Bram
When I wake up, I’m feeling strangely refreshed, something I haven’t felt in a while. Maybe it was good that I hadn’t brought Justine back to the apartment after Aida was over. It hadn’t been my plan to shag her anyway. I mean the whole date was made on behalf of our parents. I’m not sure why my father thought anything would come from it and I’m not really sure why I went along with it but old habits die hard.
Oh yeah, it was because Justine was gorgeous. She was also one of those types that put up a battle in the “I don’t like you” department, just like Nicola. It got me going every single time. But while Justine smelled like roses and indifference, I can tell I’m slowly getting through Nicola’s defenses.
At least I hope I am. I’ve never been so unsure with a woman and while I’m finding it mildly frustrating, it’s at least keeping me on my toes. I feel like every day is a new challenge and I haven’t felt that way since I left New York. Shit, I haven’t felt this way in a very long time.
Adding to the perplexities that living next door to Nicola brings, when I finally get out of bed and make my way into the kitchen, I’m shocked to see the kettle on the counter. I had given it to her mother last night to make some tea. Now she was quite the MILF, but then I guess her daughter is too. I’m not surprised that Nicola brought it back – I figured she would – but I am puzzled as to how she got into my place without me knowing it.
And why?
I make my way over to the door and see that’s its unlocked. I have a habit of doing that sometimes, probably because when I first bought the building I was the only tenant in this place for months.
So last night – or this morning – she would have had to come inside and put it on the counter. Was it possible that I didn’t hear her, that she didn’t wake me up?
Or was it that…
Well, after I dropped off Justine at her place and got nary even a peck on the cheek, I took my sexual frustrations home and had a bit of a wank-fest, as you do. I had the music pretty loud, everything that reminded me of my Scottish youth: Portishead, Garbage, Massive Attack, Faithless, Tricky, you know, just to really get in there.
But the minute I was stroking it, Justine became a distant memory. Her face would go out of focus every time I tried to imagine her and in her place was Nicola. It didn’t matter how many other people I tried – Brooklyn Decker, Kate Beckinsdale, that saucy, bitchy redhead that shot Jon Snow on Game of Thrones – Nicola’s face replaced them all.
And why not. It’s a beautiful face. She has the most gorgeous cheeks and a full upper lip that you just wanted to take between your teeth or have her slide along the ridge of your cock. The freckles just add to the appeal. There’s something so wholesome about her yet she always has this wicked gleam in her sloe-eyes that hints at something wild underneath. I know she puts up a bashful and prudish front, but it’s just a front. I know it is. I know how mums get, how wrapped up they can be with their child about being selfless and devoted that they forget they’re still a sexual creature with multiple needs.
I want to let the sexual creature free. Out of its cage. I want Nicola to have the fun she hasn’t had in a long time.
But my usual tactics don’t work with her. I’m not sure what will. And to be honest, I’m not sure if even hitting on her is the right thing, let alone fucking her. The absolute last thing I need is to be entangled up with a single mum, no matter how enticing she is, no matter how precious her child is.
I just can’t go down that path.
I know how that ends.
More and more though, it’s becoming something I have little control over. And that, that is what scares me. Fear has no place in my life, not anymore.
I contemplate going over to her place and asking her when she dropped off the kettle. I know that within seconds I’ll be able to tell whether she caught me in the act or not. I wouldn’t even be embarrassed about it. I actually wish she did watch me sampling my own goods. Maybe the sight of me naked would be enough to get her to look at me a little differently. I mean, I know I’m good-looking, I know I have what it takes to lure any woman into bed and I know what it takes to get them off again and again and again. But I think her disgust for me might run a bit deeper than her hormones.
I decide to bypass the whole kettle situation and bring it up later. Even though I woke up refreshed, my head feels cloudy now so I drive up to Golden Gate Park and go for one of my Saturday runs before stopping at the boxing gym. Pounding those bags isn’t as satisfying as pounding a woman, preferably Nicola, preferably from behind, preferably while pulling her hair. But it will do.
When I get back to my building though, all cleaned up and spiffy, I knock on her door only to find that awkward bird of a woman, Lisa, there instead.
