14. No. 28 Come whilst fully clothed
fourteen
Bea
August is quiet the whole ride home from the rugby club, and I don’t try to fill the silence with idle chatter.
I feel he needs to ruminate, so I look out the open window and breathe in the summer air.
I didn’t see what happened before the almighty crash of August throwing that Ross guy into the player’s refreshment stand, but something in my gut tells me it had something to do with me.
Maybe it was the way he’s been watching me all day, or the way Eli came and asked if I was alright after it all went down even though I’d been nowhere near the action.
When August came out of the changing rooms, freshly showered and clearly desperate to get away, I wanted to provide whatever comfort I could despite not really knowing what I was providing comfort for.
It turns out my presence was what he wanted and that makes my stomach flip flop like a dolphin doing tricks.
Ross had given me serious creepy vibes when he’d stopped to chat to me outside the café the other day.
Of course, I was polite and carried on the conversation, but it took no time at all for me to decide he would not be joining the ever-growing list of friends I was making in this lovely little village.
He just stood a little too close, and his smile seemed smarmy.
It felt validating when August came over and I realised he hated the guy, like my subconscious trusts August’s opinions.
I don’t condone fighting; I’ve never liked boxing or WWE when everyone went through a phase of being obsessed with it at school.
But seeing August take Ross down like that altered my brain chemistry and my underwear got damp.
There’s something about this man, probably how he tries too hard to be the allusive grump of the village, but I’ve seen and heard about all the help he’s offered throughout the years.
The way he has continually tried to make up for our initial getting off on the wrong foot by doing nice things unnecessarily and without being asked.
The love he has for his loud and proud family and his best friend.
I know August only wants to be friends and I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed by that, he’s hot and sexy in a way I don’t think even he realises, but I want his friendship too.
I want to be in his inner circle and soak in the glowy warmth I feel in his overwhelming presence.
I can put my attraction to one side until it’s forgotten and dusty.
August parks in one of a handful of bays up a slight hill from our houses, and we walk back home together. When he still says nothing, I decide to break the silence. “I put aside some brownies for you, if you’d like to come in for a cup of coffee and something sweet?”
He glances at me sideways, one brow arching and a slight pull at his lips.
“Sounds like a plan.” I grin at the ground, feeling all too proud of myself that he’s willingly spending time with me.
“Can I bring Darcy round though?” he asks with an apologetic wince.
“He’s been home alone all morning, I feel bad leaving him at weekends. ”
Such a big heart.
“Of course,” I say. “I think Heathcliff has been missing him.”
He huffs out a small laugh and goes to his front door.
I wait until he comes straight back with the shaggy grey dog trotting happily beside him, no lead.
When Darcy sees me, he overtakes his master and comes to a stop at my feet, looking up at me with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and his whole body wiggling with the force of his wagging tail.
“Hey gorgeous boy,” I coo, bending to give him much appreciated head pats.
“I think he likes you more than me,” August grumbles.
“Why wouldn’t he? I’m a delight,” I tease, and he tries to give me a flat look, but I see the way his cheek twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
The cottage is naturally quite dark, so I flick on the lights as we go in, despite it still being the middle of the day.
Heathcliff meows in protest and unfurls from where he’s been napping on top of Pedro on the couch.
Great, now my emotional support peen has black hair all over him.
When my fickle cat sees his new best friend pitter patter in, he seems to brighten up and comes to weave between Darcy’s paws.
I go straight to the coffee machine while August heads to the couch and flops down, his head falling to rest on the back cushions.
“You want to talk about it?” I hedge, keeping my focus on the task at hand.
“Nothing to talk about,” he groans.
“Sure, just a regular Saturday at the rugby.” I nod.
“You say something about brownies?” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Smooth dodge.” I smile at him and bring our coffees over to the small table. I open the tin I left there this morning and offer August a small square of chocolate heaven and he takes one out, inspecting it thoroughly.
Popping the whole thing in his mouth, I watch with rapt interest and a slight tug of apprehension.
He stops chewing for a moment, eyes going wide, and I wonder if he’s contemplating spitting it out again but his brows dip and he starts to nod, his jaw working once again.
“Fuck, they’re good,” he says when his mouth is clear. “May I have another one?”
“Yeah,” I giggle, finding his manners following his curse quite endearing.
