Chapter 35
Day Twelve
On Wednesday, I wake well before her alarm, listening to the even, peaceful breaths of the woman curled around me. With its canine sixth sense, one dog knows I’m awake. There’s a lick on my elbow, a warm tongue. From the whiffy breath, I suspect it’s Tully, but I keep my eyes firmly shut, not lured to confirm my suspicions. I have learned well: do not make eye contact. Sometimes it’s merely boredom and if you don’t interact, they’ll flop back down with a sigh. If they persevere, it’s a more urgent need.
It works, as I hear dog footsteps moving away from me, only to find their way to the other side of the bed, and Haley.
“Hey there, sweetie.” Her voice is raspy with that sexy just-woken-up huskiness. I wish the words were for me, but the beating paws in response tell me they’re for Tully, doing her happy dance. Haley rolls away from me, stretching out a hand, and I groan as a rush of cool air finds its way under the covers.
“These guys want out?” I ask.
“Yeah, probably.”
“I love these dogs, but couldn’t they just once allow us extra time in bed?” I grumble, moving to get up.
“I’ll go,” she offers, already sliding her legs around and pulling herself to sit up. She turns and adjusts the covers so I’m tucked in snugly. “You stay right there. I’ll be back. I’ve got plans for you.” She shoots me a provocative smile as she trails one finger across my lips and chin.
At first, she scrabbles around on the floor where our clothes are strewn, evidence of how frantically we removed them last night. Then, with a frustrated huff, she plucks the huge red Oodie from the chair and pulls it on. I stifle a laugh. It swims on her, but she loves that damn thing even more than her Christmas pyjamas. God, this woman is beautiful, even wearing a technicolour sack that masks all her best attributes in a layer of fleece.
The dogs need no invitation, bouncing off Haley’s bare ankles with small yips of joy. I hear them charge through the door.
Within minutes, she’s back, stripping back the covers, and the combination of the cool air and her proximity causes my cock to stand at attention.
“Well hello there,” she says, settling beside me on the bed.
She stretches one hand across, grips me tight, and starts a rhythm of long, powerful strokes. I groan with the pleasure of it, my body willing to surrender all to whatever she desires. Without missing a beat, she swings a leg across to straddle me, my erection rearing up between us. She shrugs up the Oodie, revealing those honey-gold thighs.
Leaning forward, she laps at me with her tongue, circling and sucking, driving me insane with her devotion to the sensitive tip. Just when I feel like I’m about to explode, she pauses, releasing me, before raising her hips high and lowering herself onto me with a determined thrust. She sits there grinning at me.
“Looks like you have me at a disadvantage, Miss Templeton. If you really intend to use my body so shamelessly, the least you could do is get rid of that thing, so I can enjoy the view.”
She sweeps the Oodie off over her head, arms raised while I allow my hungry eyes to wander over her full breasts with nipples standing at attention in the cold air, and I want nothing more than to take one in my mouth and give it some warmth. I pull the blankets back over her, right up over our heads, creating our own safe cocoon, where the world outside doesn’t exist. Our eyes meet, her pupils huge, advertising her arousal.
“Happy with that, Mr Steele.”
“Very,” I say as she begins to move and from that point on, I have no coherent words, until I cry out her name, as she arches backwards, both of us convulsing in an explosive climax.
Afterwards she’s lying slumped across my chest, limp like one of the soft toys the dogs have de-stuffed, my half-mast cock still inside her, twitching as if it could be roused back into action with a little encouragement.
“It’s not too late to call in sick,” I murmur into her hair as she slides off me.
“I wish,” she groans .
I let her go without further protest, knowing her work is important. She’ll be home tonight and we can do this all over again; for as long as she wants. With the connection between us growing stronger by the day, to the point where it seems almost tangible, I’m hopeful that’s going to be a very long time, maybe a lifetime.
But I’m aware of the spectre of real life waiting for us beyond this house. It’s a sinister figure, poised in the shadows with scythe in hand, ready to leap out and slash this bright thread of connection as viciously as it cut Waverley loose from me. It was bad enough facing the loss of Waverley in my life, but losing Haley is something I’m not sure I could come back from.
