Friday
Alex
For the full 22 hours of the flight from London to Sydney, three words repeated themselves inside my head:
Career ending injury.
It was a term usually reserved for footballers and tennis players, not for musicians. Still, they were the words the specialist used just days before.
Uncomfortably tucked into my economy seat, I held out the offending hand in front of me. My right hand, my bow hand. It looked harmless. With thought and purpose, I wiggled the third and fourth fingers. They obeyed, waving back at me. I let out a sigh. If only they were so obedient when I played.
For a while, I hoped the pain was a cramp that would resolve itself. When that didn’t work, I made the appointment to see the specialist.
‘I’m sorry, Alex. It’s common in musicians, particularly in the hand. It often happens when you practice too much,’ the specialist told me.
Too much? Was it possible to be a professional musician without too much practice? Talent alone was no ticket to success. Persistence and devotion might get you closer
Two months ago, in Spain, my hands had felt cold all the time. Then one month ago my right hand started cramping as well.
Last week, the fingers on my right hand had refused to move. Entirely. For two days.
‘Overuse, Alex.’ said the specialist, ‘It’s a career ending injury.’
Yes, the offending words.
‘But there are a few options,’ he added.
‘Thank God,’ I replied with relief, ‘Can you give me a prescription?’
The old man looked taken aback. ‘There’s no prescription. By options, I mean rehabilitation. I would recommend a program of Botox injections, as well as sensory re-education.’
Re-education? There was a term with some bad connotations.
‘I fly to Sydney tomorrow,’ I replied. ‘We’re on tour.’
He nodded. ‘You’re going to need a break from playing, at the very least.’
A break would mean losing my place in the quartet. A break would mean career death. I couldn’t take a week off work, let alone months.
I don’t need a break, I thought. I need a second opinion.
**
I’m sure Singapore Airport is an exciting place if you’re going for a holiday to Singapore. Waiting for your plane to refuel in a cramped lounge with plastic chairs is not.
‘There’s a whole empty business class lounge through that doorway,’ huffed Luella, ‘Why can’t we go in there?’
Lu was Australian by birth but English by upbringing, having lived in London since she was a child. We’d met years ago when I barely spoke English, but been bound by our love of music ever since. Lu was a cellist and a talented one at that.
Our one-week trip to Australia had been her idea and doing. We all wanted to keep working. Each year, Lu would organise a tour for us, usually around Europe, that would keep us busy in London’s quieter months.
My three bandmates and I sat, waiting to get called back on the plane.
‘You’ve got to be a member. Or fly-first class. I don’t know,’ I replied.
‘I’m going for a walk. To get a coffee or something,’ Luella walked off.
‘She’s terrible at travel,’ said John.
John, the viola, was English too and had known Lu a long time. Gio was Italian, a young and fiery man whose mouth was too big for my liking. But a good player and the second violinist. He had only been with us for two years. His was the only place in the quartet we’d ever held an audition for.
And then there was me. The only real non-European.
‘It’s a long flight. We all need a shower and a sleep,’ I said.
‘Seriously. This is too far for one week of concerts,’ said Gio.
I rested my face in my hands. My mind returned to that specialist appointment like it had been doing ever since I left the office. What would I do if I couldn’t play any longer? Outside of music I had no training or skills. I swallowed hard, feeling a twist inside my stomach.
‘Hello,’ I heard a voice and looked to see a young girl who had come to stand beside me. She looked about six.
‘Can I play your violin?’ she asked, looking to the case on the chair beside me.
Sitting opposite, John grimaced. The violin had cost me 22,000 Euros six months earlier. Probably the most money I’d spent at any one time.
‘I’m sorry…’ I said, trying to think of a kind reason to say no.
The little girl looked a little bit like my sister, Gabrielle. The thought of her and the rest of my family made me homesick for Chile.
‘I’ve had lessons and I’m very good,’ she insisted.
Not too long ago I was a kid wanting to learn an instrument. Then after that, desperate to be good, to know other people who were good. I remember wanting to know their secrets, the things they did to be who they were.
‘Yes, okay,’ I said, unclipping the case.
John shook his head, disapproving.
‘That guy is soft,’ said Gio, loud enough so I could hear.
The little girl hadn’t lied, she was good. Of course, the violin was too big for her. With careful hands and slow movements, she gave a rendition of Twinkle Twinkle. It earned her a small round of applause from the other travellers waiting at the gate.
‘Muy bien,’ I said, giving her a smile, ‘make sure you keep practicing.’
With two hands, she handed me back the instrument, smiled, then ran off to her waiting parents.
‘You’re crazy,’ said Gio, ‘What would you have done if she had dropped it?’
I shrugged.
**
Still waiting for the plane to load us, I swiped through the search results of Sydney specialists. I didn’t want another neurologist to give me bad news in a stale office. I wanted someone practical who would have real solutions.
‘What are you looking at, pervert?’ Luella had returned from her walk and taken a seat next to me.
‘Nothing,’ I replied, hiding the screen.
‘Sure. You should get on Tinder or something.’
I rolled my eyes, ‘Get yourself a girlfriend, Lu. Don’t worry about me.’
‘You’ve got to move on,’ said Lu.
A year had passed since my divorce was final, but its mention still cut in a deep place. I spent a lot of nights thinking about what went wrong, about what I might have done better. But I never found a conclusion. Repeating yourself and expecting a different result, that’s the definition of insanity.
