‘Ha! No way.’
‘No? Not everyone has difficultly dealing with sloppy seconds.’
‘Get off my bed, Archer. Go and ... be somewhere else.’ She makes this sound likego get fucked.
‘Thanks, but I think I’m fine where I am.’ Even as I’m saying this, I’m getting up, my shoes almost touching her toes as I stand, towering over her slim frame.Intentionally.She tips her chin with an air of defiance, though it’s clear she’s not comfortable standing this close to me. Her whole stance reminds me of how she was in the kitchen when I’d asked her to pass me my mug.
‘You can’t think you’re staying here. With me.’ Her gaze narrows.
‘I more than think it. I know it.’ I lean closer still. I know I’m being a twat, but it’s the least of what she deserves. While I get that there’s something going on with her boss, it doesn’t excuse what she’s done. I have a feeling that today isn’t going to be consequence free.
‘That’s not happening. You and me—we’re not. I mean.’ Her eyes slam shut, her whole body seeming to move with a deep inhale. ‘You’re not staying here.’ When she opens her eyes again, her voice is calm, her expression resolute. There’s something startling about the change in her demeanour. Something that pulls at my awareness, a spike of interest I find I have to push away.
‘That’s no fun.’ I step away, slipping my jacket from my shoulders and discarding it on the bed as I move over to the narrow window. I feign interest in what’s going on below because this isn’t the kind of consequence I have in mind.
‘Yes, well, life is full of disappointments. Just ask your parents.’
And with that damning dénouement, it looks like we’re back on track. She stomps to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
So dramatic.
But not much of an exit.
More like a confinement.
And I have time.
At a loss of what to do now that the object of my ire, the issuer of my affliction has vacated the room, I unfold my garment bag and hang my suit on the outside of the wardrobe, then pushing my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I saunter over to the chest of drawers to where a complimentary bottle of posh water stands.
A tiny bedroom. A single bottle that I might just drink before you do, Heather. Also, just so you know, I take up lots of space in a bed.
It’s too bad that this place doesn’t have a minibar because something tells me I might need a crutch to prop me up through the day.
I hope it isn’t a long-arse Catholic ceremony. The kind that makes you wish you were dead.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find the top of the chest of drawers is actually glass and displays the kind of confectionary that usually accompanies a minibar, which must mean.. .
I pull open on the copper handle to find these are cupboard doors made to look like drawers, the interior of which houses the kind of treasure to rival Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders. Yes—booze!
‘Open sesame,’ I mutter, twisting the top off a tiny bottle of Finlandia vodka, then adding a splash of Fever Tree tonic.Just what the doctor ordered, or what the doctor would order if he knew what kind of afternoon he was in for.
Glass in hand, I decide to inspect the contents of the goodies stashed above. A large wooden tray displays compartments filled with silver containers. A selection of honeyed peanuts, sea-salt pretzels, some fuck awful goji berries, and pot of chocolate covered raisins. I almost open the latter but reconsider when I think about them being stuck to my teeth. It’s a look mydarling girlfriendwouldn’t be into, I’m sure. And though it might serve her right to be on the arm of a gap-toothed date, I happen to be a tiny bit vain.
I move to inspect a row of matching containers, each labelled in a way to make me chuckle.
Help?A travel adapter with a three-in-one lead to fit all devices.
Hungover?An energy shot, a rehydration sachet, headache pills, and a tube of under-eye cream.
Hubba-Hubba?Premium condoms x 3, a sachet of lube, a couples vibrating cock ring-cum-mini vibe, and a feather tickler.
Though the contents are marked on each, I still feel the need to investigate the last one, twisting off the top, the contents springing out like snakes from a tin can. I pick up the ring and the vibe, examining them through the cellophane packaging. I’m no novice when it comes to bedroom toys, though I’m not a huge fan of cockrings. My one experience left me underwhelmed. And a little bit stuck, but that’s another story. The pink silicone makes it look eerily like jellyfish skin. A jellyfish wearing headlights, thanks to the attached vibe. I drop both to the glass top before unsheathing the tickler from its packet, curious to see how something so small could ever be fun, when the bathroom door opens.
I’d been trying to ignore the fact that she might’ve locked herself in there to cry—not because I’m especially good at making women cry, though I’ve unfortunately had my moments a time or two—but because last week, in Postman’s Park, I noticed she seemed to have a very fine emotional trigger where tears are concerned. Her eyes had glazed with tears a couple of times and that seemed to further piss her off.
So I’d been trying to ignore the fact and not gaining an ounce of satisfaction from it. Bottom line? I was wrong about what she was doing in there. Because she’s no longer wearing the oversized robe but a dress instead. And Jesus, what a dress. Not quite blue and not quite silver, the fabric hugs her body from knees to chest, though she has only a suggestion of skin on display thanks to an overlay of fine mesh. It’s the kind of dress a star of the silver screen would’ve worn on the cover ofLifemagazine orVanity Fair.
As she slides her hair over one shoulder, I realise she’s not quite fully dressed as the fabric gapes, Heather pressing her hand to her chest for modesty’s sake. With a jolt, I realise I don’t want to see her half-dressed; I want to see the image of her in reverse.