Fucking squirrels. It’s their fault my feet are lumps of ice and my lips are blue. Even Haley’s thick Oodie isn’t enough to ward off the chill of the outdoors. Not when it barely covers my arse. I admit defeat and close the door on the dogs. The little bastards can spend all day outside on their futile surveillance mission for all I care.
My annoyance only ratchets up another notch when I hear footsteps in the kitchen, heading my way. I’m getting used to people wandering into the house unannounced. Doesn’t mean I like it.
“Fuck it, Sam. You’re really going to come around and check up on me every day while Haley’s at work? Or are you secretly craving the pleasure of my company? ”
“So, you’ve met the famous Samantha?” Ollie appears in the hallway, face lit by his famous mega-watt grin. “And lived to tell the story?”
Now that’s a face I don’t mind seeing. Even though we spent months together on the road, I’ve missed this guy. And much as I hate fucking reality shows after this latest disaster, I’ll be forever grateful one gifted me the best friend I’ve ever had, a better man than I’d ever hoped would want me as a friend.
I had other friends, but none of them were like me. None of them were people I could be myself with. All the guys I grew up with in our rural backwater were mostly happy with the life marked out for them, going from school to a job. Most chose farming, of course; a few picked up trades; one or two went to university, but all doing sensible, useful things.
Unlike me. I worked crap jobs, played in bars, wrote songs and angsty lyrics—yeah, move over Taylor, I’m the original tortured poet—and pretended to be doing something with my life, when I was simply waiting for a chance to do what I was meant to do.
Ollie’s road to success was different to mine. He had the flash education, years at the academy, formal training, a performing arts degree. In the end, though, it all came down to the same thing—a chance. Beyond Star Power , we both saw that chance and we took it. And, while we might be opposites, at the same time, we took a chance on each other, too. I fucking love this guy.
I grin up at my friend. It’s so good to see him and I’m relieved he didn’t get lost in the wilds of Africa, never to return. He in turn looks pleased I’m not dead by the hand of the ninja nurse.
“Fucking oath I’ve met Samantha. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. First time she slammed me into the floor and damn near broke my arm.” I wouldn’t confess that to just anyone—I do have a little pride—but there’s no pretence between Ollie and I.
He gives a howl of delight. “That’s our Sam.” There’s a fondness in his smile, and I’m reminded that Sam and the Templetons go way back.
“Good to see you, man. Although you look fucking terrible.” I note dark circles under Ollie’s eyes suggesting a lack of sleep. He looks like he could do with a decent meal, too.
He catches my raised palm in his, going in for our usual handshake, his grip a bit weaker than normal, before folding me into one of his Ollie hugs. He’s a notoriously big hugger, and I’ve grown used to it, although this one feels a little bony.
“Yeah, picked up some gastro thing the last few days of the trip. Shitting liquid and puking my guts out. Had to hole up in a hotel in Johannesburg for a couple of extra nights. Wasn’t about to climb on a plane in that state.”
“OK, so apart from that, otherwise it was good?”
“Yeah, bloody incredible. My god, the wildlife.”
He pauses, his eyes crinkling and then falling as they sweep the length of me, and his face contorts, confusion clouding his grin.
“Is that my sister’s…?”
“Oh yeah, man. Bloody warm. A bit on the snug side, though.”
The cloud darkens. “Why are you wearing my sister’s clothes? Am I missing something here?”
There’s an edge to his words, a sharpness in the set of his mouth, as narrowed hazel eyes laser in on me. No point lying.
“About that. Yeah. Well.” I’m silently cursing my lack of preparation for this moment. Haley and I should have talked about this. What to tell Ollie. When to tell Ollie. But we didn’t discuss the first. And there’s no choice about the second. I suck in a breath and swallow hard. “Haley and I have some news. We…we…”
Ollie doesn’t explode, but the ice in his glare is somehow worse.
“You slept with my sister.” The words come out flat. There’s the same lethal undercurrent as when Rachel told me she’d kill me. Ollie doesn’t have to say it. I think he wants to kill me, too. Take a number, buddy.
“It’s more than that Ollie.”
“So I take it, that’s a yes. You slept with my fucking sister, Christian.” His voice rises. “I let you stay here, give you a place to hole up so the bastards don’t tear you apart—yeah, I caught up on the whole disaster sitting in the airport in Dubai—and this is what you do? Sleep with my sister?”
