That makes me a little sad and fills in more of the vague picture I have of his lonely childhood.
“Seriously? Well, it’s not the only one.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I first met you, I had a whole lot of nicknames for you. Nicholas the Tardy. Nicholas the Cranky. Nicholas the Disapproving. There were quite a few.” I can’t believe he’s chuckling after I’ve called him cranky and disapproving.
“Those I don’t like so much. I think I like Nick the Sex God best.” He kisses my forehead and tucks me against his chest. “Want to hear something funny?” He waits for my nod. “I had a nickname for you too. Although only the one. I’m not as inventive as you.” He sounds surprisingly bashful for someone who was talking dirty to me mere minutes ago.
I sit up at his admission. “You did? What was it?”
“Not as good as Sex God, sadly. I thought of you as The Interloper.” He laughs as I slap his chest.
“That’s not very flattering.”
“At first, I told myself it was because you were invading my space. But in reality, I think it was because you were invading my thoughts.”
“Hmmph. I’m not sure that makes it any better.” But there is no heat in my words, and I settle onto his chest, strangely warmed by the thought we were both inventing silly nicknames for each other, even when we didn’t like each other. And even though The Interloper isn’t all that nice, I’ll take the sentiment behind it any day.
The next afternoon when Nick calls to check if we have any plans—we, not I—I suggest we spend the night at his.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because we never do. And you have that fantastic view. And there’s a swimming pool in your building. Perfect for late-night pool sex.”
“There are security cameras in the pool area,” he says, but he doesn’t sound horrified. Intrigued, maybe. A little thrill runs through me and I can feel my knickers getting damp.
“We’ll have to be careful with the angles then.” Even I can hear the innuendo dripping off my words.
“You’re a dirty girl, Lulu MacLeod.”
“I so am. Meet you there at seven?”
“Bring your swimmers.” I can hear the dirty smirk in his voice.
“I won’t need them—” I sing song and hang up before he can get a word out. My cheeks burn at the mental picture I have of him sitting at his desk, cock straining against his smart charcoal grey trousers. I can’t wait for tonight.
Nick lets me into his apartment, and it’s exactly as I remember it. Monochrome and not a thing out of place. Which I guess is partly because he has barely been here except to pick up clothes and mail for the past month. But I get the impression it always looks much the same. Sydney Harbour is spread out before the enormous windows, the setting sun turning it pink and gold, lights from the bridge and Luna Park twinkling. But it doesn’t quite make up for the showroom feel of the place. Nick lets me wander around with the glass of sparkling water he poured me, watching me take everything in while he pours himself a scotch. The whole place seems to fit the man I thought Nick was when I first met him, not the one I know now. It’s as though there’s a public Nick and a private Nick. I know which one I prefer.
I wander until I find an alcove off the living room.
“What’s this?”
“A piano.”
It’s not just a piano. It’s a beautiful, shiny, black baby grand. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it the last time I was here, but I guess I was distracted.
“Well, yes, so I see. But why do you have it?”
“Why does anyone have a piano? To play.” He looks away, pulling on his earlobe.
“You play the piano? You’ve never mentioned that.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t play much anymore. I don’t have time.”
“Would you play something for me?” I can see thenohovering on the tip of his tongue. “Please? I’ve always wanted to be able to play an instrument, but two weeks into guitar lessons, my teacher told Da not to waste his money, so that was that.” I shrug and roll my eyes.
Nick chuckles and reluctantly moves towards the piano. I watch as his hand glides over the curved side of the instrument, “Okay, but please bear in mind I haven’t played in months.”
