Chapter 46
Tim
Tabitha had been gone for two days, and I felt off.
We kept missing each other’s calls and her text replies were short, but I knew her time wasn’t her own.
She was tracking the Wainwrights for a week, writing up the interviews, and with another film crew hovering, it wasn’t like she could just slip away when she wanted to.
After rugby practice, I didn’t even stop to take a shower at the clubrooms and shoot the shit with the guys over a beer.
I had to get home and squeeze in a video chat with her.
Damp with sweat, I arrived back at Mum’s flat.
I called out a quick greeting to her and realized she was at the pool with Macy for an evening swim, so I raced into my boyhood bedroom and locked the door.
Still standing, I stripped off my damp shirt and video-called Tabs.
She answered in full makeup, her hair in these big, fat curls I wanted to wrap around my fist, and wearing a tight dress the color of the river shallows in summer, under what I recognized as a work blazer.
“Hey, Tabs.” My heart flipped stupidly at the sight of her on the screen.
“Well, look at you being all thirst trap with your shirt off,” she said. “Is this for my benefit?”
I smirked, which probably revealed that the bare chest was preplanned.
“And look at you all dolled up,” I said.
“Yep, I’m off out. Another dinner, darling.” She sighed theatrically and checked her red fingernails.
I chuckled but felt a stab of jealousy that she hadn’t dressed up for me.
“Take off the jacket,” I growled out. “I want a better look at you.” Without questioning my request, she shrugged off her work blazer. The sky-blue dress was low-cut and hoisted up her boobs, and the material made her look like she was all wrapped up like a gift. “And the back?”
She did a twirl and wiggled her bum at my phone, giggling, probably at how bold that was of her.
Her arse in my face. A great end to the day, but I stopped myself from saying that out loud. “Have I seen that dress before?”
“Just got it today from one of the shops at the mall. Had to up my game because tonight is their fanciest restaurant. But it’s stretchy so it feels good, and I can order the famous mashed potato and the chocolate soufflé.”
Again, this was all happening without me. I didn’t like how my chest went tight.
“So, do you like the dress?” she asked, uncertain now.
Internally, I kicked myself. She shouldn’t have to prompt me. This interview was a triumph for her. “Fuck yeah. You look hot.”
“It’s called a bandage dress, which actually doesn’t sound that hot.”
“Doesn’t matter what it’s called when you wear it. You look stunning. I just wish I were there.”
She blushed pink, and her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, Tim, I wish you were too. Believe me, I’d rather be going out with you.” She gazed into the camera with a sigh, sending an explosion of warmth into my chest. That made me feel better, calmer.
Christ, when did I get so desperate and needy? Get it together, man.
I tried to force myself back into some semblance of the confident male she’d signed up for. “Hey. So.” My voice was low and scratchy. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, Tabitha Balfour.”
“Is that a fact?” she replied innocently. She bit into her lip and rolled it under her teeth. “What have you been thinking, Timothy Langston?”
I could feel my eyelids drop, my limbs go heavy at her sweet voice and the sight of her teeth scraping over her moist, berry-red lips.
“I’ve been thinking…” I drawled, running a thumb along my bottom lip. “That when I get home and I get you on the phone, it would be a good idea for us to get naked. Then I was thinking we could give each other…instructions.”
“Oh.” She blushed furiously. With a shy dip of her head, she visibly gathered herself, then she narrowed her eyes in a flirty expression and licked her lips. “Who goes first?”
My mouth went dry. I launched myself onto my bed and sat up against the headboard.
A beeping sounded in her background.
“My alarm,” she said. “Shoot. I’ve got to go.” She looked genuinely bummed. “I miss you. I love you.”
A wrench pulled hard and tight in my torso at the thought she was disappearing so quickly. “Miss you too. I love you too.” I wished I’d said it first.
After she hung up, I stared for ages at the silent phone in my hand, like a love-sick teenager.
Then I thought about who she was meeting. A gritty irritation dug its way under my skin. Don’t do it, mate. Just shrug it off and get in the shower. But it seemed I had no self-control these days.
Using my phone, I googled those Wainwright brothers—again—bringing up their website and a few paparazzi photos.
The youngest one, William, was a good-looking guy, red hair, blue eyes with a friendly face.
I could take him, no trouble. The eldest one, Darcy, looked similar but was larger and obviously in charge, all slicked-back black hair, dark suit, and a fuck right off expression.
Apparently, he’d been a bit of a sportsman, with national medals for archery, if that even was a sport.
He was a property developer, yes, but there was no concrete evidence he was an actual billionaire, like those stupid, gushy online articles claimed.
Throwing my phone to the other side of the bed in disgust, I took myself off to the bathroom.
I turned on the shower and stepped in, preparing to think more deeply about Tabitha in her tight, low-cut blue dress.
One palm propped against the wall, I took myself in hand, and as the hot water sprayed down on me, I conjured up our video call, running my mind over every tantalizing inch of her as she appeared on my phone screen, her top teeth biting into her bottom lip, the lines of her blue dress pushing up her fucking glorious tits.
Then I thought about who was going to enjoy all that gloriousness.
Darcy wanking Wainwright.
I had to admit it now. That man was me—but 2.0. And he had the attention of my girlfriend, who’d bought this sexy-as-fuck bandage dress to have dinner with him. In fact, he’d had her complete attention. All. Week. Long.
Not that I thought she would cheat on me. She wasn’t that person—far from it. It was just that I wanted to be with her.
Disgusted by my jealousy, I abandoned the task at hand, showered, and dried off. I’d clearly been living too long in my teenage bedroom, decorated with posters of rugby players and girl bands.