“She’s already left for work,” she says, eyeing me like I’m about to bust down the door and steal her virtue. Makes me wonder what Nicola has told her.
“Long shift?” I ask, checking my watch for the time. It’s only about three in the afternoon.
She nods, her expression un-changing.
“Well, I guess I’ll catch her later.”
The door shuts in my face. So polite.
But I don’t plan on letting later happen on this turf. I want to see Nicola in action. At about seven I get a cab and head to The Burgundy Lion. I haven’t been there since she started working and it’s high time I paid it a visit. Back in New York, I was always frequenting the hoighty-toighty nightclubs and martini bars but secretly my favorite kind of place was a dive bar. There’s something so freeing about those places, the freedom to be yourself, to let loose, to express desires, to lurk in the dark. Everyone is equal in the shadows with a cheap drink in hand. Now, the Lion wasn’t a dive bar at all, but it could feel that way on the weekends when everyone seemed to congregate there under the sole purpose of being pissed off their rockers.
When I step inside, I’m assaulted by the smell of beer and overpriced cologne. Though it’s relatively early, the place is almost packed with most of the gleaming teak booths crammed with people. There’s a sense of urgency here, as if you don’t get here on time, the chances of getting laid go down with the rest of your beer.
And there, in all the chaos, I see Nicola behind the bar. Her back is to me but her hair is pulled back, exposing the perfect bare skin of her neck and her upper back as it dips into a loose-cut tank top. She moves with efficiency, whatever she’s doing, while a bunch of guys lean across the bar, bills wavering in their hands. They watch her every move, just as I am.
Something inside me burns hot as coals and I swallow down a surprising burst of jealousy. I can’t remember the last time I got jealous but it’s as if it suddenly dawns on me that I may not be the only one who wants to get in her pants. And of course I know I’m not, but it seemed that until she took the job here, she was relatively safe from roaming eyes.
I’m completely delusional, but I still stride over to the bar and stick myself right beside the guys, my hands stretched along the edge of the bar top.
The guy next to me, some punk with gelled blond hair that would give Zach Morris a run for his money, gives me the fuck off look but I don’t pay him any attention. My eyes are trained on her. They might think I’m here to get a drink but that’s not the case at all.
When she turns around, she plunks four bottles of beer down on the counter and smiles at the guys while she tells them the total. I want to be jealous over that smile alone, even if it’s just for show. Then as they pay, her eyes flit to me, a good bartender, always looking for that next customer and when she sees me, she does a double take. She’s jarred.
This could be good.
“Bram,” she says and then her smile goes wider than the world and I don’t feel jealous anymore. I feel fucking elated. Because that was no “give me a good tip, you wankers” smile, that was an “I’m really glad to see you smile.”
Please Lord, let it have been that kind of smile.
“Hey,” I say, suddenly feeling rather speechless. I clear my throat. “Thought I’d come see you in action.”
The boys take their beers and turn away. I notice they didn’t leave any tip, probably because I had to butt my way on in and hog all her attention.
I reach out and grab Zach Morris’s shoulder. “Listen,” I say to him and it looks like he wants to spit at me. “Just because you have zero chance of going home with her tonight, doesn’t mean you don’t have to tip her.”
“Bram,” Nicola warns quietly, eyes wide as a deer.
“So,” I go on to the wanker, ignoring her, “pay up if you thought her service was good. I was watching. It was good.”
The wanker eyes my hand on his shoulder but I’ve got height and breadth and he’s got…bloody awful hair. He looks at one of his friends who quickly whips out a five from the change she gave back and smacks it down on the table. I take my hand away and they walk off to a booth in the corner, shooting me daggers as they go. They can shoot all they want. If I survived Nicola’s death glares, I can survive anything.
“Bram,” she says again, admonishing me as I turn back to her. “It was fine.”
“It wasn’t,” I told her. “They would have tipped you but your smile for me was so much more beautiful than your smile for them. Jealousy makes dickheads do dickish things.”
