Chapter 8
It’s over in an instant.
Luke freezes as soon as I touch him, his mouth unmoving against mine, and even through the fog in my brain I’m able to sense it.
Embarrassment roils through me and I’m about to drop back down, horrified with myself, when he inhales sharply, his head tilting just enough that the kiss becomes a kiss.
I sway in surprise, barely noticing when the grocery bag knocks off me once more as his hands rise to cup my face, holding me to him.
He’s a good kisser. Though the way my blood feels like it’s boiling beneath his touch, I think even if he were a bad one, I wouldn’t really mind.
I cling to his biceps as one of his hands curves around the back of my neck, tangling deliciously in my hair.
A gentle tug sends nerves tingling down my spine and I press myself against him as my imagination runs riot, the way he’s taking control sending a buzz of anticipation through me.
And then his tongue slips into my mouth and I don’t think about anything at all.
I make a noise, high and breathy and very not me, and when I do he breaks away, running his thumb along his bottom lip as he stares at me.
“You kissed me back,” I say before he can deny it.
He doesn’t, but he doesn’t seem thrilled with himself either.
“With tongue,” I add.
That seems to break the spell. The slightly dazed look on his face vanishes as he rolls his eyes. “I’ll drive you home.” He opens the car door, but I don’t move, watching him with equal parts interest and confusion.
“You kissed me back,” I repeat. It comes out like a question. You can’t be mad at someone if you kiss them back.
“Please get in the car.”
“No.”
“Abby.”
“Luke.” I slap my hand against the wall, ignoring the vague stinging in my palm as I stake my claim. Plant my stake? Whatever. I’m not going to let him just ignore this, ignore me .
There’s a few seconds of standoff as we watch each other. And then I win.
“Fine.” He closes the door and I feel a wave of victory as he locks it. The grocery bag slips down his wrist as he takes out a set of keys with one hand and his phone with the other.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Louise so she doesn’t think you’re dead.”
“I think you should kiss me again.”
He ignores me, crouching to reach the steel padlock at the bottom of the café door. I use the opportunity to run my hand through his hair, reveling in the short strands.
“You like me,” I insist as he rises.
I can feel him looking at me, but I’m focused on his shirt now, specifically the top buttons. He lets me get two undone before his hands capture mine, prying them easily away. Only this time he doesn’t let go. Instead, he turns, shouldering open the café door and tugging me inside.
I stand in the dark, breathing in the smell of coffee beans as he locks up behind us.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he takes my hand again.
“Upstairs.”
I stumble in surprise. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he mutters, leading me to the painted wooden steps by the counter. Upstairs. Upstairs to have sex?
My nerves kick in as I try to remember if I shaved my legs or not and I shiver as he palms the back of my head, dipping me so I don’t bump into the low ceiling.
He brings me quickly up the steps and I somehow don’t trip as we reach the top and encounter another door. Luke positions my back against the wall as if afraid I’m going to topple back down before he opens that one too.
We enter a small apartment with peeling wallpaper and sloping ceilings and that’s about as much as I take in before I catch sight of a bed shoved against the far wall.
Luke steers me toward it, tossing the grocery bag somewhere to the side before he flips the cover back and sits me down. The movement is a little abrupt for my liking but, hey, whatever floats his boat.
I scoot up to make room as he takes off his coat but instead of joining me on the bed, he kneels at my feet.
Turns out I like that a lot.
My heart beats out a staccato rhythm as he pulls off my boots, setting them to the side.
He goes for my jacket next and I help him impatiently with the sleeves when they get tangled at my wrists.
My phone and a few coins rattle to the ground as I tug myself free but I barely notice them as his fingers brush mine.
“Lie down,” he orders.
Again, not the most romantic of beginnings but I comply, shifting my hips to get to the button of my jeans. I don’t get very far when he moves again.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he pulls the heavy duvet over me.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
I struggle to sit up. “I’ll—”
“No,” he says, pushing me back down. “You wait there. I’ll be right back.”
“But—”
“I have to go lock up,” he says, and I still as his gaze meets mine. He has the most beautiful eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” he says slowly. He waits until I nod and then, not taking his eyes off me, he walks to the other side of the room and slips out the door, leaving me alone.