‘I’m not saying you have to fall in love. It’s just that you seem miserable most of the time.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, sarcastically
‘Have you even dated anyone? One nighters don’t count.’
‘I don’t have one night stands. And no.’
‘Oh, you do so!’
‘Have you?’ I turned the topic around on her.
‘Dated anyone? Not for a while,’ she replied.
Lu had broken up with her long-time girlfriend a few years ago. Maybe being a musician was a curse.
‘So, tell me what is it going to take to tempt you?’
‘Tempt me?’
‘Who’s your perfect woman?’
Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I’d been with my wife for a long time, and didn’t look at other women, or even think about them. Not much anyway. It wasn’t easy to meet someone. For a night, yes. But something serious was much harder. I was on the road most of the year. When I wasn’t I was trying to get work in London I was trying to get home to see my Mother and sisters, even for a few weeks.
For my wife, well my ex-wife now, that had meant a lot of time home alone. Or at best, following me around and feeling like she lived in my shadow. But I never knew what it was like for her, I never understood until much later.
‘I bet she must be beautiful,’ said Lu ‘And smart. You always liked smart girls.’
‘Yes, I suppose. But you know, that’s not enough. There needs to be something else.’
‘What? Massive boobs?’
‘No…I mean, that’s okay though,’ I said. ‘I want a woman who isn’t afraid of anything. Who wants to learn more, and be better. Someone with an inquisitive mind and a fearless spirit.’
‘A zealous heart?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I like that phrase.’
‘Hmm. I heard it in a song,’ she said. ‘That’s a very poetic list of wants.’
‘Yes, maybe that’s why I don’t date.’
‘You should give it a chance. If only to appease me,’ she said.
‘Maybe.’
‘Where the fuck is our ride?’ exclaimed Luella,
‘Seriously, there are kids everywhere. Stop swearing,’ I said.
Taller than me, and with a crown of red hair, Luella was hard to miss even if she was being quiet. Which was rare. She paced with vigour, backwards and forwards, looking for our driver.
Finally, we’d landed in Sydney, but it looked like we’d been dumped by whoever she’d arranged to pick us up.
‘If he doesn’t show we’ll get an Uber. No big deal,’ I said.
‘Let her rage it out. She’s been sitting down too long,’ said John.
John, Gio and I were sitting on the floor, watching our instruments with caution. New countries always put us on guard, for a while at least.
‘Ten minutes, then we’re getting in a taxi,’ said Gio.
I sighed and sat down. I pulled out my phone and swiped the screen, opening up to the internet page I’d been looking at when we were in Singapore. Should I call someone? A neurologist? A physical therapist? Where did I start?
Probably I should start by telling these three people who were sitting with me that my hand wasn’t working. Well, two were sitting, the other one was frantically pacing up and down still.
The page I was looking at was for a local hospital. There were five or six specialists listed, all who may have been able to help me. One face caught my eye.
She was young, far younger than her colleagues. Reading her brief profile, she had qualifications in physical therapy and neurology. She had spent two years working on a project that helped kids with acquired brain injuries. That was a good sign. Maybe she was the right person to see. Her name was Emily Blackwell. I took a screenshot, so I would have the number for the hospital she worked at to call later.
A pair of black boots caught in my peripheral vision. I looked up to see a woman running past me. She came to a stop a few meters away, looking at her watch. It was her, the same woman I was looking at on the internet.
What were the chances? This was a sign.
‘This is fucking arrivals!’ she exclaimed, turning around to run back the direction she had come from.
‘Emily Blackwell,’ I shouted. By now she was at least twenty meters away. She paused and looked around, but then started running again.
‘Emily!’ I shouted. She didn’t respond.
‘Watch my violin!’ I directed at John before I started running after her. Emily was fast. She got all the way to check-in before I grabbed her shoulder.
‘Emily Blackwell!’ I said, with way too much enthusiasm. She turned around to look at me, a bewildered expression on her face.
‘Yes?’ she said.
She was much prettier in person than in the black and white picture on the Internet. She had dark hair that fell around her shoulders and light coloured eyes.
‘Um, I wanted to make an appointment,’ I said, realising the strangeness of chasing down a woman in the airport.
‘A- what? An appointment?’
‘Yes, with you. I have a problem with my hand.’
‘Well, I’m-’ she seemed flustered. ‘I’m sorry about your hand. I have to be on a flight to Perth though, right now, I have to go.’ She turned away, heading towards the baggage drop.
I looked back, the others were too far away now to be able to see. Without doubt, they were wondering what was going on. Emily had gone up to the check-in counter and dropped her bag. I followed her to where she was in queue up for the security screening.
‘Could you just put me in your diary?’ I asked.
She turned around with surprise, not having realised I was behind her.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to get on a plane,’ she said.
‘I’m actually looking for a second opinion.’
A security guard pointed her to a metal detector. She walked through. I followed.
‘Sir,’ called out the security guard, ‘Sir, you have to wait! You’re going to have to walk through again.’
His hand caught on my shoulder and pushed me back towards the metal detector.
‘Wait for the green light, please,’ he said gruffly.
Emily picked up her handbag and started jogging in the direction of the gates. Shit. I only had a week here. For some reason, it felt like she was the person who was going to make a difference to my hand. The odds of finding her from a random Google search, then looking up and seeing her face were so slim that it had to mean something. My mother taught me there was no such thing as coincidence.