She rolls her eyes and flips a dishrag over her shoulder. “I’ve been here long enough to learn some things, you know.”
“I also know you work part-time and tips are as important as blood. I did say it would be a hard job.”
Now there’s a hint of a smile, just a subtle lifting of her lips. “It was easy until you got here.”
I lean forward more on the counter until my eyes are level with her cleavage. She took that advice of mine too. Show off those beautiful tits for tips. But like the gentleman I am, I keep my eyes trained to hers. Even in this light I can make out the many shades of brown in them, the way they all snake in vibrant lines toward her pupil, the very pupil that’s widening before my eyes, as if she likes what she sees.
You better fucking like what you see, I think to myself, wishing now that we weren’t here at all, but back in her apartment or mine, sharing a bottle of wine. Oh the things I could do to try and break down that wall. I’d pull out brick by brick with my teeth until she’s screaming my name.
As if she can see the filthy images in my head, her cheeks grow pink and she looks away for a moment. “So now that you’re here, what will it be?” she asks, her voice now cheery but false. She’s back in bartender mode with polite professionalism.
“Make me something,” I tell her, straightening up. “Anything. Make a Bram McGregor.”
“I don’t think we have enough ego for that,” she says.
I grin at her. “I suppose I have enough already, don’t I? I’m serious though. Make me anything sour.”
She raises her perfectly shaped brow. “Sour? I would have thought you a sweet kind of guy.”
“There’s nothing about me that’s sweet, and you know it.”
But from the way she’s staring at me, I can tell she doesn’t agree with that. “Maybe a shot of sweet,” she concludes after searching my face like a puzzle. “But it’s definitely spicy all the way.”
“All right then, babe,” I tell her. “Take your best shot.”
Even though there’s a small line forming behind me (the other bartender is James and he seems swamped), Nicola takes her time trying to figure out what Bram McGregor tastes like. I wish she could find out for herself. I’ve seen that cute, pink little tongue at times and I think it could give me a real lashing. I tell her she should add some salt in there for good measure and I swear her cheeks go crimson.
When she’s finally done she slides the drink toward me.
“This is what I call the Bram McGregor. Mainly spicy with a kick of sweet and salty.”
I take the highball from her and my fingers brush against hers as I do so. I pounce.
“I found the kettle in my room this morning. When abouts did you return it and how did you get into my apartment?”
The question takes her completely off-guard but from the way she looks absolutely bashful and ashamed, I know she must have done it when I was whacking off.
“Just when I got home,” she says quickly, suddenly eyeing the next person in line. “I thought you were asleep so I just put it in the kitchen and left.”
Bullshit. But I let it go because even if I called her on catching me in the act, she would deny it – anything to get out of that conversation.
As she tends to the next person, I slip a fifty in the tip jar and take a sip of my drink. The Bram McGregor certainly has a fucking kick to it. It’s actually pretty damn good.
I leave her be for now and look for an empty bar stool and find one by none other than Linden who is at the end of the bar talking to James as he shakes a martini.
“Fuckface,” Linden says when he sees me saunter over, our usual term of endearment. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I shrug. “Bored.” I look at James and pass him the drink. “You have to try this.”
James’s brow piercing raises as he eyes it. “What is it?”
“Your new bartender made it,” I told him. “Try it.”
James does so and then considers it with a tilt of his head. “Not bad.”
“It’s called the Bram McGregor,” I tell him.
“Of course it is,” Linden says with a groan.
I go on, “You should give that gal a raise. Anyone that can make something this tasty on the fly is someone to hold on to.”
“Well I am trying to get her more shifts,” James explains, “but it’s not easy when I had full staff to begin with. I gave her the job to help her out but I’m not sure what else I can do.”
“Fire someone,” I suggest.
“Bram,” Linden warns. “Don’t get all embroiled in someone else’s business. You have your own to attend to, brother.”
“Well, Jenny isn’t exactly working out,” James admits. “I mean, she’s efficient and dependable but the more she works here, the more she thinks men are responsible for the doom of civilization. I can’t have a conversation with her unless some weird sector of feminism is brought up.”
