TWENTY-ONE
Evie took the bag Aubrey handed her as he got back into the car with an incredulous smile. He pulled out of the supermarket car park for the short drive that would finish the journey back to his place.
She laughed in disbelief, pulling out a pink, fluffy hot water bottle, and a pair of pink fluffy socks.
“It was the only one they had,” he said.
“And the socks?”
He gave a grim smile. “You’ll look cute in them. Sheathe those claws in kitten fluff.”
“Oh my God,” she muttered, rooting through the rest of the bag. Vegan pizza. Vegan chocolate. Painkillers. Bubble bath. The sanitary products he had finally, like pulling teeth, got her to describe to him.
“You really got them,” she said, a box of pads in one hand and tampons in the other.
“Of course I did.”
“My last boyfriend— I mean…um… I once dated a guy who refused to buy them for me. Said it was embarrassing.”
“Then he was clearly a prick, wasn’t he?”
She laughed. “Yes. I guess he was.”
When they arrived, he carried the bags from the car, chivvying Evie ahead of him and into the lift. He glanced at her on the short journey up to his floor, taking in the now-familiar face, the paler than ever skin, and absolutely refused to think about anything at all.
After a brief tour, telling her to run a bath if she wanted, he made her a cup of tea—with the oat milk he’d bought—gave it to her along with two paracetamol, dragged on a shirt and suit in the privacy of his bedroom, and fled for the office. He stood in the lift back down with a hand over his eyes and his head against the cold metal wall, absolutely trying not to think.
But Jesus Christ…
What happened when, for the second time in your life, you met a woman who you craved with every inch of you, who had the power—whether they knew it or not—to thread a fishing hook into the raw middle of your heart and drag you around like a puppet? You fell in love with them, that’s what. And Aubrey did not want to fall in love with Evelyn Blackton. Refused to. Would not. Could not. He was old enough to know better.
For fuck’s sake, he’d only stopped loving Liv twelve hours ago. Or, more accurately, had finally realised he hadn’t truly loved her for a long time. Just a habit, a really bad one… Now he was falling headfirst into another addiction, and it couldn’t end well. She didn’t like him. They weren’t compatible. They’d argue to death. And God he wanted to kiss her, touch her, live inside her…
Aubrey left his flat so preoccupied he nearly walked straight into a bus.
It was about seven when Aubrey got back to his flat, rather than the ten o’clock he’d predicted. He’d hardly done anything at work, couldn’t concentrate, nodding at whatever George said. He needed a good shake, was hoping it would all pass. Evie would be annoying and he’d realise it was nothing but a sex hangover, post-coital hormones or something, then he could go back to his nice, ordered life as a free man.
But she walked into the living room as he stood divesting himself of keys, wallet, phone, dropping his laptop case by the sideboard. She was dressed in stretchy leggings, a sloppy jumper falling off one slim shoulder. And wearing the pink fluffy socks. She gave him a dazzling smile.
“How was your day at the office, honey?”
He answered the nineteen-fifties housewife impression with the flat look it deserved, then went to the kitchen, got a cold beer from the fridge, and drank a third of it watching Evie cross the room towards him.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“A bit.”
“Did you sleep?”
“A little.”
“Eat?”
“Not yet.”
She stood in front of him. He refused the urge to kiss her.
“I’ll put the pizza in,” he said.
“OK.”
She was smiling like she knew. But she couldn’t know. He busied himself with the oven, Evie watching him. After a moment, she said, “How was work? Really?”
“Fine.”
“Domnall on board yet?”
“Not quite.”
A pause.
“I had a nose around your flat,” she said.
“Of course you did.”
“Not in the cupboards. Or not many of them. You only have two books on your bookshelf, and they’re both Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.”
“I use an ereader. And I don’t get much time to read.”
“My point was…you really like Catch-22 , huh? Figures. Because it’s probably the most cynical book in the world.”
“Not quite. And my favourite book used to be Kafka’s Metamorphosis . So you can see how much I’ve improved.”
She laughed. “But why have two copies?”
“One is the ancient paperback I first took to university with me and have had ever since. The other is a first edition.”
“So I shouldn’t have used it as a coaster?”
He narrowed his eyes. She grinned, then paused again while he started making a salad to go with the pizzas while the oven preheated.
“What I don’t understand…is that you’re clearly quite intelligent, and you could do any job you wanted, so why do you do this one?”
He slowly sliced a tomato very thinly.
“I’m good at it, Evie. And it pays very well.”
“And that’s all you care about?”
“When it comes to work, yes.”
Her frowning disapproval was obvious across the kitchen, but he ignored it, prepping some more salad, getting the pizzas from the freezer—her vegan one, and his own embodiment of sin with its cheese, and, gasp, pepperoni.
“But do you enjoy it?” Evie asked.
He gave her a look. “I don’t really enjoy many things. A job is a job. I can like something and get satisfaction from it without needing to break into rhapsodies.”
Her brow wrinkled. He could tell she was trying to work out how much of that was his humour and how much the truth. He wasn’t sure himself.
“You act like you don’t care,” she said slowly, pondering it aloud. “But that’s not true. The way you feel about Liv—”
“I’m over Liv.”
Her look was highly sceptical. “Just like that?”
“If that’s what you call the wake-up call after ten years of painful realisation, then, yes, just like that.”
