14. Kane
KANE
O ver the next few weeks, we take every opportunity to see each other, snatching little pockets of time that will have to sustain us until the next chance.
The tattoo studio is only a fifteen-minute Tube ride from the office where she works part time in HR, and we meet during our lunch breaks, unable to keep our hands off each other.
I find thoughts of Holly fill my mind constantly.
All I can think about is how I feel when we’re together, the softness of her skin under my fingertips, how she tastes when I push my tongue inside her.
I love all the noises she makes when she comes, all the little quirks she has, like how she’s always cold.
Sure, maybe in time I’ll find those things annoying, but right now I adore everything about her and I can’t see that changing any time soon.
I hope she feels the same way about me. It certainly seems that way when we’re together, how we always have an excuse to be touching, how we can sit and just be with each other for hours without needing to say a word.
I’ve never had that with a woman—this easy comfort.
Women had always been such hard work before, playing games and sulking if he didn’t call or see them often enough.
But Holly has a life of her own. She has a son and a job and she knows exactly what she wants.
When she wants to be with me, she says so, and when she’s busy, that’s fine, too.
She’s a woman who has her shit together, and it helps that the sex is incredible.
“I think it’s time,” she announces during her lunch break one day, while we sit side by side, holding hands as we drink coffee—or at least I drink coffee, while she has a cup of tea.
I frown. “Time for what?”
“For you and Dylan to meet properly. You’re both this major part of my life, and it’s starting to feel wrong that I’m keeping you apart.” She smiles. “Besides, I want you around on the weekends when Dylan is home. I miss you when you’re not with me.”
“I miss you, too. And yeah, I’d love to meet Dylan. You know I’m not going anywhere. It’s gonna happen eventually.”
She leans in and kisses me. “I was hoping you’d say that. Okay, maybe we can go to the park next Saturday, kick a football around. Dylan would love that.”
“So would I.”
She squeezes her arms in to her body, as though giving herself a nervously excited hug. “Great, it’s a date.”
T hat Saturday rolls around.
I feel more nervous about meeting a six-year-old boy than I ever have preparing to go on a date.
Dylan is the most important person in Holly’s life, and if I mess this up, things might change between Holly and me.
That’s the last thing I want. I understand Holly always needs to put Dylan first and I respect her for that.
I also know if things are difficult between Dylan and me, it will put a definite dampener on our relationship.
I walk to the park around the corner from Holly’s house, a brand-new football tucked under my arm. I agonised for ages about what to bring, not wanting to turn up empty handed, while also not wanting it to seem as though I’m buying Dylan’s affection.
I arrive at the park and look around anxiously for Holly and her son.
It’s one of those strange grey London days, neither sunny nor miserable, just midway between.
I stand awkwardly, scanning the other parents and kids for any sign of them, but there is none.
A couple of the parents send me suspicious glances, and I realised it doesn’t look great, me as a single man, especially with my appearance, standing alone in a kids’ playground.
They probably think I’m going to try to lure their children away with the offer of a new football.
To my relief, I spot Holly and Dylan pushing through the gates of the park.
She notices me right away and lifts her hand in a wave.
I exhale a breath and make my way over to them.
Dylan has inherited his mother’s blonde locks and big, blue eyes.
He’s a cute kid, though at six, he probably hates the idea of being thought of as cute.
“Hey, guys,” I say when I reach them. I’d normally lean in and kissed Holly on the mouth about now, but I’m painfully aware of Dylan’s watchful eyes.
Holly takes the indecision out of my hands by standing on tiptoes and kissing my cheek.
“Hi,” she says and then looks to her son. “Dylan, you remember my friend, Kane?”
Dylan shrugs. “I guess.”
“Your mum says you like football,” I say, trying to get the kid animated.
Another shrug. “S’okay.”
Holly nudges her son in the side and then widens her eyes at me, as though to say ‘sorry!’
Dylan’s eyes narrow as his gaze flicks over my exposed forearms. “My dad says only bad people have tattoos.”
“Dylan!” Holly snaps.
I try not to flinch. This isn’t going great so far.
“Well, everyone is allowed to have their own opinion on things.” I’m careful with the words I choose, not wanting to put Dylan’s dad down in front of the boy, even though I want to.
“But in my mind, having tattoos is just like any other art. You wouldn’t look at art on a wall and think it was bad, would you? ”
Dylan shakes his head. “Guess not.”
“Tattoos are just my art. I designed most of them myself.”
A spark of interest lights in his blue eyes. “You did?”
“Yeah. I love to draw. I normally do oriental work. You know what that is?”
His lips twist. “Like Chinese and Japanese stuff.”
I grin. “That’s right. You must be smart like your mum.”
Holly beams, and I know I’ve said the right thing.
“Show me what other ones you’ve drawn?” Dylan asks.
“You like dragons?”
Another shrug. “Guess so.”
I pull the arm of my shirt up to reveal the fire-breathing dragon curling around my bicep.
Dylan’s eyes widen. “Cool.”
“Thanks.” I straighten and throw the football up in the air. As the ball comes down, I head it, sending the ball back into the air. “You wanna play that game now?”
Dylan chases after the ball without even answering, and I throw a quick glance to Holly.
She does the thumbs-up sign to me, and I take off, after Dylan.
Within minutes, we’re happily kicking the ball between us.
I use a couple of rocks to mark out a goal, and I stand in position, with Dylan trying to get the ball past me, and letting him more often than not.
Holly has taken a seat on one of the benches and watches the two of us with a smile.
I glance over and catch her eye occasionally, and each time her smile widens.
Seeing Holly this happy makes me happy, too, and Dylan seems to be enjoying himself.
Out of breath, and with flushed cheeks, we make our way back to Holly.
“You boys ready to go get something to drink?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m dying of thirst,” Dylan says, gasping like a drowning fish and clutching at his throat. “Then can we come back and play?”
“Maybe another day, kiddo,” she says.
Dylan gives a groan. “Ugh. I hate going home. I’d live in the park, if I could.”
She hooks an arm around his neck. “Then you’d end up very cold and sleeping on a bench.”
We all laugh, and something inside me warms. I’d not had a bad childhood, but my parents were nothing like Holly.
They’d been—and still are—pretty uptight, a strange formality existing between us at all times.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen them show any kind of affection towards each other, and joking and messing around as a family never existed.
Maybe that’s why I’d gone off the rails so rapidly once I’d discovered my freedom as a teenager?
But being with this little family makes me see how different things could be. We’re easygoing and happy, and I’m starting to think I could definitely get used to this way of life.