The guard let me through the metal detector. I started running.
‘Excuse me, sir, you’ve been selected for a random explosive trace test,’ said another security guard.
‘What? No, I need to talk to that woman before she gets on a plane’
‘I’m sorry sir, but you will need to comply,’ the guard said. She pulled out a laminated sheet of legislation.
‘I don’t speak English!’ I said in my perfect, near-native English. ‘No hablo Ingles!’
A look of confusion crossed her face. I started running again. I could see Emily Blackwell about fifty meters away.
‘Hey!’ I called, running through the airport corridor towards her. ‘Could you just give me a time to see you?’
She turned around, her brows furrowed, about to speak. Her expression changed to one of shock. I felt a thump on my back and a kick to the back of the knee. That was just as the security guard tackled me from behind, pushing me face forward onto the ground.
‘Mate, you’re going to have to stop right there,’ said the officer. He had me pinned on the ground with my hands behind my back. ‘You’ve committed an offence,’ he said. I could swear there was a hint of glee in his voice.
I could see Emily’s black boots only inches from my face.
‘Emily?’ I asked, feeling the carpet fibres getting in my mouth.
‘Are you with this guy?’ the guard asked.
‘What’s going on?’ she said.
‘Are you travelling with this man, Ma’am?’ the guard repeated.
‘None of your business,’ she said.
‘Move along then,’ the guard snapped.
‘Why are you arresting him? Is he under arrest?’ she said.
‘Stand up, we’d like you to accompany us to the interview room,’ the guard ordered me.
‘Ask him if you’re under arrest,’ Emily said to me with urgent eyes. A crowd of people had gathered around us. ‘He has to tell you what you’ve done wrong.
‘Am I under arrest?’ I coughed, pulling myself up from the ground.
‘We’d like to have a word with you,’ the guard answered, ‘in the interview room.’
‘So, he’s not under arrest,’ said Emily. ‘Let him go then.’
The guard let go of my wrists. I stood up. Emily had a satisfied smile on her face. Before I had a chance to say a word two guards grabbed each of my elbows.
‘Refusal to take an ETD means no access to your flight.’ They started leading me back to the front of the airport.
‘Sorry,’ said Emily, ‘but at least it’s not strip search. I’ve got to go Perth,’ she turned to leave. I managed to raise one hand in a wave as I got dragged out.
‘I’m not flying. I already landed. I only wanted an appointment,’ I called.
She turned back again and smiled ‘You could always call.’ She was more than pretty. She was beautiful.
The guards pushed me back through the security gates and into the entrance to the terminal.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Luella called, standing with her Cello on the other side of the gates.
‘Please don’t be an idiot again,’ said the guard smugly. ‘Just do the fucking swab test. Also, your girlfriend missed the plane to Perth. It left ten minutes ago. He let go, giving me a push towards the front door.
I walked up to Luella, John and Gio, all waiting for me.
‘Did you just get arrested?’ said John.
‘Nah, man,’ I said.
‘Here you go,’ Gio handed me my violin and suitcase. ‘Crazy taco.’
‘No one eats tacos in Chile,’ I said.
‘You’re going to have to learn Geography one day, Gio,’ said Luella.
‘You know why Italy is shaped like a boot?’ I directed at Gio.
‘Why?’ he said, taking the bait.
‘Because they had to kick all the Sicilians out,’ I said, making reference to his homeland.
He rolled his eyes.
The four of us walked outside through the automatic doors, in search of a taxi.
Friday
Emily
Why are the cute guys always crazy?
Friday morning caught me in the middle of an airport drama. I was dangerously close to missing my flight to Perth. But hey, maybe I’d end up on one of those reality TV shows they shoot at Sydney Airport, like Border Security.
I was running late to begin with because of a client.
‘Emily, if you take this appointment you’ll miss your flight,’ said Andi, my colleague and also my good friend.
‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Let me take the appointment for you,’ she’d argued.
‘He’s used to me though.’
My client was Luke, an eleven-year-old boy. Andi was just as good at her job as I was, probably better, but Luke was used to me, and sensitive to change. His appointment was meant to be rescheduled as I was going to Perth. But, due to the ongoing, chaotic, indecipherable bureaucracy that is the public health care system, that didn’t happen.
The truth was, I wasn’t meant to be taking on many clients at all. Research was the purpose of my role, and what I was getting paid for. If I was in a consult with a client, they had better be part of a study. But I loved working with my clients, especially kids, so I kept filling up my diary and hoping no-one above me noticed. I put in the extra hours to get all of the work done.
When Luke turned up with his Mum, I took the appointment anyway. So I had gotten to the airport late and was in serious danger of missing my flight. Then my Uber driver dropped me off at the wrong terminal.
‘Fuck! This is fucking arrivals, not departures!’ I’d exclaimed out loud.
I turned around and ran towards what looked like the departures area. I haven’t caught a whole heap of planes in my life, so to be honest, I didn’t really know where I was going anyway.
‘Emily Blackwell?’ a voice called my name.
Nope, I must be hearing things. I kept running. Someone caught me on the arm.
‘Emily Blackwell?’
I turned around. The voice belonged to a man, a very attractive man. He pushed his dark wavy hair away from his face. He had an olive complexion and light-coloured eyes. The beginnings of stubble grew around his jawline.
‘I need to make an appointment with you,’ he said.
