Chapter 6
Simmons
The parking for pickups was also a nightmare, and in the end an old lady told me to fuck off when I had told her I had arrived and just parked rather than her assumption that I was leaving and she wanted my space.
I check my watch out of habit as I wait.
Looking around, I could see the flight had come in as it was getting busier in the arrivals lounge.
Some were running to hug their friends or family.
Some passed alone, quickly with their luggage.
I couldn’t see Gerald, but I knew he had definitely been on the flight, as the tags on the luggage passing me by, branded with their flight number, confirmed it was his.
“Oh shit, I’ve been in this country two fucking seconds and I’ve bloody hurt someone,” the man admonishes himself as he looks between us.
I'm unable to tear my eyes off him despite the coffee seeping into my pants. Eyeliner, rebellious-looking, wearing pink nail polish and wearing whatever sweetened drink was poured from the cup lying next to us.
“You’re fine. Need help up?” I offer when my brain finally finds my tongue and my hand automatically shoots out to help him up.
“Oh, aye, cheers,” he says as he grasps my bigger hand to let me pull us both up.
“I am so, so sorry. I was just so excited about moving here, and I was looking for my driver. God, are you my driver? And now I’ve soaked you. Ah shit,” he goes on again, so apologetically.
“You’re fine. I’m not your driver. Just waiting for someone. Let’s get some napkins. I’m sure your driver can wait an extra five minutes so you’re clean for his car, hmm?” I tell him with a small smile.
He looks from his soaked T-shirt to me, then smiles widely,” yeah good idea. Any clue where the loo is?”
Jeez, he had a stunning accent. I take a moment to get my brain to register the words as English before I can guide him to the unisex toilets across from where we fell. He follows me, and I can’t help but bite back a smile at his immediate response to follow my instructions.
“Thanks so much for helping me out. I’m not usually clumsy, and to be honest, not that often am I this apologetic,” he admits as he dabs at his pale purple t-shirt that was definitely ruined and would no doubt stain.
I could see the subtle outline of his abdomen and the pale, smooth skin there.
I quickly look away in case he catches me.
“Oh, really?” I had to know why I was the exception.
“Well, you’re cute,” he clucks his tongue at his own confession, and it has me looking at him from where I was dabbing my coffee-soaked jumper. His soft, pink tongue showing slightly in the back of his open mouth as he smirks at me, head tilted like he’s a puppy that wants to play.
Dazed at the change in his demeanour, I lick my lips, nodding in response as I lose my words and don’t know how to respond to him.
That wasn’t something I ever had a problem with.
He’s enigmatic. I want more from this stranger, but like the rest of my day before now, I knew it wouldn’t go as planned.
“I should go look for my driver, or replace my coffee since I wasn’t able to even sip that one before I smashed it between us,” he laughs as he straightens back up and puts his paper towels in the bin. He grabs at his luggage and looks at me expectantly.
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I mumble. God, what was wrong with me?
He nods and gives me a questioning glance before he offers a small smile and salute, then leaves the toilets with me trailing behind, unsure if I’m even cleaned up.
He apologises again before heading to the Starbucks by the exit instead of heading to his taxi driver, who must still be waiting.
I smile down at my feet, shaking my head at the man’s nature.
A few minutes go by before Gerald arrives, sweaty and holding what looks like 40 bags of belongings. I clench my jaw when I smile, trying to remember that this was a good deed and I shouldn’t be irritated just because he didn’t tell me he would be coming home with a lot of shit.
He makes small talk from the moment we say hello.
I know every city in Scotland, every large town on the Ayrshire coast, and how many shots of whiskey it took Gerald before he gathered the courage to look up a Scotsman’s kilt.
It was two, and he got a black eye. By the time I dropped him off with his shit, I wanted to meet the guy who had given him the shiner and shake his hand.
As I slip into bed that night, despite Gerald’s indignant behaviour, I smile in the dark to myself.
I think of the man whose coffee was almost bigger than he was.
That followed me without hesitation, that had skin so pale it looked like carved marble, and I wondered what it would look like against the shine of black latex.
I hadn’t caught his name, but he had an essence about him that made me wonder if he was as innocent behind his large green eyes as his apologies seemed to be. If only he were a sub, one that could offer me whatever it was the others had lacked. A man could dream.