“She does work here though,” Linden points out. “You can’t really blame her.”
“Like I said, fire her,” I say.
“I’ll give it time,” James says. “I hate to sound like a douche, but I just don’t know how reliable single moms can be.”
For some reason the comment makes my veins feel black and poisonous, like squid ink.
“She’s reliable,” I tell him, my voice stern. “I’m her damn landlord, I know she is.”
He gives me a look, the look that doesn’t take me seriously whatsoever. I should be used to that. “She doesn’t pay you rent. So you can’t really compare. Look, I like Nicola and I think she’s great, but what if something happens to her kid. We all know she’s sick. She could have a problem and then Nicola would have to up and leave.”
“Well, if you’re going to look at it that way, Jen Jen or whatever her name is, could have a flat tire on the way to work, or get food poisoning, or hell, just play hooky for a day. Anyone could. Having a damn kid doesn’t make you any less dependable. Don’t you think she needs this fucking job?”
“Easy brother,” Linden says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Just finish your ego drink and relax. James is just speculating. He’ll help Nicola as much as he can, right James?”
James nods, looking a bit weirded out, like he thought I was going to punch him or something. “Definitely. I’ll help.” Then he backs away and disappears around the other side of the bar.
“Scares easy, doesn’t he?” I ask Linden.
“Does he ever,” he says with a sigh, then finishes the rest of his Anchor Steam. He gives me a discerning look. “What are you really doing here?”
I shrug and take a sip of my drink, pretending my mouth isn’t on fire. I have a sudden notion of cooling it off with an ice cube and then my mind wanders over to Nicola, wondering if she’d squirm if poured the spicy drink over her breasts then rubbed my ice cold tongue on them after.
“Oh, I see,” Linden says and I immediately snap my attention to him.
“What?”
He jerks his chin down the bar at Nicola. “You’re here for her.”
“I guess I want to see if she’ll eventually pay me rent.”
A slow smile spreads across my brother’s face and he shakes his head in disbelief. “No you don’t. You’d let her live there forever rent free, I reckon.”
“Is that so?” I challenge but I’m afraid he might be right.
“Whatever happened to my brother who moved out West, wanting to invest his money and make a name for himself, step out from under our parent’s shadow?”
“I’m still him, you half-wit,” I tell him, hating that he’s got the power to get under my skin sometimes. It doesn’t help that both of us can bring the other down with the mere mention of our mum and dad. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to be a good Samaritan. You were the one always harping on me about being a selfish lout, doing nothing with myself. Now I am doing something and one of those things happens to be a good deed.”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the deed. I want Nicola helped out as much as the next person, especially for Steph’s sake. Those two are pretty close, even more so since we got hitched. I guess having babies or getting married brings you into the next step of the maturity club. But you can’t pretend you don’t have ulterior motives.” He jabs his finger in my face. “You can’t pass this all like you’re interested in charity. You’re losing money here, brother.”
The funny thing is I am interested in charity but there’s no use in telling my brother that. He doesn’t listen to me anyway. No matter how much you change, some people will always view you as you were at a certain time of your life. I don’t think Linden will ever stop thinking of me as the philandering git he knew growing up. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking of him as the annoying little shit who used to steal my stuff, the same one I used to give atomic wedgies to in the playground. And no matter how much our mother tries to cut down on her drinking and the icy shell of her exterior, no matter how hard our father pretends to be proud of us, we can’t help but view them as themselves when we were most vulnerable.
“Be that as it may,” I try and explain. I sigh. It’s hopeless. “She’s got a nice rack.” I give up and drink my burning elixir.
But Linden is watching me closely. “Is that all?”
I nod and start to cough. He slides his water over and I gulp half of it down. “Thanks,” I say, wiping my lips with the bar napkin. “And yes, that’s all. Would you expect anything more from me?”
“I guess not,” he says. He twists around in his stool and nods at the front door. “Hey, check it.”
I glance over my shoulder. A stunning blonde with arse-length hair and a glossy smile comes in the door. She’s dressed to impress in a gold strapless top that shows off just enough cleavage and tight-as-fuck jeans.