An appointment? A physiotherapy appointment? Had I met this guy before? No way, I’d remember him for sure. It was a strange thing, and I was curious, but I was also about to miss my plane.
‘I can’t, I’ve got to go,’ I called.
Was I going to make my flight? I could see the departures screens as I made my way through security. Perth was still there. Boarding now. I might make it.
‘Emily!’
The hot guy was calling me again. What the hell was going on? I turned around to see security tackle him to the ground. And by the time that drama had resolved itself I was too late. I got to the gate in time to see the plane taxi for take off.
So that is how I missed the last flight to Perth on a Friday in June. And why the day after, I missed the opportunity to present a research paper in front of eighty of my peers. And why the hospital I work for was sure to be mega pissed off at me. Maybe it was because I took the extra appointment. Maybe I could blame the Uber driver who dropped me off in the wrong place. Or maybe I could blame the crazy hot guy who chased me down. Whichever one, I was going to have some explaining to do at work on Monday.
Well, if I was going to be in Sydney all weekend after all, I may as well go out tonight. I pulled out my phone and started texting.
Emily
My night had fizzled out fast. Since going through a break-up three months earlier, girl’s night had become a fast favourite on a Friday. It was a good excuse to wear a short, black dress and have fun with my friends. I think girls’ nights are a release of sorts, you can dance or drink or do whatever you want with reckless abandon.
Tonight, I’d picked the bar. It had great views across Sydney Harbour. The after-works drinks crew was dispersing, and a quiet lull had settled. It would get busy again in an hour or so when the hard partiers came out. I managed to get a seat next to the large glass window looking out to the water.
I’d been waiting for Andi, from work, and my flatmate, Rachel. A few minutes after I sat down came a text message from Rachel.
Rachel: Emily, I think I have man flu and I feel like SHIT, I’m so sorry, have you left yet?’
I knew at least Andi would be on her way. But then my phone vibrated again.
Andi: Sorry, Emily. Babysitter flaked… have a great night. Have some fun. Xx.
Today wasn’t turning out to be my day.
And now I was at a bar, all on my own. I felt like turning around, going home, and reading a book instead. I looked out to the water, letting out a sigh. I was here, I had a drink in front of me. I might as well finish it before I leave. In a way, it was nice to be alone with my own thoughts. I thought about my trip. I started making a mental list of things to organise.
-Buy a proper suitcase
-Find some good walking shoes
-Decide where to actually go
In just a few months I would be leaving the city I’d lived my whole life in. Although I’d barely seen my own country, I had a one-way ticket booked to London. Once there, I planned to find a job teaching English somewhere in Europe. I’d spent most evenings at my computer earning a teaching certificate. I hoped it would secure me a job.
‘Hello.’ said a voice beside me, interrupting my thoughts.
A little startled, I turned to see someone in the stool next to me, nursing a drink.
‘Hello?’ I managed to reply.
I had to look twice.
It was not just any man. It was the guy who had chased me through Sydney Airport hours earlier.
Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed him sit down and wasn’t sure how long he’d been there.
‘I hope you don’t mind if I sit here,’ he spoke with a thick accent. Where was he from? He could be Italian or Spanish, but I could never pick an accent well.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ came my reply. ‘Are you stalking me?’
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I swear, I’m not. I’m staying around the corner from here. I recognised you when I walked in.’
He looked across at me, studying me with intent. He concluded with a bemused smile.
‘So you didn’t make your plane?’ he asked.
‘Nope.’
‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
‘No worries. I probably would have missed it anyway,’ I huffed. He smiled again.
‘I got told this was the place… good for the view?’ he said.
‘That’s true. Best in the city,’ I replied.
If you went on Tripadvisor it would probably send you here. I concluded he was more likely to be a tourist here for the view than he was a stalker wanting to make me into a skin suit. This was only friendly small talk. Or was he trying to chat me up?
Of course, I wasn’t there to meet a man. Men were not a part of my plans for the evening, nor for my near future either. I was done with another person deciding my destiny.
We both fell silent and looked out across the water. It felt like the conversation might be over. No, he was not trying to chat me up. He tapped the fingers on the bar, looked at his hand, then sighed.
His hand. Is that what he mentioned to me today, chasing me through the airport? In my earlier rush, I couldn’t remember. Anyway, I wasn’t going to bring it up. If he wanted an appointment he could call the hospital. Adult men tended not to make my client roster anyway.
He broke the silence, ‘I have a week in Australia before we leave. What would you recommend I see?’ he asked, cutting through the silence.
‘What have you seen so far?’
‘Well,’ he said ‘Today we landed. It was the longest flight I’ve ever been on and I felt like it would never end. All I’ve had time for is the Opera House.’
‘You should go inside if you can, it’s impressive.’
‘Of course, I couldn’t leave without seeing that,’ he looked at me sideways.
He shifted in the barstool, turning to look at me. His intense gaze took me in, starting with my face, then casting down to my body. Our eyes met together.
‘You are too beautiful to be here alone,’ he said. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’
‘No. I got stood up, actually.’
‘Oh, his loss.’
My cheeks grew hot and I knew I was blushing. For too long, I had been immune to men. Ignored them, or they had ignored me. Whenever someone flirted with me I felt awkward.
‘If you want something to do, catch the ferry to Manly,’ I said. ‘That’s the best way to see Sydney.’
‘You are trying to change the direction of the conversation,’ he said.
‘Most definitely,’ I replied.