He takes another square and bites this one in half, savouring it. We eat in companionable silence for a few moments, and I pass August his coffee, black americano, before cradling my macchiato in my palms.
“Ross Purcell bullied Eli all through school, made his life hell. Even when Eli lost his parents and was going through the worst shit a kid can go through, Ross was there throwing disgusting names and goading him into fights.” August looks into his half empty cup.
“That’s…awful,” I breathe, feeling a weight of emotion for Eli, not realising he lost his parents so young and also not imagining anyone wanting to hurt such a kind and joyful person.
“Yeah.” August nods. “So, I’ve always hated the prick. I’m not a violent person; I want you to know that—”
“I do,” I tell him earnestly. I don’t know August well, but I feel the truth of that in my bones.
“Thanks,” he croaks. “He just uh…he pushed me too far today, and I lost it. I’m sorry you saw that.”
I curl my legs under me and turn so I’m facing him on the couch, his head turning so we’re face to face.
I watch his eyes trace over my features and a tiny thread of intrigue pulls at my brain, wondering if there could be more than friendship lurking in his golden-brown irises.
“I’m sorry he made you feel like that,” I say gently.
“And I’m sorry your friend was going through that in school, that must have been hard to witness. ”
“Nothing compared to what Eli was going through,” he matches my soft tone.
“Thank you for sharing with me.”
“You’re easy to share with.” He sighs almost like that little admission annoys him.
“That’s because we’re friends,” I say overly solemn.
“Sure,” he agrees begrudgingly.
“Best friends.” I push his buttons with a smirk.
“Easy, sunshine, I already have a best friend.” He fake glares at me.
“So do I, they never have to know,” I whisper.
He gasps, placing a hand to his chest and I stifle a laugh. “We’d be the talk of the ton.”
My head throws back on a laugh. “Was that a Bridgerton reference?”
“Eli made me watch; he’s a secret sap.” He’s smiling and it seems carefree; I love it a whole lot.
“Hmm,” I hum knowingly. “You ever been the centre of the village gossip hub?” I realise my mistake immediately, it was an invasive question, but I was just trying to keep this easy back and forth up, enjoying it too much.
His expression shutters and he swallows hard, turning away from me to stare into the unlit fireplace. We’ve lost the easy banter, and I’m contemplating apologising when his attention catches on something and he sits forward to snatch a piece of paper from my coffee table.
“Is this the list?” he asks, unfolding the paper.
“Yeah.”
“Can I?” He points to the paper but he’s already reading it.
“Sure.” I sip my coffee.
“Try a new sport? Like what?”
“Any,” I say with a shrug. “I only have to try it, doesn’t mean I have to take it up, or even like it.”
He reads some more before his eyes go wide. “Uh…”
“What?”
He tries hard to hide a burst of laughter under a cough. “I, uh…” He laughs again.
I’m looking at him in confusion, waiting for an explanation when it—far too slowly—dawns on me. Why do I keep forgetting about the butt stuff? “Oh my God!” I shriek, lunging at the piece of paper.
He holds it out to his other side, too far for me to reach. “Hey, you said I could read it.”
“August,” I plead, but I’m sort of laughing too, even if it is out of sheer embarrassment.
“Threesome?” he asks.
“Oh my god, I didn’t put that on there.” I grab at the paper again, but he easily moves it out of my reach again.
“Get off in public, that’s a good one,” he says seriously.
“August,” I sob. “Please.”
“That’s one way to get the village talking.”
“Oh god,” I cry. I take another lunge and end up swinging a leg over his lap, leaning over, and snatching the paper from his grip. “You were not meant to see that,” I huff, looking down at him as I straddle his incredibly thick thighs.
He looks back at me, eyes glinting with amusement. “I notice none of those have been crossed off yet.”
“Shut up,” I grumble. “Cas put them on there, as a joke…maybe.”
“Maybe?” He raises a brow.
“They think I need to…broaden my horizons. But I’m good at sex, I’ll have you know.” Why the hell did I say that? No one brags about being good at sex. Not if they actually are good at sex. Oh my god, stop thinking the word sex when yours is pressed to his groin.
“That so?” He is so obviously trying not to laugh at me, my feelings may actually be hurt.
I scowl at him, and he finally lets himself laugh, making his body vibrate beneath me and my thighs clench around his.