41. Present Day – January
41
PRESENT DAY – JANUARY
JOSIE
I ’d caught maybe two hours of sleep, but I feel wide awake. Who needs eight hours when I had Scott’s arms around me all night — probably more restorative than any early-to-bed routine.
Craftisan is always quiet on Thursday mornings, so once I have the latest stock in order, I settle down to do some sketching. My boss, Anthea, encourages this: she says it will inspire others to create. She’s a crocheter herself, and dabbles in creating mosaics from broken glass and pottery, and she’s endlessly supportive of all artistic expression. I swear I only got the job here because when she asked me why I sketched, I told her it was because I just needed to get it out. To that, Anthea had nodded solemnly, as if there couldn’t be any other reason.
I sit at the counter and open my well-thumbed pocket-sized sketchbook. Staring at the tattoo design one more time, my shoulders relax. I think I’ve finally got it right.
I glance around the empty shop — still no customers. With a smile, I search for my favourite tattoo artist’s website and book an appointment for tomorrow.
The bell above the door rings and, after helping a lady pick out some wool for a project for her new grandbaby, the shop falls quiet again.
I stare at a sheet of thick paper in front of me. Stiff, bone white, and waiting for my pencil strokes. In my mind’s eye, an image fills the page: a face. My brother laughing. I trace down the basic shape before the vision disappears. Following my muse, I add detail. His hairline, the broken bridge of his nose. Eyebrows. Crinkled eyes. Cheeks bracketed with a smile. I’m lost in the sketch. Determined to get everything down before I lose it.
‘That’s looking pretty good, Josie.’ Anthea’s voice startles me, and I drop the pencil.
Shit. Lead’s probably fucked now.
I bend swiftly to pick it up and, when I rise, Anthea’s holding the paper up, studying it closely.
‘Really good,’ she murmurs.
‘I can’t do portraits,’ I say as a reflex.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘In college, they always said I have something blocking me.’
‘Hmmm.’ She fixes her piercing blue eyes on me over the top of her glasses. ‘Art teachers aren’t always right, you know.’ She slips the paper back onto the counter. ‘Or maybe you got unblocked ?’ Soft footed, she drifts away to her studio in the back, her shawls floating behind her.
I look back at the image of Marcus. Is he laughing at me, or with me?
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I open up the screen to find a message from Ella.
Ella
How was your date? Come to mine tonight to catch up?
As I send a big yellow thumb back and tap out my reply, the shop door opens and in sweeps a group of school girls, giggling and squawking about vision boards. Back to work it is, then.
‘Hey, you.’ Ella greets me with a hug at the door before ushering me in.
‘Hi.’ I breeze into her empty lounge, expecting to find the rest of her family. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Mum’s working. Chloe’s in her room doing homework.’
‘Oh.’ I try to keep the surprise out of my voice.
‘Yeah …’ Ella sighs. ‘She’s not been herself recently. Homework’s up to date, she’s always in bed early. No sass.’ She lowers her voice. ‘Should I worry?’
‘Jamie’s not said anything.’ I think to my brother and realise he’s not mentioned Chloe much at all recently. They used to be thick as thieves.
‘Maybe the accident gave her a wake-up call?’ She shrugs and leads me into the kitchen.
‘Cocktail?’
‘Driving.’ I shake my head and try to stifle a yawn. ‘Could I have a coffee, please?’
‘Who are you and what have you done with my friend?’ Ella laughs, but grabs two mugs from a cupboard and flicks the switch on the kettle.
‘Caffeinated or decaf?’
‘I need all the caffeine.’ I stretch out the syllables for emphasis. ‘Hardly slept last night.’
She spins, eyes wide with excitement. ‘Your date was that good? Tell me everything .’
‘Oh, no.’ I shake my head. ‘My date was awful. But it got better.’
I fill Ella in, our mugs left forgotten, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.
‘Then he dropped me home this morning so I could get changed for work. Kissed me goodbye and asked if he could come over after closing tonight.’
Ella’s jaw is hung open and there’s silence for a beat. But then she squeals, grabs my hands, and jumps up and down. ‘ Finally.’
She pumps my hands with hers and then engulfs me in a hug. Eventually, her squealing dissipates and she gasps, ‘Does Nate know?’
I shrug. I wouldn’t know.
‘Wait.’ She wrestles her phone out of her pocket. ‘I need to tell him.’
‘I thought you didn’t like Scott?’
‘I didn’t. But you did. And after Christmas Eve, Nate was convinced the guy was in love with you and being virtuous or something. And, I mean, he’s Nate’s brother. He couldn’t be awful.’
‘But you said he was a dick.’
‘Yeah.’ She screws up her nose. ‘I also said you should go and get what you want. He had been a dick. I didn’t like how upset you were. But I knew you wanted him, and Nate—’ Suddenly her gaze clashes with mine.
‘What?’ Panic streaks my voice.
‘Nate’s been … meddling . He was convinced you two just needed to spend more time together.’
‘He got Jamie the job on purpose?’
Ella nods.
