He turned back to River, pulling her closer.
They must have slept again because when he next opened his eyes, River was straddling him, her naked thighs pressed against his hips. His body instantly reacted and he reached up for her, running his fingers down her body. She was a marvel to him, for how could any woman be so strong and yet so small? How could any woman be so silent while also telling him so much?
Her hands came together, and she signed at him frantically, but he could only look at her blankly. With a frustrated growl she rolled off him, reaching for a pencil on the bedside table, and he vowed in that moment to learn all the BSL he could, so that she could never leave him like this again. He watched as she scribbled hastily on an abandoned newspaper by his bed, and when he saw the words form under her pencil, his mouth went dry.
Is more okay?
Is more okay? If Cohen could think in that moment, if his mind hadn’t been wiped blank by thoughts of pressing into River’s body, bare and tight and hot and his, he would probably have written something eloquent back to her. A Shakespearean response declaring his undying love and appreciation of her; something witty, mature and deeply affectionate. A response to give all the great romantic poets a run for their opium-soaked money and powdered wigs. But all he could do was nod, his hands already reaching for her again.
Afterwards, they slept some more.
When he woke again, it was because the rain had turned from a gentle thrum into a heavy, thumping beat, and his first thought was that a storm must have arrived. His eyes still closed, he waited for the crash of thunder, the tell-tale flash of lightning. But neither came, and he opened his eyes again, confused. Because the thumping noise was louder now, and so close, and ... and followed by a furious voice.
‘I know you’re in there, Cohen Ford!’ the voice screeched. ‘So, you better damn well open your door before I kick it in!’
Cohen sat bolt upright in his bed, suddenly very awake, River wide-eyed and curious next to him.
Because a storm had indeed arrived.
Rushi.
To say River’s mother got to the point was a huge understatement.
In fact, she was so sharp she got to the epicentre of the point and then guillotined it, letting its blood-soaked head roll away with any other hope Cohen had of small talk or polite chit-chat.
He threw on the first pair of pants he could grab from his dresser, stopping to kiss River quickly before running through his house to the front door. Rushi’s pounding, with a litany of what he could only guess to be exceptionally offensive Chinese words, was only getting louder and angrier the more she was left to stew on his doorstep.
He expected a hurricane when he finally unlocked and opened the door, immediately bracing his hands across his chest to protect himself from the full force of Rushi’s anger. But instead, he was met only with a chilling breeze. Because once they were face to face, Rushi’s hands dropped and her mouth closed, and she simply stared at him. She didn’t move to hit him or hurl herself at him or scream at him. No, she simply looked at him, her eyes dangerously narrow, her mouth set in a tight frown.
Cohen stood there, unsure of what to do. But it quickly became clear that both Rushi and Esther had taken the same ‘disappointed and repressed fury for mothers 101’ class, because he felt a familiar flush cross his cheeks, along with an instant feeling of guilt. No matter that he was a grown man, and that River was a grown woman. No matter that he was a Vice-President of a multinational corporation. Right now, under Rushi’s intimidating stare, he was reduced to a guilty teenager, caught red-handed and shirtless in an act of pleasure.
‘Look,’ he started slowly. ‘This isn’t what you think.’
But Rushi remained silent, her eyes going up and down over his half-naked frame with clear disbelief. And suddenly he saw himself through her eyes, his hair tousled and chest bare, wearing only his taekwondo trousers – and God, but why did he still even own these? He’d only been to one taekwondo class, post-Christine – his skin still glistening with sex and glitter.
‘No, no, no,’ he protested quickly. ‘Okay, so itiswhat you think, but it’s also not what you imagine, I mean River and I—’
‘Oh,’ Rushi said bluntly. ‘So, she is here then? Go and get her. Right this minute.’
But Cohen stood at the doorway, desperate to rectify this matter, and quickly too. He loved River, and he knew that River loved her mother. If it hadn’t been for Rushi, River would never have lived the wonderful life she had. She might have rotted away in a children’s home, or jumped from foster parent to foster parent, waiting for a family that was never going to come. If it hadn’t been for Rushi, there wouldn’t have been an amazing girl standing in an ice creamery, ready to fill in all the missing parts of his soul.
River loved this woman, and Cohen loved River. He had to salvage this.
So, he decided to do what any other decent Brit would.
‘Rushi,’ he said calmly. ‘Come inside and have a cup of tea.’
‘A cup of tea,’ Rushi repeated, parrot-like. It was the voice of a parrot with a natural sarcastic tone and a squawk that made his stomach tighten, but she was still calmer than she’d been five minutes earlier, which he took as a plus.
‘Yes.’ Cohen stood taller, yanking his trousers further up his stomach. ‘A cup of tea.’ She nodded her head ever so slightly, and Cohen opened his door further, ushering her in.
When they reached his living room, he suddenly saw the blinding error in his plan. Because by the window sat two abandoned piles of clothing, as well as a very large patch of blue on his carpet. He blushed red from head to toe when he spied two obvious handprints by the patch, along with a clutch of hastily dropped brushes and a spilt bottle of ink.
An ink that very clearly matched the slight blue tinge to his own skin and mouth.
Rushi looked at the offending evidence and then again at him, her eyebrows slightly raised, her lips pressed together. She was clearly unimpressed and growing more concerned by the minute.
And he realised he didn’t even have any tea. What the hell was he thinking?