I settle back against the pillow, unexpectedly nervous.
Luke Bailey. I’m going to have sex with Luke Bailey.
I snort at the thought, immediately happy he isn’t around to hear it.
This is good. This is a good if unplanned development.
Maybe this will be a disappointing experience and I can get him out of my system.
Or maybe it will be the opposite of that.
Going by that kiss, I think it’s going to be the opposite.
Above me a pipe creaks and I stifle a yawn, pulling my tank top over my head before arranging my hair so it sits just right. I keep my bra on. It’s a nice bra. Hot pink. Lacy straps. I rearrange my boobs in it and lace my fingers on my stomach.
I can’t hear anything from below.
Lock up.
I frown at the ceiling as my eyes grow heavy.
Didn’t he already lock up?
The next thing I know, it’s morning.
Early morning, judging by the weak light creeping through the window. My nose is cold, my throat is dry, and it feels like my eyelashes are glued together.
Something’s wrong.
It’s not that I’m confused. The night before comes back to me with humiliating clarity but there’s something else. Something…
And that’s when I feel it. A sharp cramping sensation low in my abdomen. As if someone grabbed a hold of my insides and twisted. Hard.
Oh shit .
I scramble into a sitting position, the cold air hitting me as I whip the duvet off and look for any incriminating evidence. The last thing I need after throwing myself at him is to bleed all over his bed. But there’s nothing. The sheets remain spotless beneath me.
Just debilitating pain then. Thank God for that.
Calmer now, I look around properly for the first time. The apartment is small enough that all it takes is one glance to know I’m alone. There’s no sign of Luke.
But there is a glass of water on the nightstand, next to a granola bar and packet of painkillers.
I partake of all three, examining the stack of serious-looking textbooks behind them.
On top of them lies what must have fallen from my pockets last night.
My phone, one euro thirty in change… and my engagement ring.
Crap.
When I’ve drained the water, I step out of the bed, wincing as my feet meet the floorboards.
I’m still wearing my jeans and my bra. The other clothes are where Luke left them and I quickly pull them on.
It’s chilly in here. The windows are small and single glazed, the paint on the windowsills chipped with mold creeping through.
Exposed pipework runs along the wall, not the fancy kind, and there’s a poster of some sunny continental city above the dresser, slightly faded from age.
Other than the “bedroom,” there’s a door near me that must lead to the bathroom and a makeshift living area comprised of a couch and a small kitchen galley. Everything is very clean.
I sleep there . That’s about it .
That’s what Luke had told me in the car and that’s what it looks like. There are no touches of personality here, nothing to tell me who he is.
I don’t know why that disappoints me so much.
My phone is out of battery, so I plug it in and head to the bathroom, keeping an ear out in case Luke comes back. I need a shower. A long shower. And while his one certainly looks like it would do the job, I know better than to try.
Too shy to go check if he’s downstairs, I perch on the arm of the couch, guiltily eyeing the blanket folded beneath a spare pillow.
There’s a sturdy coffee table beside the couch that seems to double up as a desk and a place to eat.
As well as an empty beer bottle and a dinner plate pushed to the side, there’s more textbooks and a crumpled class schedule.
Luke’s old-school. Despite the laptop, there’s reams of paper and notebooks, half-finished lecture notes, and sketches of muscles and limbs, and, I see with a smile, a self-portrait of him falling asleep in class.
I pull that one toward me only to hear footsteps sound on the stairs and I barely have time to compose myself when a moment later the door opens.
Despite everything that happened last night, I still feel an unexpected flutter when Luke steps inside. He’s dressed in jeans and a navy sweatshirt and looks very, very good for someone who slept on the couch.
He doesn’t see me at first. His eyes go straight to the bed, pausing when he sees it empty. For a moment I simply watch him before I realize I’m lurking.
“Good morning.”
His head whips toward me, his confused expression vanishing in an instant, schooled into neutrality.
“How’s the head?” he asks after a second.
“Not too bad. But the few times I’ve had a hangover, it’s taken a while to kick in. Ask me in an hour and I might not have the same answer.” I wait but he doesn’t smile. “Is the café open?”
“Not until ten.”
I nod. My hands feel clammy. “I’m sorry about last night. I can’t believe you slept on your couch. You should have just sent me on my way.”