“She looks like your type,” Linden says.
“Are you trying to distract me?” I ask him wryly.
His eyes turn serious. “I told you before, Nicola is a no-go for you. Steph will absolutely murder me if you two hook-up. I will never hear the end of it and she’ll go on and on about ruining our dynamics. It’s always about the dynamics. She keeps quoting Friends, when Ross and Rachel broke up and changed everything for everyone else. Drives me bloody bonkers.”
“I am not bloody Ross,” I tell him defensively. “Joey, maybe.”
“Fine, but you get what I mean. She’s concerned about everyone being nice and getting along and you know if you shag Nicola, that’s just going to end poorly. Not only for her, but for yourself. How charitable are you going to be when she sets your whole apartment building on fire, huh?”
I can’t help but smile. “You think I’d affect her that badly, huh?”
“Oh, you’re useless,” Linden says and snaps his fingers for James. “Barkeep, I need another one.”
I sit there with Linden, shooting the shit for a wee bit, until Nicola comes on down the bar to us.
“Brave enough for another one?” she asks. Do my ears detect a flirty tone?
I can feel Linden get up from beside me, which brings me an ounce of relief. Last thing I want is for him to watch over everything I say to her.
“If you’re serving, I’m drinking,” I tell her with a wink. “It was…Bramtastic.”
Her eyes seek the ceiling.
“You are unbelievable,” she says. “Maybe I’ll add less sweet this time, though I swear I didn’t add any cheese.”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
She sighs and starts to make the drink. I make a mental note of the ingredients – Patrón tequila, lime juice, triple sec, hot pepper infused liqueur, a splash of orange juice and a wee hit of the brine from a jar of pickled banana peppers. Ah, so that was the secret ingredient.
While she’s piling up the garnishes on the end of a cocktail sword, she shoots me a look I haven’t seen before, not on her face anyway. It’s sort of pleading and puppy dog-ish. I like it. It makes me feel like she wants something from me for once instead of me always trying to give her something.
“So,” she says, her voice unsure. She hands me the drink. “So,” she starts again, “this drink is on the house.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I need a favor.”
My eyes widen. “You? You’re asking for a favor? From me?”
She seems to shut down before me. I quickly reach out and put my hand on hers, giving her soft skin a squeeze. She feels absolutely radiant to touch and I don’t want to let go.
But she’s staring at my hand like it doesn’t belong there. I remove it but lean forward to meet her eyes. “Sorry,” I say to her, “I didn’t mean to tease. What’s the favor? You know I’d do anything for you.”
Arse. That was not what was supposed to come out of my mouth. But I just smile at her, keeping it cool.
“Well,” she says, looking at the counter, “I was wondering tomorrow, if you’re not busy, if you wouldn’t mind taking me and Ava to IKEA.” She eyes me and quickly continues. It looks like just asking is bringing her pain. “I wouldn’t be long. I just need a new couch and I don’t think I can take the bus with it. I mean, I can try but—”
“I’d be happy to,” I tell her emphatically. “It’s not a problem at all. What time would you like to go?” I don’t bother pointing out that the Mercedes isn’t exactly big enough for a couch, even if it is disassembled into small, aggravating boxes but I figure I can always swap my car for Linden’s Jeep if need be.
Her features relax and she manages a smile. “You really wouldn’t mind? I don’t know, whenever works for you. I’m not working so…”
Everyone knows that Sundays at IKEA are a living nightmare so I suggest we get there as soon as they open and beat the crowds. She agrees and there’s a rare tickle in my stomach. I think I want to drown it with my drink.
I’m still smiling at her when Linden taps me on the shoulder.
“Bram,” he says as I turn around. That blonde with the gold top is standing behind me with him, looking at me expectantly. “This is Paige.”
What the hell is my brother doing? I’ve never known him to try and set me up before. He knows I don’t fucking need it.
“Hello, Paige,” I say to her with a polite bow of my head, because I’m anything if not fucking polite.
“I was just talking you up to her,” Linden goes on but I’m looking back at the bar. My drink is on the counter and Nicola is way down near the other end, serving other customers. Bollocks. Linden sure fucked up that one for me. But still. IKEA is on.
