Chapter Ten
Iris
Wynter’s still missing when we sit down to eat an evening meal. His absence leaves me agitated. It feels as if it’s my fault, that I was the one pushing him, but Reid and Max don’t seem concerned.
“You did us a favour, Iris. Seriously,” Max reassures, as he fills my plate with honey-and miso-drizzled chicken and stacks of yummy looking veg. “Wynter will be fine. This is what he does when he needs to process. He takes time out. Don’t worry, he’ll come back.”
Reid spears an asparagus stalk and attempts to put it in his mouth sideways. “He’s probably gone for a drive.”
Wait! “There are roads on this island?” Also, they have a car here.
“He’ll have crossed to the mainland.”
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth, then lower it to the plate again.
“You okay, Iris?” Max stops dishing up and strokes a hand through my hair.
I nod. “I guess I forgot how close home really is. Is it safe for Wynter to be randomly driving places alone?”
They both chuckle at that. “What, do you think he’s going to get mobbed?”
Yes, I do.
“We still have lives, Iris. We still exist outside of the celebrity bubble. If we’re together, we’ve more chance of being recognised, but apart, dressed as our regular selves rather than made up for the cameras, people rarely make the connection.
They don’t expect us to do our own shopping or fill our cars at the local petrol station.
Wynter will be fine. He’s probably pulled into a layby on some windy country road next to a Neolithic burial site soaking up the vibes. ”
It’s actual easy to imagine him doing exactly that. A lone figure in the dark. The sort of person people will drive past because they think he’s weird.
As Max cooked, and Wynter’s not here, I help Reid with the tidying up.
“I’ve never met three men who were so fastidious about the dishes,” I say as we unload the previous load of crockery from the dishwasher ready to fill it again.
They tidy religiously after every meal. There are never piles of plates by the sink, or crumbs on the worktops.
It seems especially odd that chaos goblin, Reid, seems to be responsible for most of this cleanliness.
“Had it drummed into me by my nan. She always had rotas, and her sayings. It’s still the first thing she says to me when she sees me, ‘Are there dishes in your sink, young man?’ Well, after, ‘Are you eating properly? Who’s washing your underwear?
And if you must paint your nails, you ought to do a better job of it’. ”
“She sounds interesting.”
He gives an enthusiastic nod. “One of the best people I’ve ever met.”
“Tell me one of her sayings?”
He doesn’t have to think about it. “‘Messy house blues, we’ll clean and soothe.’ If shit was going down when I was a kid, especially when I was a teenager, she’d say that and then hand me a scouring brush then we’d do the kitchen floor together while we talked over shit.
It weirdly always worked, with the added boon of a clean floor, or bath, or windows.
Pretty sure I scoured her whole house at least a dozen times, and painted most of it twice, too. ”
“Tried it as an approach with Wynter?”
“Yup. I wound up wearing the bucket.”
It takes me a second to realise he means Wynter upended soapy water over him.
“What else did your nan teach you?”
“You mean beside how to play guitar?” He nods. “She was a music teacher.” His lips elongate as he thinks. “Let’s see. Sharing is caring.”
Clearly, I’m na?ve, because I initially think he means this in the usual sense. It becomes obvious he doesn’t when he takes the pan from my hand and sets it aside, and presses his hand to my palm instead, then laces our fingers. “So… I lost out to Max, eh?”
“Reid. Oh, God. I’m sorry. He kissed me and—”
“You liked it.”
I swallow. I can hear his disappointment clogging up his throat.
“I liked it when you did it, too.”
“But I’ve missed my chance, right? Went off half-cocked and got myself disqualified from the running as a result.”
“Reid. That’s not how…”
“Sorry, I can’t keep it up.” His sorrowful expression cracks into mirth. “Max doesn’t have a possessive bone in his body. Bet he even told you about past us, so you’d know he wasn’t erecting barriers between you and Wynter and me ’cause of you two shagging.”
My insides do a funny sort of belly flop. “He did mention something to that effect.”
“So?”
“So?”
“Wanna come upstairs with me after we’ve finished up here?”
“To do what?”
He raps on my head with the flat of his palm. “Iris, I feel you’re not keeping up. To give one another orgasms, obviously.”
“That’s awfully direct.”
He lifts his shoulders in his defence. “I’m a direct sort of guy. What’s the point in obfuscating. I want you. I think you want me—”
Do I?