‘You know, you have shown up in my life three times in less than three days. It’s a sign.’
‘Three times?’
‘Yes. I Googled you in Singapore. Then I saw you at the airport. Plus now. It’s a sign.’
‘Of what?’ I asked in a flat tone.
That you’re a stalker, I thought.
‘Wait, why did you Google me in the first place?’ I asked.
‘Oh, not you specifically. Just… doctors.’
‘I’m not a doctor.’
‘I know, but I like you.’
‘So, what’s it meant to be a sign of?’
‘I don’t know, but we should find out.’
‘Really? How would we do that?’ I asked.
‘Come out with me tonight. We’ll get a drink. Some dinner. Whatever else,’ he said.
I shrugged in reply. He was too much, too soon. We’d had a half a conversation. I was a slow mover when it came to dating. It took weeks of flirting for me to even agree to a date.
Is this how a one night stand happens? I wasn’t sure, because despite the encouragement of my friends I’d never had one. Perhaps he wanted company in an unfamiliar city.
‘If you don’t want to go out, you can come back where I’m staying. It’s a nice place,’ he said.
Yeah, this was sounding like a one night stand. But, if I was going to have one, he’d be an ideal candidate, right?
‘You’re very forward,’ I said.
‘I like you, I think you like me. There is a good phrase in English, “The heart wants what it wants”,’ he said, now with a huge smile on his face.
‘Surely the heart could wait a beat or two until you know my name?’ I replied.
‘I already knew your name before I met you.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s true.’
‘Anyway, sex is not the problem, it’s the love that’s a problem.’ He kept his eyes locked on me, waiting for a response.
‘They both have their problems,’ I looked away first.
‘You are not relaxed like an Aussie is meant to be, but you are funny.’
‘Well, you are just as forward as all European men are supposed to be if we’re going to rely on stereotypes.’
‘I’m not from Europe. I’m from Chile. It’s much better.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, wondering how offensive what I’d said was.
‘It’s okay. My father was English so you’re almost right. I like to forget that part.’
He held his hand out for me to shake it, ‘Let me start from the beginning, I’m Alex.’
‘I’m Emily,’ I told him, not breaking our gaze this time.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation.
He let go of my hand, and it felt instantly cooler. As if he sensed my disappointment, he reached back to me, taking both my hands in his.
It was the kind of situation I would have run from a few months ago. But there was something inside me that wanted to live dangerously. Perhaps it had been dwelling deep for some months now. A dark bar, a drink and a beautiful man with an amazing accent had brought it to the surface.
‘So you’re on holiday?’
‘I’m here for work. But I am open to distractions.’
I laughed again. ‘You don’t give up,’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘Someone once told me it’s a flaw, but I don’t think so.’
He was a determined flirt, but I let him get away with it. I felt giddy, even out of my depth. Sure, I wasn’t looking for a man but this one was hard to ignore. The end of a relationship may burden you with despair, but it can also gift you recklessness.
He leaned towards me, closing the space between us. I could feel the heat of his skin close to mine, but he paused, hesitating before our lips touched.
I pressed my lips against his. He parted my lips with his own, his mouth tasted hot and salty. Slow and deep, it was a kiss with a fire behind it.
Breaking the kiss, he moved his mouth to my ear and whispered, ‘Let me take you home, Emily.’
Go home with him? I didn’t go home with men I met in bars. Or in airports. But there was another feeling lurking beneath that. I’d ended a five-year relationship because of it. I was about to get on a plane and travel the world because of it. Who knew what else I would do.
‘Let’s go,’ I said. He smiled back at me.
Standing side by side, he stood only an inch or two taller than me. He put a hand on my hip and then slid it around my waist. Close enough that I could smell him, woody and sweet.
‘I’m staying near here,’ he said, leaning close to me, ‘It’s my friend’s place. No one else will be there tonight,’ he still held my hand, and now led me towards the door.
**
The cold winter air of the Sydney street didn’t bother me because another type of heat was building up inside of me. His arm was wrapped around my shoulder, and mine around his waist. My hand slipped under his jacket, so only a thin layer of fabric was between my hand and his skin. The tips of my fingers rested on his abs. He felt tight, muscular. I wanted to see him without a shirt on.
‘Ah, I should tell you something,’ he said in a low voice.
‘What?’ I said dryly.
Oh no. What was it? A girlfriend? A wife? How fast could I get an Uber here if I whipped out my iPhone right now?
‘I don’t do this kind of thing… usually.’
‘Sure,’ I said, with a scoff to myself. He was too well practised for that to be true.
‘But… I think this is a good idea. But I want you to first know that I don’t-’ his voice trailed off and he stopped. He looked up. ‘This is the place. Sorry, I’ve only been here in the day time.’
We stood out the front of a large apartment building. It seemed like he was going to keep his revelation to himself for now. He pulled out a key tag and waved it at the security pad, opening a set of automatic doors to let us into the foyer.
Waiting for the elevator, we stood in a moment of almost-comfortable silence. A flutter of excitement lit up my stomach at the thought of that was about to happen.
‘Emily, I know nothing about you. You should tell me some things.’ Alex broke the silence.
‘Like what?’
‘Well, what do you do for work?’
‘I’m a physiotherapist. But you knew that one.’
‘True. Favourite colour?’
‘Blue. Yours?’
‘Same.’
A hum sounded, the elevator travelling back down the shaft.
‘Okay, what’s something I don’t know?’ he asked.