I pick up the drink and take a sip – damn, that’s even hotter than before – and with an internal sigh, turn around to face them. Well, since the blonde is in front of me and she looks just as agreeable as she did earlier, I guess I don’t really have anything to lose.
“You oughta try this, Paige,” I tell her, offering her the drink. “I dare you.”
“Okay,” she says, still smiling but sounding a bit nervous.
“Here, I’ll drink it first,” I tell her, having another sip and trying to hide the burn from showing on my face. “Sweetheart, I don’t need to put roofies in your drink in order to have sex with you.”
“Okaaaay,” Linden says slowly. “I’m going to go now.”
He heads to the washroom and I nod at his empty seat.
“Sit down and drink up,” I tell her. “But if you cough once, you forfeit the dare.”
“All right,” Paige says, wanting to be a good sport. She sits down and I slide the drink her way. She sniffs it before picking it up. Right before she has a sip her eyes catch mine. “Wait, if I cough, what happens?”
“We don’t know yet,” I tell her smoothly, leaning in close so that my knee brushes against hers. It feels all too easy to do this, to pick up a chick. It’s just as much fun as a good shag or two. But at the same time, there’s something prickling the back of my skull, telling me this probably isn’t a good idea. I think that’s the same part of my brain that doesn’t like me to have any fun. I call it Logic.
I watch as Paige has a sip of her drink. To her credit though, she doesn’t flinch. She gulps it down with a smile. I imagine she’d swallow my cum in the same way.
Now Logic’s friend Guilt decides to pop up. I’m not sure why, there’s nothing wrong nor different about my thoughts. Nicola couldn’t give a rat’s arse what I do or who I sleep with. I’m just her neighbor, her landlord, and maybe, just maybe her friend.
For now, anyway.
And perhaps that’s what’s stopping me from going home with Paige. The very minute possibility that one day down the road, I could be with Nicola. It’s unlikely but I’m suddenly unwilling to put it in jeopardy, not until I know for sure that the two of us have no chance together, not even for a hot fuck.
So, though I spend the rest of the evening talking and flirting with Paige, it’s all in good fun. I don’t see Nicola again, nor do I see Linden, so at the end of the night I ask if she wants to split a cab. She enthusiastically agrees, talking about how I must owe her something from drinking the drink so well.
But the only thing I owe Paige is the cab ride home. When we get in the back, it’s quite apparent from the way she’s rubbing my leg just what she thought we were doing and where we were going. I mean, I had told her something about fucking her earlier, hadn’t I?
Tonight, maybe for one of the first times ever, I end up being a cunt-tease. I get the cab to take her where she needs to go but when she gets out, she’s stunned that I’m not following.
“I have to get an early start tomorrow,” I explain, which is completely true now that IKEA is in the cards.
She looks pissed off and I can’t blame her. But still, she thanks me for the ride and tells me I should call her when I don’t have something – or anything – to do in the morning. Though she put her number in my phone earlier, I have no intention of calling her any time soon.
When I get home, the events of the day have taken some kind of toll on me. I feel a million different threads of want and need inside me, but more than that, this nervous, buzzing energy that has no outlet. I start thinking that maybe it was a mistake to drop Paige off, that she could be sucking my cock right now and distracting my mind. But who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be thinking of her at all and I know that it would make things worse.
I hear Nicola’s door open and the small chatter of her and Lisa next door, muffled through the walls, and I wonder if I should go on over. I almost do. I get up and go to the door, one hand on the handle. I want to make sure IKEA is still on. I want to make sure she’s okay. I want to thank her for the drink. I want to touch her hair, brush it behind her ears and get lost in her lips. I want to know what she tastes like – her mouth, her skin, her sweet little cunt. I want to experience every last drop on my tongue.
I’m lacking courage tonight. I stay in. Naturally the night turns into epic wank-fest part two and this time, this time I am loud. I don’t hold back and I don’t drown it out in music. I hope she can hear me.
I hope she likes what she hears.