“At Conyers, at that awards party—”
“I’ve had some gum since then,” he said, smiling dryly. “Someone slapped me with a big old patch. Come here.”
She came, a little hesitantly, still sceptical, but stood before him, head at its usual haughty angle. He didn’t fight the urge this time, but kissed her, taking her defiant chin in his fingers and tilting her face. A closed-mouth press of lips, his eyes on hers.
“This I enjoy,” he said.
“Rebound flings?”
Is that what she thought? He let out an annoyed breath and would have turned back to the chopping board, but she caught his jaw in her hand and guided him back to her mouth.
“I enjoy it, too,” she said and kissed him again.
He gave in. It was all madness. Couldn’t work. But he wanted her too much to care. Their kiss deepened, desire blazing through him at the touch of her tongue, chasing it with his own, tipping her head back, hand in her hair. He stopped, breathing hard, eyes closed, forehead against hers.
“How are you feeling?”
“OK.”
“We’ll wait until tomorrow.”
She reached down, rubbed her palm down the ridge where he pressed against his fly. “I’m OK enough. I know we can’t have sex, but we can still—”
He covered her hand with his own, pressed it harder against him. “If you’re OK enough for this, then we can have sex.”
“But…”
“Evie, you already know I’m a man happy to get his hands dirty. Go and get in the shower. I’ll give you two minutes to get ready.”
She hesitated, cheeks flushed.
“Go on,” he commanded, taking her shoulders and turning her towards the door. “Or I’ll get you ready myself.”
She left, and he waited, hands gripping the counter edge, a flicker of excitement adding to his thumping arousal as he heard the shower go on. Surely that was two minutes…
When he got there, Evie was wet and naked under the streaming water. It was a walk-in shower, no glass screen between them. He looked at her as he undressed, every inch of her, from the bare feet to the blue eyes, guarded with nervous excitement.
He stepped under the water, walked her backwards with his hands on her hips until she bumped up against the side. He slid his hand straight between her legs, watching her face—the way she tensed, then loosened, shoulders dropping, eyes fluttering shut as her breathing deepened and her head tipped back against the shower wall.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
Then he kissed her, still fingering her, slow and deep, feeling her relax around his fingers and open up. When she was ready, he slid his cock inside her instead, hands cupping her ass, lifting her, with her back against the shower wall, her legs around his hips.
He rocked into her, neither of them saying anything. Her head was tipped back, her eyes closed, body loose and passive as he held her, fucked her, watching her face, listening to every moan, seeing the water track down her breasts. Slow, but hard, deep, until her legs tightened around him and her face was buried in his neck as she shook around him, whimpering.
He put her down, turned her around, placed her palms on the wall and took her from behind, finishing quickly with a curse as the release tore through him. He already wanted her again. It wasn’t enough. He kissed her and kissed her, still neither of them speaking, the water cascading unheeded around them.
She stayed the night, slept in his bed. He dressed for work, watching her stir drowsily under the covers, opening her eyes a crack and smiling at him as he stood, tying his tie, summoning the will to leave. She was already asleep again by the time he left the flat.
It was ten AM when his stepmother called.
“You have a girlfriend! Everyone knows except me.”
“Hello Priya,” Aubrey said. She was his father’s second wife, and he and his brothers loved her dearly. She had married her father when Aubrey was twenty and far too old to start calling this new woman Mum.
“Someone from work, they said?”
“Not quite.”
“A lawyer?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Priya was a lawyer. Aubrey’s father was a lawyer. Both his brothers were lawyers, and his half-sister wanted to become one. The Ford family often forgot other types of jobs existed.
“Bring her next week! Asha’s birthday. You haven’t forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten.”
“So you’ll bring her?”
“I… It’s… I’ll have to ask her.”
No , was what he should have said. She isn’t my girlfriend. When he got back from work, Evie was all packed and waiting for him to take her to her ridiculously named friends. He looked at her bags in the corner of his living room as he pulled off his tie.
It was a good thing. Some time apart was a good thing. Especially as he currently had the same feeling he once had when, aged nineteen, he and Liv had travelled to South America to fit into one month the entire gap-year student backpacking experience the intensity of their education had denied them. Half-dead with humidity and jetlag, they had boarded a very small plane. The propeller had been visible from his window. The rattle of the engine had thudded through his bones. Jaw tight, he had watched that propeller, his fate—life or death—entirely out of his hands. The plane might take him to paradise. Or the plane might crash and burn.
“I’ll take you back to your place now,” he said. “Then I’m off to Switzerland for a few days, then New York. Work is…busy.”
Evie nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”
“But…” The propeller was spinning, stomach turning as the plane bounced, “...the weekend after next…it’s my sister’s birthday. She’s fourteen.”
“Oh?” enquired Evie politely.
“They’re having a birthday dinner. My stepmum wants you to come.”
Evie looked at him, that same polite expression on her face. God dammit. He scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“ I want you to come,” he said.
She started to grin. “Yes?”
“Yes. Apparently I have a girlfriend, you see. Everyone knows about our ‘relationship.’” He found himself doing air quotes around the word and scowled. He’d never once in his life done air quotes about anything.
“The fake relationship,” said Evie nodding. “That we’re definitely not having.”
“Yes,” he muttered. “That.”