‘And he was the mystery fucking phone bidder.’ It’s all falling together.
She gives me a small smile. ‘I didn’t want to get involved and,’ she bites her lip while she pauses to think, ‘put you off. Nate said Scott was in love with you. He just needed to realise it.’
Unable to be mad, my lips twitch — I can’t stop them from stretching across my face. ‘Maybe falling in love?’
‘He’s totally gone.’ Ella tuts, like of course . ‘I’m happy, now you’re clearly not upset. As long as he doesn’t mess you around.’
‘After last night, I really don’t think he will.’
Ella swaddles me in another hug and then flicks the kettle on to re-boil. ‘Oh, boy. Now you’re going to need to go over what happened in the van again. I think you skipped over some good parts.’
My heart’s racing as I leave Ella’s and head back to my flat. It’s possibly the two cups of strong coffee, but it’s probably more because Scott said he wanted to come over after he’d closed up the pub.
Well, specifically, he said he couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing me, and if I let him come over, he’d make it worth my while.
He knocks on my door and, when I open it, his fingers immediately twist into my hair and cup my head, drawing me to him. He kisses me like it’s been months rather than hours since we last saw each other.
‘You want to come in?’ I gasp as his teeth tug on my bottom lip.
‘Mmm,’ he moans into my mouth. Two strong hands grip firmly on my backside and hoick me upwards.
The scent of hops and cedar surrounds me, and I breathe him in. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging him towards me. Our denim clad legs do nothing to hide the strain of his arousal against my centre, and heat instantly rushes to my core. We barely part our mouths as he steps into my flat, a very different arrival than when he brought my drunk brother back at New Year.
Holding me, he steps us through to the kitchenette and sets me down on the surface, hands running over my body as we untangle our tongues and try to catch our breath. He drops kiss after kiss on me as if he can’t quite tear himself away.
With a chuckle, he lets out a breath. ‘Hi.’
I press my mouth to his and then pull away. ‘Hey.’
I run my hand down his t-shirt, skimming the waist of his jeans and he draws in a sharp breath through his teeth. ‘Mmm.’
‘Is this for me?’ My finger trails up and down his hard length, and he pushes his pelvis towards me, his eyes shutting as he moans. ‘Or are you just really keen to see my artwork?’
Tipping my head across the room to the mural that fills the wall, I give him a coy smile.
He catches my jaw and tilts it gently so I’m looking in his eyes, dark chocolate puddles flecked with amber sparkle back at me, bottomless. ‘You know it’s all for you. But …’
Scott picks me up and carries me over to the sofa, only a few steps away in my tiny, open-planned apartment. He lays me down with care, with reverence, and I feel like I did in the art gallery. Back in Apollo’s mansion.
‘… seeing as you painted this after that first time, maybe we can see what you're inspired to paint if I … make you feel good in front of this ?’
‘You want to fuck me in front of our mural?’
‘I want to make love to you with it surrounding us, yes, Angel.’
I roll my eyes and glance away. ‘Why can’t it be both?’
It takes seconds for him to rip my jeans down. Sitting up slightly, I discard my t-shirt as he shakes out of his clothes. Standing at the side of the sofa, his gaze is heavy as he takes in every inch of my skin.
‘Let me see you.’ He bites his lip.
With one hand I drop down one bra strap, and then the other, before reaching behind me to unclasp it. I let it slide from my shoulders.
‘So beautiful,’ he murmurs.
With a carnal growl erupting from his chest, he roughly stacks a couple of scatter cushions by the armrest then tugs me over it, so my hips are raised up, legs dangling off the edge of the sofa. My hair fans back behind me as I’m inclined backwards.
Rough, calloused fingers reach forwards and trail from my breasts, over my ribs, and dig into the flesh at my hips.
‘The fuck do you call this?’ He curls a digit into the waistband of my bright orange thong and slides it across my stomach. Barely a scrap of material really, it’s my favourite lingerie. The colour makes me happy, the lace makes me feel pretty, and the lack of it makes me feel wanton in the best way.
‘Underwear?’ I’m too turned on, too needy, to think of anything witty.
‘It’s in my way. I should rip it off you.’ He knots his fingers into the delicate seam.
‘No, wai—’ I start to sit up.
A large hand pushes firmly back on my breast bone, fingers splaying wide.
‘I should. But I won’t.’ Under his heavy brow, his eyes swirl. ‘Something tells me you like this colour.’ His lip curls. ‘What did you call it before? Tangerine Tango?’
‘You remember?’
‘I remember everything .’ His fingers drift down again, stroke past my hummingbird, and gently ease my thong all the way off.
He reaches for my hands that are scrabbling at his boxers and clasps them together, my two in one of his. Concentration etched on his face, he loops the thong around my wrists, doubling it back, binding them together.
I wriggle my hips, frustrated he’s so close, and desperate to feel him fill me. Blood is slowly pulsing into my head, and now I’m restrained, I let out a low whimper.
‘Patience, Angel.’