“—Max isn’t going to get upset about it, and I’ll tell you what, I’ll throw in some camera time as a sweetener. You, me, that brute of a camera Ric’s loaned you, and not a stitch of clothing. I’ll even sign waiver papers so you can use them however you want.”
How am I supposed to resist? I finish up loading the dishwasher, while Reid runs a cloth over the work surfaces. Max is snoozing on the sofa as we pass, his long legs draped over the arm. We head upstairs hand in hand.
“Are you sure he’s not going to mind?”
“You want to wake him and ask?”
I don’t. He looks peaceful, his mouth partly open, and his expression turned all soft. I know what his answer will be. It’s not a problem, Iris. It’s the norms the rest of society imposes on us that are niggling me, not Max’s opinion, or worries over hurting his feelings.
“Your place or mine?” Reid asks when we reach the upper landing.
“Yours.” I want to see Reid Rushmore’s personal space almost as much as I want to see him stripped bare of his tatty clothes.
His room is tucked into the eaves, with a dormer window on one side.
Still, the roof is low enough even I worry about banging my head on some of the beams. It’s clean and yet chaotic.
He’s obviously been living out of his suitcase.
It stands open, set on top of a sea chest, a jumble of clothes hanging out of it.
There’s a small desk cum dresser before the window, looking out towards the fort, a high-backed armchair next to a small circular coffee table overflowing with electronic devices – laptop, chargers, a handheld games console and a charging pad for his phone.
And a second chair that looks as if it’s made of macrame suspended from the ceiling beams. What it takes me a minute to realise is that there’s something obvious missing.
“Where’s the bed?”
“There isn’t one.”
“Then where do you sleep?”
His gaze flicks to a rolled-up mat in the corner.
“On the floor?” Did he give his bed up to me, when they rescued me off the beach?
“Sometimes I share with Wynter. Depends on the mood.”
“Let’s go next door.”
“Iris.” He grabs my hand. “Let’s stay here.” He backs me up against the door, and holding me by the chin, kisses me in a flighty way that barely allows our lips to touch. “Ever had sex in a swing before?”
“Um, no.”
“Want to?”
I do, now he’s suggested it. I always loved the sensation in my belly flying back and forth used to produce. I realise now, it was a form of arousal.
“Are we talking about the string contraption over there?”
“It’s secure, I promise. I’ve tested it. A lot.”
“How would that work?”
He cocks his head. Gives the hanging chair an assessing glance. “You swinging, me standing, I think.”
“You think.” I’m busy trying to envisage this pose. I can. All too well, if I’m honest. Me tilted backwards, my legs pulled up into a W shape but also splayed apart. Reid’s hands around my hips. His cock perfectly aligned. The damn chair even looks as if it’s hanging at precisely the right height.
“You’ll be able to sit back and enjoy and let me do all the work.” He winks. “Hell, you’ll probably have your hands free enough to snap the before, during, and aftermath.”
“Photograph you while we’re fucking?” I blurt it, even as the idea wraps itself around my synapses and my inner muscles clench. More than anything, I realise, even more than the notion of the swing, I’m obsessed with the idea.
Such an intimate moment, but will the camera make it clinical, or will it become an extension of my desire for this man? This beautiful, unruly, joker of a man, with his hair that determinedly curls at the ends, his scruff-covered jaw, and chiselled Adonis belt.
“Do you really want that much of yourself out in the world?”
“Why not? I can’t be with a thousand, ten thousand, a million fans, but I can give them fantasy fodder that maybe makes their days a little brighter.”
That seems very generous of him. “You don’t mind being objectified like that?”
“Why the hell wouldn’t I want people to look at images of me and think, Fuck! I really want to fuck that man? It’s the ultimate compliment.”
I can follow his logic, even if I don’t entirely agree. I guess that’s why I like being the one holding the camera, rather than the object of its focus.
“So, a few photos to get us warmed up?” Reid steps back a few paces, giving me room to focus the camera.
He pulls his T-shirt off, tugging from the neck in the way that guys do, only he does it in slow motion.
It’s hard to say if he’s giving me time to capture the moment, or if it’s because he’s a monumental tease.
Either way, I eat it up. His body is all lines and shadows, and strategically placed ink.
I love the way his muscles make a patchwork of his lower torso.
A thin trail of hair, a lighter tone to that on his head, forms a marker between left and right that compels the gaze downwards.