I took a moment to think. It was an easy question and a difficult one.
‘My middle name is Lyric.’
‘Really? I like it.’
‘Yeah, my mother was a musician. She picked that out. Okay, you give me something interesting now.’
A bell rang, the elevator doors opened.
He reached over and took my hand. ‘I like you.’
‘Yeah, you’ll have to get more creative than that,’ I teased.
We got into the elevator and Alex didn’t let go of my hand. The lift started going up. I felt the impulse to pull him close to me.
After getting out of the lift I followed him down a corridor.
‘I don’t even know where I put my keys,’ he said, searching through his pockets. He pulled them out of his coat pocket as we stopped in front of a door.
When he tried to unlock the door, the key jammed in the lock. He stopped, jiggled it, and then muttered something under his breath in Spanish. He tried to twist the key again with his left hand but it didn’t budge.
‘Let me try it,’ I reached over and in a single attempt unlocked the door.
I shrugged as we went inside. It was a beautiful apartment, spacious and decorated with modern furniture. There were timber floorboards and art that I guessed was expensive. We walked down the hallway into an open kitchen and lounge.
‘So this is your friend’s place?’ I asked. ‘It’s pretty nice.’
‘Oh yeah, her Uncle’s. But he lives overseas, I think,’ he replied.
‘Where is she?’
‘They’ve all gone to see the Blue Mountains, but I wanted to see the city. I’ve seen a lot of mountains.’
Alex walked into the kitchen, so I followed. I could see there was another hallway, which I guessed led to a bedroom. Against the wall was a black suitcase, with scuffs and stickers all over it. A smaller case, which was much better preserved, looked like it held a violin.
‘I wish my suitcase looked like that,’ I murmured.
‘I should probably get a new one, the wheel’s broken.’
Alex flicked an app on his phone and classical music started playing.
‘Good sound system, right?’ He said. I nodded in agreement. He pulled a bottle of champagne from the fridge.
‘Why do we still have corks in things?’ he asked, ‘What’s wrong with the screw top?’ He fiddled with the cork for a moment before popping it. He poured two glasses.
We sat down on the couch, and he inched closer to me. I reached my arm around him. In the light, I could spot his eyes for green rather than grey. Taking in his smell, and I started thinking about his body all over again. Now with his jacket off, I could see the outline of his chest and stomach through his tight, black t-shirt.
I took pause, again wondering what he was about to tell me outside.
‘So I have to ask, but the woman who you’re staying with is not your girlfriend, right?’
‘Oh no,’ he said, screwing up his face, ‘Luella’s the cello.’
‘The what?’
‘The cello.’
‘She’s a cello player?’
‘Of course. Barcelona Quartet.’
Andi listened to Barcelona Quartet, and sometimes played YouTube videos of their concerts. In fact, they were in town. She had tickets for Monday night.
‘My friend has tickets.’
‘Okay, I will say hi. Or wave or something,’ a look of bemusement spread across his face.
‘What?’ I looked over to the violin. ‘That’s yours? You’re a musician?’
He was laughing, ‘Ah, I thought that you knew who I was and that you liked me. Everyone has called me Alex for a long time, but my full name is Alejandro Martin. That’s the name I perform under.’
It was familiar. I thought I might have heard Andi talking about him.
‘I don’t… I mean, don’t take it personally,’ I said.
‘So I guess you are only here for my good looks and personality then?’ he asked.
‘So, you thought I would sleep with you because you’re a musician?’
He shrugged, ‘Maybe.’
‘Does that happen a lot?’
‘Never,’ he said, ‘but I hold out hope.’
I didn’t believe him.
‘I think it’s okay,’ he said leaning back. ‘Recognition means your career is healthy, but I’d prefer a beautiful woman to talk to me off my own merit.’
He held the glass to his lips and took a sip. It was his left hand.
‘Are you left handed, Alex?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he said, looking confused.
‘You use your left hand for everything, but you’re a right-handed violinist?’ I asked, turning to him. I had noticed him trying to unlock the door with his left hand earlier.
He shrugged.
I reached and picked up his right hand. He sighed, as I held it palm upwards towards me.
‘So your right hand is the problem one?’
‘Yes,’ he replied solemnly.
‘Third finger?’
‘Third and sometimes fourth. How did you know?’
‘It usually is in a violinist. Not that I’ve ever treated one. So you have focal dystonia and that’s why you chased me through an airport?’
He nodded.
‘When did it start?’
‘Two months ago. I can still play, most of the time. I saw a specialist in London, he said-’ he paused, ‘He said enough to make me want a second opinion.’
Each time he played, his brain fired a series of instructions for his muscles to follow. Years of repetition had caused the memory of those instructions to become distorted. And now his muscles were misfiring. The brain was a beautiful and complex thing. He was cramping now, but his condition could become far worse.
‘You practice a lot? I guess it comes with the territory.’
He nodded.
‘One of my clients is an artist who woke up one day and couldn’t pick up a pencil.’
‘I can’t even play an A sometimes,’ he said.
‘Do you have a treatment plan?’
‘I don’t use my right hand unless I have to. What happened to your artist?’
‘He’s still working on it.’ I said, but it wasn’t the whole truth.
I let go of his hand. ‘You’re not going to treat it?’ I asked. ‘Seeing a neurologist could help. You might even be able to get on top of it.’
