Chapter 40
Chapter forty
Ivan
As Amy struts around the stage, my dick wakes from its slumber. Her tiny pink sparkly thong sits perfectly between her pert butt cheeks.
Fuck, I miss her. Since we broke up, I’ve been attending every competition with the hopes of seeing her. Each time, I’ve scanned the crowds, my fingers twitching, willing my eyes to land on that high blonde ponytail. They haven’t.
She hasn’t been at any competitions in the past five months. I’d planned to orchestrate a chance scenario to be able to speak to her. On arriving today, my jaw dropped that she was actually here.
This was the last try. After this, I was going to put my big boy pants on and lift the bloody phone. Not that I haven’t tried, but every time, I cancel the call. My finger hits the red button before I can stop it. I know I can’t face her rejection.
Trey shook his head and glowered as soon as he saw me.
He’s like her fucking guard dog. If he wasn’t gay and married, I’d say he was in love with her.
Maybe he is in his own way. Amy Corrigan invades your heart and doesn’t let go.
Her hairbrush, the only item left in her wake, still sits on my bedside table.
Throwing it out feels like admitting she’s not coming back.
I’m standing in the judge’s box as we watch each competitor perform their routine.
Amy steps on stage, her eyes flick upward along with her chin.
She stares out into the cheering crowd as she strikes her first pose.
I retreat to the back wall, not wanting the sight of me to distract her.
My pulse kicks in anyway, distance makes no difference.
Trying to cover my tracks, I’ve sunk thousands of pounds into the bodybuilding circuit this season, which is more than ever.
I’m sponsoring all the main events. I wanted a reason to be here that wasn’t her, even though I said it was about giving back.
The thump of hope in my chest as soon as I knew she was here proved that was a lie.
She’s permanently ingrained in my mind. Always my first thought when I wake up and my last dream at night. Nothing holds my interest anymore. Business deals and cheap women don’t intrigue me. Apart from working and attending these events, I’ve barely been out of the house.
My bed lies unmade, meals uneaten, but every trash TV season I can get my hands on has been binged. The silence in my apartment is a constant reminder of the voice I want to hear.
“Ivan,” the chief judge says, turning to face me. “Are you staying for the winner’s meal this evening?”
I swallow. “Possibly.”
Only if Amy Corrigan wins.
“They have a Michelin-star chef in the kitchen. It promises to be spectacular. I’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re serving exotic meats. Someone said crocodile was on the menu.”
My stomach heaves. I’ve eaten it once before in the deepest darkest part of Australia when I decided to take some time out to travel. It was a mistake. I’d spent three days tied to the toilet.
“Hopefully, there’s an alternative…”
“Not your thing?” he enquires. “There was me thinking you were a man of the world.”
I scowl at him. What a dick.
The competitors in Amy’s class return to the stage. Twelve women line up, turned slightly to the side, one high-heeled foot pointing toward the audience. Strong hands placed on taught hips, beaming smiles displaying blinding white teeth against deeply tanned skin.
Amy stands on the end, taller than the rest. I hold my breath. My world narrows to that single spot on stage. I need her to win this, as if her triumph will bring her one inch closer to coming back.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer calls, “I think we can all agree we have a stunning line-up of ladies in front of us.”
There’s only one I’m interested in.
“But there can only be one winner…” He pauses. Everyone in the room falls silent. “Your winner is… Amy Corrigan.”
Amy’s hands shoot to her mouth. Trey stands against the stage, hands in the air, cheering. When her fingers drop, her face is split with a grin. Jealousy burns in my throat, every nerve tightening to the point of pain.
She used to look at me like that. I need her back in my life. That is non-negotiable.
She walks out to the center of the stage, hips swaying, hands waving from side to side. Men in tiny thongs appear on both sides of her. One drapes a sash over her shoulder, smoothing it against her breasts. My fists clench.
Hands off, asshole. She’s mine.
The other places a crown on her head and presents her with a gargantuan trophy. They all pose for photos, then everyone leaves the stage.
I walk over to the judge’s table and tap the chief judge on the shoulder. “I’m staying for the meal,” I tell him. “And I want to be seated next to the winner of the last class.
His face twists, amused. “You want to sit next to your ex-girlfriend?”
“Yes, and she won’t be an ex for long.”
I excuse myself to prepare. Amy is firmly in my sights, and once I’ve got her back, I’ll never let her go.
The underground garage is dark. Only a few pitiful lights emit any form of illumination. My car is parked in the furthest corner of the parking lot.
I stroll over, running through all the things I want to say to her, my key digging into my palm. Sweat gathers at my collar despite the cold. Part of me just wants to drop to my knees and beg her to forgive me.
As I approach, I find Trey leaning against the passenger door of my car. He looks like a gangland heavy with his tattoos and sleeveless shirt.
“You scratch that paintwork and I’ll have you shot,” I mutter.
He smiles wickedly.
“What do you want? I thought you weren’t speaking to me.”
“Strictly speaking, I’m not,” he says, straightening. “But…” He pauses, stepping into my space. “I want to know what you’re planning and if those plans include her.”
“Who?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Ivan,” he snaps. “You’ve been at every fucking event since she threw you out. People talk. Your presence has been noted. There can only be one reason for that.”
“Perhaps I’ve suddenly found a love for these ego-stroking events after all these years. I might even dust off my own posing pouch.”
He laughs. His chest vibrates with hilarity.
“I’d fuck you myself to see that,” he says with a dark smile. “Seriously, Ivan, what’s your game?”
