell him. “Feel free to wine and dine me and do whatever you want. I’m game for whatever you have planned.”
And then what? The thought floats into my head. Where is this going?
But the thing is, there’s only one place for it to go. We’re starting from square one and we might be “dating” but as far as I can tell, we’re already “all in.”
A couple of hours later, we end up near the seaside town of Broadstairs before we’re pulling into a parking lot at a place called Botany Bay.
“Ever been here before?” Brigs asks me as I stare out the window at the wide stretch of sandy beach beyond a row of sea grass.
“Never,” I tell him. “I barely made it to the seaside. Only Brighton.”
“I haven’t been here either,” he says. “I honestly did one of those point at the map things at home. Well, then I googled the hell out it. But I thought that might make it fun.”
We get out of the car, with Winter staying in the backseat for now, and he opens the hatchback, taking out a picnic basket. For a moment I’m reminded of the time I tried to have a solo picnic in the Princes Street Gardens and how lovesick I was and how much I wanted him to be with me. I also remember seeing him and Hamish and Miranda walking past, seemingly so happy, and the memories are kind of killing me as I stand there staring at him.
It’s like there was an implosion and the dust is settling and I’m amazed to see we’re still alive.
“Are you okay?” he asks, closing the hatchback and resting the basket on the ground.
I nod, trying to swallow. I shake my shoulders quickly, as if to loosen the shame and dust from my shoulders. But even though I can’t see his eyes underneath his glasses, I know how good he is at reading me.
“Should we go back?” he asks quietly and I can hear the hurt in his voice.
“No,” I say quickly. “No, I’m fine. Really. I just…I was remembering something.”
He nods sharply. “Aye. You know you can tell me.”
“I know. It’s fine. It’s nothing.” The last thing I want to do is ruin the mood.
He watches me for a few moments, his brows pulled together. “All right. Do you want to get Winter and I’ll handle this?”
I nod, happy for a distraction. I put Winter on his leash and we head down a sandy path between waving grass until we’re down on the beach. It’s strangely desolate here, not even a pier or a boardwalk or a single café, and there isn’t a person in sight either, though I’m sure in summer it would be a completely different story.
“All to ourselves,” Brigs comments as we stroll down to the end of the beach where giant white cliffs jut out from the sea. A few of the chalky cliffs stand alone, like white soldiers overlooking the sand and with the tide being out, it appears you can wander between them.
But we stop closer to the dunes and Brigs lays out the picnic. I take Winter off the leash since there’s no one around and he immediately starts running around, chasing seagulls.
“He’ll be all right,” Brigs says as he takes out his cigar. I promptly toss him the Zippo and he lights it, taking in a long draw. “Sit,” he orders out of the corner of his mouth.
I get down on the plaid blanket he’s laid out and stare out at the sea, Winter now playing in the waves and throwing seaweed up into the air. The sun is low behind us and the breeze is growing cooler, the air smelling like brine and salt. I breathe in deep, trying to get some clarity.
I hate that our past has the ability to almost bring me to my knees and I hate how long it takes for me to shake off the guilt. My therapist used to tell me that I wanted to hang onto the feeling because I felt I deserved it and after a while it just became second nature.
Brigs puffs on the cigar in silence and then passes it to me. I hesitate for a moment before taking it, deciding it would probably help me relax. So will the Shiraz that Brigs is opening and pouring into two plastic cups.
“I can tell you don’t want to talk about it,” Brigs says gently, placing a cup beside me. “But…I just want you to know that you shouldn’t hide anything from me. Don’t think you have to. Don’t think I won’t understand.”
“I know,” I tell him with a sigh before I bring the cigar to my mouth, holding the smoke on my tongue for a moment before letting it drift out of my lips.
“Tell me about your time in France,” he says simply.
I stare at him incredulously, passing the cigar back. “You mean over the last four years.”
He takes off his shades and tucks them into his jacket pocket. “Yeah,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “Before you came here.”
I shake my head and quickly slug back some of the red wine. “You don’t want to know. It’s not a happy story.”
“But it’s your story. I want to know, Natasha. And I’ll tell you mine.”
I swallow down more of the wine, not sure if I want to hear his either. Then again, it’s Brigs and he’s laying his heart bare for me. How can I not take him for everything?