“I tried that.”
“Right. I was with Beth,” I add when he doesn’t continue.
“Yeah, she messaged. Apparently you’re her new best friend.”
“She’s been really nice. We made up about what happened the other day.”
“Good for you.”
“Mm-hm.” I smile, trying to gauge his mood. “Look, Luke, I’m sorry about what happened.”
“You said that already.”
“And I’m saying it again. I wasn’t telling the truth before. I’m not—”
“I just want to make one thing very clear,” he interrupts. “And that’s whatever midlife crisis you’re having—”
“Midlife? I’m thirty years old.”
“Whatever breakdown this is then, I don’t want to be part of it.”
I stare at him, stung. “Well… you’re not.”
“Good.”
“Great.” I cross my arms and uncross them. Neither of us moves. “If you’re mad about last night—”
He cuts me off with a laugh. It’s not a nice one. “I’m mad you didn’t tell me about your fiancé.”
“But that’s what I wanted to—” I break off with a hiss as another cramp strikes.
Luke frowns. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” I glance toward the bed sheets in case I missed a spot. “I was wrong, the hangover’s starting.”
He watches me for a moment and I struggle not to sit back down or, more realistically, curl up into the fetal position and ask him to bring me a pastry.
“You know,” he says eventually. “Just because your job went sour doesn’t mean you can get away with stuff like this. You can’t just disappear for years and then waltz back into people’s lives like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t affect things.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“ Yes .” Now it’s my turn to be mad. “Believe what you want to believe about me, Luke, but I didn’t come back to mess with you. And I certainly didn’t waltz. I came back because I didn’t have a choice.”
“No. God forbid it would be for any other reason.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t for the warm welcome,” I snap. “And you know what? It’s none of your business what I do or why I do it. All I know is I was very drunk last night and clearly not thinking.”
I pluck my phone from the charger as he stalks over to the bed, redoing my attempt at making it. He’s ignoring me now. Like a child.
Fine.
Freaking fine.
Let him think what he wants. I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe him anything.
“Thanks again,” I call, a little louder than necessary, and slam the door as I go.
I meet no one on my way home. Or maybe I do and I don’t see them, just storm past them muttering to myself.
Stupid period. Stupid period and stupid period emotions. I would have been able to keep my cool and set him straight if it weren’t for my ridiculous hormones.
Tears prick my eyes as I turn onto my street but at least the painkillers have started to kick in, my cramps now a dull throb as I hurry up the driveway.
“Abby?” Louise calls from the kitchen as I run up the stairs. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” I yell. “Do you have any tampons?”
“In my room. Second drawer in the dresser.”
I almost go into her old bedroom, now converted into an office, before I spin around and head to the master bedroom at the front of the house.
She’s repainted it since Mam and Dad left and moved the bed around so it faces the window. My parent’s ancient closet that used to take up so much space has been thrown out along with the wobbly bureau. Now an IKEA dresser sits in the corner next to a floor-length mirror and Tomasz’s dumbbells.
I crack open the drawer, feeling a headache forming as I reach inside.
Breakdown . I’m not having a breakdown. I have lists . Lists and a plan . This is my plan! I didn’t say anything about it being a good one, I just…
I lose track of my rant as I stare down at the slim cardboard box in my hands.
Confused, I pull the drawer open fully, peering inside to see a dozen more just like it, rattling about with spare batteries and a pair of sunglasses.
Not tampons.
Pregnancy tests.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I jump as Louise marches into the room, her face pale. “That’s private.”
“Sorry,” I say as she snatches the box from me. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”
“Then don’t. I said the second drawer.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, baffled by her attitude. It’s not exactly shocking news; she and Tomasz have been married for years. “I didn’t know you two were trying.”
“Well, we are.” She drops the box back inside, something almost like doubt flickering across her face. “We’ve been trying for a while.”
Oh.
Oh .
She waits for me to say something and I wait too, because even as I feel a rush of understanding, of concern for her, nothing comes out.
I don’t know what to say.
And she knows it.
With a final scowl, she opens the second drawer and takes out a box of tampons, shoving it into my hands.
“You smell like an alleyway,” she says, and storms out of the room.