As he steps away, a chill pricks goosebumps across my exposed body at the loss of his proximity. From where I’m reclined I can’t see, but I hear the crinkle of a wrapper, the snap of latex and then his warm, huge hands are on my hips again.
His thick, blunt head nudges at my entrance but, before I can sigh in relief, he pulls back.
Another whimper escapes as I try to squirm closer.
‘You want this?’ He notches inside me again and then drags himself away.
I nod frantically, my hair mussing on the settee cushions.
‘You want me to make love to you like this ?’ His voice is low, all gravel, as he torturously edges inside me, only to withdraw again.
Bucking my hips, I try to reach out for him, a mumbled, ‘yeah,’ on my breath.
‘Josie.’ All my attention snaps to him, his tone suddenly masterful. He’s entirely in charge. ‘Say please.’
‘P-please,’ I stutter, breathless.
With a feral groan he tugs down, surges forward and thrusts into me, filling me so completely. Air fails me, and I can’t even moan. My eyes roll back, my lashes fluttering shut with the sheer pleasure of him finally inside me.
His voice rumbles, possibly from another dimension. ‘Lift your head and look. Look at us, Angel. See what a good picture we make together. A fucking masterpiece.’
Covered in a sheen of sweat and the fiery trail of Scott’s hands, his fingers, his kisses, I lie panting in his arms, my head nestled on his chest. My mouth stretches as I try to stifle a yawn, and he chuckles and suppresses a yawn himself.
Lips pressed to the top of my head, he unties the thong binding and drapes the orange lingerie on the top of the sofa.
Hands returning to me immediately, he runs the pad of his thumb up and down my bicep, past my elbow, to my wrist and back, slow and soothing.
‘You know, this really reminds me of a wristband I had when I was younger.’ His fingers loop under my beaded wooden bracelet. ‘I’ve not seen it for years, so I must have lost it at some point.’
‘I hate that. I had an anklet that I lost somewhere. Gutted.’
‘The one with the black stone?’
‘You remember that, too?’
‘I told you,’ he sighs, dropping another kiss on my head. ‘Everything.’
I brush my fingers to his heart, kissing the taut skin on his pecs in reply.
‘Well.’ I lift my arm up. ‘I found this in a bag of random stuff in the garage at my parent’s house. God knows where it came from, it wasn’t my brother’s. I think my mum was going to donate it.’ Wrapping my fingers around it, I say, ‘I liked the way the beads felt so warm, so I snaffled it.’
Scott twists round suddenly, pulling my wrist closer to inspect it.
‘No. Fucking. Way,’ he breathes.
‘What?’ I wriggle in his grip.
He tips his chin as he studies the bracelet, rotates it slowly, and then looks at me with the most boyish grin I’ve ever seen. ‘You’re wearing my lost wristband.’
‘What?’
‘That’s mine.’ Laughter dances in his eyes, the golden flecks glittering. ‘I must have lost it at your house.’
I tug my hand away from his as if worried he’d take it back. ‘No. This is totally my bracelet .’
‘Wristband sounds more manly.’ He drops his voice as if to exaggerate his masculinity. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let you keep it. I kind of like the fact you’ve been carrying something of mine wrapped around you.’
I rest my head back down on his chest so he can’t see my ridiculous grin, and Scott’s lips fall to my crown.
‘Do you want to hang out tomorrow?’ His voice rumbles from inside him.
‘Not in the afternoon.’ I twitch my head, remembering my appointment. ‘But I could see you in the evening. I’m dropping Jamie off anyway.’
‘Mmm,’ his chest vibrates again. ‘I don’t want to have to share you with the rest of the pub.’
I look up, running my fingers through the two-day-old stubble on his jaw, soft prickles beneath my touch. ‘Can you stay over?’
‘You want me to?’
‘Please,’ I whisper.
He groans into my hair. ‘You have no idea what power you hold over me. We have to, at least, pretend to try and keep our hands off each other. Maybe even sleep.’
Sitting up, I shake my head, a second wind suddenly coursing through me. ‘No, we don’t.’ I giggle.
‘I’ll stay, but only if you lie back on me. I was too comfy.’ He tries to pull me back down onto him, like he could happily stay on my sofa forever.
I leap off him and pull on his hand until he’s on his feet. He gets up with a grunt.
‘Come on. I’ll show you my bedroom. It’s much better without my drunk brother in it.’
‘I didn’t sleep a wink that night either.’ He drags a hand through his tousled hair and follows me, grumbling something about not moving so quickly.
My bedroom is small and cosy. The bed is messy, covered in scatter cushions and throws. The lamp on the bedside table lights up the jewel tones which colour the walls, and gives a warm glow to my trinkets — splashes of gold and bronze.
He hesitates at the door, scrubbing at his chin. ‘Sorry. I think I should freshen up. I wasn’t expecting to stay over.’
‘Grab a spare toothbrush from there.’ I point to my bedside table. ‘Then meet me in the shower.’
‘Always so bossy.’ He gives a slow shake of head, his eyes hooded as he looks at me in the dim light.
‘Please.’ I flutter my eyes shut and slowly open them to see my lust reflected in his own.