“You’re missing what I said. Yes, I slept with Haley. But we’re together, Ollie.”
He huffs out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, so I’m supposed to be thrilled about that. It’s meant to make it all OK. You take advantage of her, when she’s at the low point of the year, when the last guy who did a number on her has just made her bitchy little friend his wife, when she’s vulnerable, and now what? You and her are a thing? Come on Christian. I bet Haley’s so screwed up she hasn’t got a clue what she wants right now. But rather than let her figure it out, you leap in there and convince her what she wants is you.”
He shakes his head, and there’s a look of disgust on his face that I’ve rarely seen before. Ollie sails through life thinking the best of everyone. He’s forgiving of things that would annoy the hell out of me.
The only time I’ve ever seen him look even remotely like this was when he confronted a jerk of a reporter who’d written shit about him and Kendra. It’s an expression I’d never have expected to be levelled at me. I’m going to change that. He has to understand.
“What she wants is me, Ollie.”
“Are you sure about that?” He shoves past me, his shoulder colliding with mine, and storms up the stairs. He stops part way up and glares down at me. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends, Ollie. What’s between Haley and me doesn’t change that.”
“And what about when there isn’t a Haley and you? What then? Won’t that change everything?”
I think I preferred the angry Ollie of moments ago, to the resigned one telling me Haley and I can’t possibly last. Warning me when it falls apart, I’ll not only lose her, I’ll lose Ollie too. If I haven’t lost him already.
“Maybe I should go.”
His back is to me, and he’s climbing the stairs again. “Best fucking idea I’ve heard today.”
I pack my stuff quickly, thankful there isn’t much. I wrap the photo of Jet in a sweater and place it carefully on top of the rest of my things in the duffle bag. My mouth can’t help but edge up in a smile at the thought of her bringing it over for me.
This is what Ollie doesn’t see. Haley and I are different, but at the heart of things, where it really matters, we are the same. We care about the same things, love doing the same things. Not the big things; the ordinary little ones we could build a life on. Like we’ve already started to do. There’s a deep pit in my stomach, an empty void of the unknown, as I prepare to leave this place and time where I’ve been happy, unsure when—or worse still if—I’ ll get to recapture it. However, for now, while Ollie is so volatile, leaving is the best plan.
I bet he’s slamming Haley with What-The-Fuck texts right this moment. It might be an idea to send one of my own. Let her know I’m out of here and I’m sorry for once again making a mess, and for dragging her into the centre of it.
I grab my phone and string a few words together. There’s so much I need to say, but I’ll leave that for when I can actually talk to her. For a guy who can pour his heart out in lyrics, I unexpectedly struggle with the mundane.
I stack the series of books Haley nudged me to read on her bedside table. There’s a bookmark tucked inside the top one in the pile, the smallest but her favourite of the five, the one she calls the Christmas book, and it does have that feel about it. It’s placed in the page where I took a pencil and gently underlined a sentence. I don’t think she’ll mind me marking the page. The books are full of her little scribbles in the margins, circles and hearts, smiley faces and highlights. I hope the words I’ve drawn attention to—the ones that echo how I feel about her, how my heart knew she was mine long before I realised it—help steady her through this rough patch with Ollie. Damn, those fairy guys know how to woo a woman. I don’t feel bad about stealing their lines.
On top of the book, I place a small box wrapped in red tartan paper, tied with a bow nearly as big as the container. It’s a gift I had ready to give her tonight as the final episode of the show rolled across the screen. I ordered it a few days ago—I’ve become the master of online shopping—my small thanks for how she’s backed me through the whole Wild For The Win disaster. I won’t get to see her unwrap it now, but I know she’ll love it .
I lay the incriminating red Oodie on her bed. Why the fuck did I persist in wearing it, the evidence of my crime? Two pairs of eyes, one deep brown, one ice blue, stare up at me from the pet donuts on the floor. Even the dogs seem to judge me.
“Sorry girls, I fucked up.”
They don’t even offer a consoling tail wag as if they know there’s nothing they can do to fix this.
Bag over one shoulder, guitar on the other, I leave like I arrived twelve days ago. Hat pulled down low, sunglasses on, and uncertain what the next few days will bring.