‘I got told that treatment meant not playing. I’m not in a position to stop playing. I can play if-’ he paused, ‘It’s easier to play if I smoke first.’
‘You play stoned?’
‘Only when my fingers stop listening. Then I have a smoke, and they forget they’re ignoring me,’ he was watching my face for a reaction. ‘It feels like war.’
‘Wow, okay.’
‘You don’t like drugs?’
‘I’m more intrigued why and how they have that effect. Is it because it makes you more relaxed in general, or is it affecting you in a more specific way? It could be dopamine, or GABA related. It might be a total placebo effect.’
‘Okay,’ he looked confused, ‘So, it’s okay to smoke?’
‘I mean, it’s not the greatest idea, generally speaking. In your case, I have no idea, but I can look into it. There might be some research. ’
In all honesty, I had only ever had a handful of dystonia clients. But I could find out.
‘So, you’re going to play it out?’ I asked.
How long would he have while he could still play? It could be a day or it could be years. But a break might help him. Six to twelve months of not playing combined with rehabilitation was his best shot. I realised it was new to him as well. It took most clients much longer than two months to come to terms with a diagnosis like that.
‘I’m going down swinging, at least,’ he replied.
‘Going down swinging.’ I smiled, ‘Well, there is courage in that.’
‘Everything worthwhile takes at least a little courage.’ He sighed, ‘Let’s talk about something else. You like classical music?’
I didn’t know any classical music. I was about to sound really unimpressive.
‘I like the episode of West Wing when Yo-Yo Ma plays the cello,’ he looked disappointed at my answer.
‘Please never tell Luella that. She will hurt you. You like pop music then?’
I shrugged. ‘I still listen to the music I like when I was a kid. Old school Madonna, and Michael Jackson and Prince.’
‘Oh, I like Prince. Amazing talent. You look too young to like Prince though.’
‘I have older brothers,’ I answered. ‘So, what do you like to listen to?’
‘I’ll listen to any music, I even like the bad music, the annoying music,’ he smiled. ‘If we are listening to it, there must be something good about it, right?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘I learned to play because I loved music, and I wanted to be a part of it. But I started late.’
‘You seem to have done pretty well,’ I said.
He shrugged it off. ‘Tell me some more about you, Emily Lyric. Tell me all the songs you like. Tell me more about your middle name.’
‘Um, my Mum picked it. She was a singer.’
‘What did she sing?’
‘I don’t know. She’d stopped before I was born. She had five kids, you know. So she put all that on hold. Then she never got a chance to get back to it.’
‘Oh.’
He didn’t ask the question that I knew he was thinking.
‘She died. It’s okay, it was a while ago.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘It’s okay. It’s a weird thing to come up in conversation.’
‘Not really,’ he said, smiling. ‘Why don’t you choose some music?’
He passed me his phone. An app was open with a list of songs. I didn’t know any of them.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Pick something random then,’ he shrugged.
Instead, I leaned across and gave kissed him on the lips, full and sweet. He reached out to draw me closer, taking my hips in his hands and pulling me on his lap. I dropped his phone, hearing it fall on the floor. I kissed him again and ran my hands through his hair. Underneath me, I could feel him getting hard already, his erection pushing into me. I undid the top button of his pants.
‘You want to do this?’ he asked. I nodded.
He wrapped his arms around me, ‘Good,’
The sound of a key turning in the lock startled us both.
‘Hola?’ Alex called.
‘It’s us,’ called a male voice, ‘John stuffed up the hotel.’
‘Did not,’ argued another.
I moved quick enough so I was sitting beside Alex instead of on top of him, and in the same instant, he managed to do up his pants.
Through the hallway walked two men and a woman. The three of them stopped, taken aback by my presence.
‘Emily, this is the guys. John and Gio and Luella,’ he said pointing them out as he spoke.
Luella was tall redhead who looked about my age. John was older, he had soft features and a hairline that threatened to recede. Gio looked the youngest.
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Well, hello,’ said Luella in an English accent. ‘We were going to go get some food now we’ve dropped our bags here. You two want to come?’
I wasn’t sure exactly what to say. I looked to Alex.
‘Let’s get some food?’ he asked.
‘I should go,’ I said.
My first attempt at a one night stand had been gatecrashed.
‘Wait,’ said John, ‘You’re airport girl!’
‘The whole arrest thing today?’ asked Luella.
‘Yes, it’s you for sure,’ said Gio.
‘This is getting weirder by the hour,’ said Luella.
‘I didn’t get arrested!’ protested Alex.
‘You really need to stay,’ said Luella to me, ‘We need to know what in fuck is going on here. This is awesome.’
‘I’m sorry about this,’ muttered Alex.
‘Plus, Alex never brings girls home,’ added Gio, ‘which makes you even more interesting.’
‘Never?’ I enquired, looking at Alex.
‘None that we get to meet. You’re a rare specimen and you’re coming to get dumplings with us. And to drink,’ insisted Luella.
**
Alex and I were outside again in the cold, Sydney air. But this time we were chaperoned by his three bandmates.
‘The bar I found last time I was here serves amazing dumplings until 3 am. You like dumplings, right?’
‘Sure,’ I said. It didn’t seem like there was room for any other answer.
‘Most of Lu’s questions are actually rhetorical,’ said Alex.
We headed back out into the Sydney cold. I wrapped my jacket around myself tighter.
‘Oh gosh, are you cold?’ asked Luella, slowing her steps so she walked beside me.