“I don’t have one,” I say honestly. “My life has been incomplete since she left me. I love her. I need her back. The woman has me by the balls. She’s all I fucking think about.”
“This isn’t something you can manage, Ivan. You can’t force it or pay for it. She was devastated. I told you to come clean months ago.” Trey runs a tattooed hand through his close-cropped hair. “Her ex-husband asked for another chance. Turned up on her doorstep begging for forgiveness.”
Everything tenses, my face screwing uncontrollably. Trey watches my every move.
“She told him to fuck off. She doesn’t love him anymore. You made her realize that.”
My mind struggles to process what he’s said. She doesn’t love Terry. The tension pulsing under my skin releases, my knees softening.
“She’s been hoping you’d call her. She hoped you would fight for her. Where the fuck have you been for the past five months?”
I laugh quietly under my breath, then mumble, “Sitting at home nursing a broken heart. Does she know I’m here?” He shakes his head. “I’ve arranged to sit next to her at dinner this evening.”
“Well, don’t fuck it up. This is your chance to be happy. For once, think with your head and not your cock,” he says with a sneer, before punching my shoulder and walking off.
In some way, I think, he’s just given me his permission to pursue her. My old friend, who has been completely against Amy’s and my relationship, is telling me to go for it. And by the sounds of it, she still wants me.
That truth hits harder than anything I’ve ever felt. She still wants me.
***
The bathroom mirror judges as I ruffle my hair, and apply a bit more gel. My reflection somewhere between a man ready to propose or one confessing to murder. Are you sure you deserve her?
My white shirt is starched within an inch of its life. I brush my teeth again, and rewash my sweaty hands before slipping on my suit jacket.
It’s now or never. Tonight, I make my intentions clear and lay it all on the line. It’s my chance to reconnect with her.
The journey in the limo to the restaurant is short. I’m deliberately fifteen minutes late. I want everyone to already be seated so she can’t move away. She needs to be stuck beside me for at least an hour so I can attempt to build some bridges between us.
The restaurant is one of the best bistros in the city.
A private dining room at the rear hosts various intimate dinners and business events.
I’ve eaten here numerous times. The décor is walnut and soft velvet.
Red candles placed in green bottles burn on every table.
Everything feels theatrical; it's fitting considering the performance I’m about to give.
I push open the door to the dining room. I’m the last one to arrive, as planned. Soft brown eyes focus on me, and she swallows, then glances at the vacant seat beside her.
Squaring my shoulders, I walk around the table while apologizing for being late to everyone, before I pull out my chair and sit down.
Amy turns away from me, speaking to the woman on her other side.
“Good evening, Ivan Harley,” I say to the gentleman on my right, and we shake hands.
He introduces himself as a board member of the bodybuilding society, then starts to drone on about difficulties within the sport.
I fake interest, but I’m acutely aware of the woman next to me who is pretending I don’t exist.
“What are your thoughts on implementing an upper age limit on competitors?” he asks, piquing my interest.
“Why would that be necessary?”
“Well, there are people who think that after a certain age that women, in particular, shouldn’t be flaunting themselves on stage.”
“And would these men be ageing entitled bastards who like to fawn over young women dressed in next to nothing?” His face falls, jaw almost hitting the tablecloth.
“Women and men of all ages should be encouraged to compete. All bodies are beautiful in their own way, and no one has an expiration date until we’re in a box, heading off to meet the maker.”
“Um…” he stutters.
“If that rule is implemented, I’ll be pulling all my financial support. My business was built by customers of all ages, not just the ones in pink spandex.” Flustered, he wobbles to his feet, grasping at his napkin.
“Your opinion is noted, Mr. Harley.” He limps off, perhaps in search of better company. I smirk at myself―entitled old bastard didn’t expect that response.
Just then, the waiter places my first course in front of me. As I turn to my plate, I feel her eyes on me. That familiar heat that I’ve missed for months.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I glance at her. “For what?”
“For standing up for me and all women who only find themselves when they’re on the wrong side of forty.” Her eyes flick away to the ceiling.
“There’s no wrong age, Amy. Everyone, male or female, deserves to live the life they want to, regardless of what old bastards like that think.” I lean over and whisper in her ear. “You looked amazing in my favorite bikini today.”
She flushes.
“I have fond memories of that G-string.”
Her lips quip upward, then she picks up her knife and fork.
The meal passes with limited small talk. I’m aware of each breath of hers―every movement her body makes, my body feels at its core. Her perfume hits me every time she moves. Her hand brushes my thumb, and my heart sounds like a drum.
People rise from their chairs and shrug into their coats. Panic sets in. I need to ensure I’ll see her again. She stands, still talking to the woman next to her.
“Amy,” I say as she moves toward the exit. She pauses and turns to face me. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
She nods. We walk into the now-empty restaurant, and I take her coat from her and place it over her shoulders. My hands twitch to take hers, but I place them at my sides.
My eyes hold hers; she looks at me as if she sees my soul.
“I miss you,” I whisper. She stands mute. “Please consider meeting me for coffee so we can discuss what happened.”
“Ivan, I…”
“If you want me to beg, I’ll go down on my knees now and plead for you to have coffee with me.” I bend my knee to kneel in front of her, lowering almost to the floor.
She chuckles, grabbing my elbow and pulling.
“Get up, you idiot,” she shrieks. “Call me.”
With that, she turns and walks from the restaurant, her ass swinging from side to side in that sexy red bandage dress I’ve removed from her body many times before.