When I don’t say anything, he goes on. “After they died, we had a funeral of course. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years. It was beautiful, really, the ceremony. Obviously it’s something you never appreciate at the time. How can you? But looking back now, it really did Hamish and Miranda justice. It’s taken me years, though, to be able to reflect on it with just sadness and nothing more, mind you.” He sighs deeply. “Anyway, I, uh…well. I lost myself. Completely. And I still don’t know how I’m not down on my kitchen floor, absorbing in the enormity of it all, you know? I really didn’t think I’d get out of it. It still surprises me that I’m here.”
He chews on his lip for a moment, his eyes pained before taking another drag of the cigar. “I tried to kill myself, you know.”
My heart slams against my chest, aching. “What?” I ask in quiet disbelief.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I guess I should say it was a half-hearted attempt. The doctors gave me pills to sleep. I took a lot. I knew what I was doing too. I woke up in a pile of vomit, halfway to the bathroom. And you know what I felt? Relief at first, that it didn’t work, that I was alive. But then the fucking pain…it comes at you so hard. And that was the very thing I was trying to escape.” He exhales. “I never tried to do it again but…I often think about it. If I had succeeded.”
“I am so, so sorry,” I cry out softly, putting my hand on his. My soul weeps for him, the guilt overpowering me once again.
He looks at me with hard eyes. “Don’t be sorry, Natasha. They died. And that’s independent of you. It’s independent of us. I’m learning how to separate the two.”
He makes it sound so easy but from his strained brow, I know it’s anything but.
“But,” he goes on, “I couldn’t quite pull myself out of it right away. I lost my job at the university. I lost most of my friends. The suicide didn’t work but in some ways I was still trying to make myself as dead as possible. I barely ate. Barely slept. I was barely anything. You wouldn’t have recognized me. I was just…a ghost.”
I’m staring at him open-mouthed, reeling for him. Reeling for me. The wounds are too fresh and new. “So was I.”
“So tell me,” he says, passing me back the cigar. He looks me over, like a puzzle he’s trying to piece together. “How did you get on after?”
I turn the cigar over in my hands, taking in a deep breath. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it but if I can’t be ready with Brigs, now, I’ll never be ready. “I think…it’s hard to talk about it. Not because I’m afraid, or it’s too painful, even though it is painful and I am afraid. It’s just that, I had two things competing for my sorrow. I had the guilt of their deaths…”
“I wish I never said those things to you,” he quickly says, voice choked. “There’s not a day I don’t regret it, putting the blame on you. I was…”
“You were in shock and you were in pain.”
“Don’t make excuses for me.”
“Don’t find something else
to feel bad over,” I tell him. “It’s not an excuse, it’s just the truth. I don’t blame you. I would have probably said the same, I would have gone mad with grief. I would have lashed out at anyone. It’s just that you…you fucking broke my heart, Brigs. You gave me guilt and you broke me in two. I was dying from both.”
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard. “I’m so sorry,” he says thickly.
“We’re both sorry, Brigs,” I tell him. “That’s why I don’t want us to talk about it more than we have to. We’re fucked up. Sincerely, completely fucked up.”
He sighs and looks back at the sea. “Aye.”
“Anyway,” I tell him after a few beats, taking a quick puff of the cigar, feeling my lips buzz. “I dropped out of school and I went to France. My father seemed like the only person I could go to, you know? My mother wouldn’t have given a shit about me in LA. She still barely contacts me and I’ve kind of stopped trying. But my father, I knew he would help me. And you know what? He did. I went to Marseilles and lived with him and his girlfriend and tried to live again. I learned French. I got a job cleaning boats during the summer. I even went to a therapist, in French and all. There was medication and a lot of setbacks. I have bad panic attacks from time to time. But slowly I pulled myself out of the hole. And…I did everything I could not to think about you.”
He looks at me, frowning.
“You,” I explain, “were my downfall. Eventually I was able to get through the day without thinking about death, without blaming myself. But you…you were something I pushed out of my head. And it worked. I moved on.”
“Until you saw me,” he says softly.
“Until I saw you,” I tell him.
“Well,” he says with a heavy sigh. “This is the worst date ever, isn’t it?”
I can’t help but smile. “In a way. But I’m with you. You’re worth everything.”
“Even though I’m the man that ruined you?”
I wrap my hand around his. “I wouldn’t want to be ruined by anyone but you.”
“Thank you,” he says.