‘It’s June, everyone’s freezing,’ I smiled at her.
‘Barely. I’m from London, this is temperate,’ she smiled back. ‘So what’s with this airport thing?’
The three guys were a few steps behind us now.
‘Actually, I’m not sure. I’m a physio and I think he wanted an appointment.’
‘An appointment?’ she sounded perplexed. Then I remembered that none of them knew about Alex’s hand.
‘Bad back,’ I answered all too quickly.
She nodded, accepting my answer. ‘He’s an odd one at times. And it’s been an odd year for him.’
‘An odd year?’
‘Well, a hard year. After the divorce and all.’
‘Divorce?’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We don’t really know each other well.’
Or at all, I thought.
‘I thought you were some secret he’d been keeping. I don’t know. Maybe some long-winded internet love affair. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s very-’
‘Where is this place, Lu?’ called John from behind us.
‘Around the next corner, ‘it’s not far,’ she said. Our conversation had been cut off.
Alex came to walk beside me, slipping his arm through mine. ‘Crazy night, right?’
‘A little.’
It was the kind of bar you never felt cool enough to go into. Comic books pages plastered the walls. The two men behind the bar had over groomed beards. I didn’t know if they were meant to be ironic or not.
‘I liked our bar better,’ Alex said so only I could hear. He reached for my hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were going to get interrupted.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said.
We sat down on the stools, against the wall.
‘We’ll get drinks,’ said John, tapping Alex on the shoulder.
‘Hey, Emily,’ Luella started in a low voice, ‘I think I said too much before. I do that foot in mouth thing a lot. He’s actually a pretty good guy.’
‘Oh, I know,’ I said. ‘Well, I don’t know actually. But it’s okay. People get divorced, right? It happens.’
She nodded, her expression serious.
‘He won’t date anyone. Not seriously. He just plays all the time.’
‘That’s probably a big part of the problem then,’ I said, thinking about the dystonia.
‘What?’ asked Luella.
‘Oh, nothing.’
John came and sat down with us. We all sat in silence for a few moments. Then I asked the question that had been in the back of my mind the whole time.
‘Were you two-’ I started.
‘Oh no,’ she didn’t let me finish.
‘Lu prefers the company of women,’ John informed me.
‘Jesus, you talk like it’s 1870, John. You can say lesbian,’ Luella exclaimed.
‘Sorry,’ retorted John, ‘I don’t know, I can’t keep up.’
‘Whatever,’ she said back to him. ‘In answer to your question, Emily, No.’
Gio and Alex came back to the table, drinks in hand.
‘God, no food?’ questioned Luella.
‘Calm down, they’re going to bring it over,’ said Alex. As he spoke the words, one of the bearded men brought a plate of dumplings to the table.
‘There so perfect,’ said Luella. She was right, they looked impressive. She popped one into her mouth. ‘There’s more food coming, right?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Alex.
More plates of food were brought to the table. The three of them were a talkative bunch. Gio and Lu dominated the conversation, while John was quieter.
This was turning into a strange night. I didn’t think I was the only one who thought so.
‘Hey, I should probably go,’ I said to Alex. I stood up to leave.
The others turned around surprised.
‘I’ll walk you,’ said Alex, standing up as well.
‘See you guys later,’ I waved.
I wrapped my coat back around myself and headed outside. Alex was behind me.
‘Hey,’ he said, grabbing my arm. We both stood on the sidewalk. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’ I said.
‘Well, for those three walking in on us before. Seriously, I didn’t expect it. You should stay though.’
‘You don’t have anything to be sorry for.’
‘Let me walk you home,’ he said.
‘I’ll get a car,’ I said.
‘Well I’ll wait until you do,’ he smiled.
I opened my phone. ‘The Uber app is down. This has been happening all week. I think it’s my phone. Looks like I’m walking.’
‘So I’ll walk you after all.’
‘It’s a long walk,’ I said.
He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets then starting to walk.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Surry Hills.’
‘I don’t know where that is, but I guess I don’t now where anything is,’ he laughed.
‘It’s a twenty-minute walk.’
He nodded. ‘I really didn’t say the wrong thing?’ he asked again.
‘Nope. Not at all.’
‘I’m not very good at this stuff,’ he said.
‘Which stuff?’ I asked.
‘Other people,’ he said. ‘Relationships with other people.’
‘Well, you were pretty smooth earlier.’
‘Not that stuff,’ he laughed.
‘What then?’
‘All the other stuff. I’m a bad boyfriend.’
‘Oh,’ I wasn’t sure what else to say.
What did he mean by bad boyfriend? Was he a cheater? Something else? Or did he just have poor interpersonal skills? A lot of people did. That didn’t make you a bad boyfriend.
‘So, I have this idea. Sex is simple, love is complicated. When you love someone there are suddenly a whole heap of variables. Two people’s emotions to contend with. It’s difficult to get it right. So I’m sticking to the simple stuff.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said after a few moments silence. ‘I don’t need another boyfriend.’
‘You have a boyfriend?’ he turned to face me as he spoke.
‘No, we broke up a few months ago.’
’Oh,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘So, why don’t you want another one then?’
‘I’m going overseas soon. Plus, I spent too long with the last one. We were both unhappy. In hindsight, I should of spoken up more.’
‘Ah. Hindsight. Yeah I could have done a better job on a lot of things.’
‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure what to say. Part of me wanted to know more. But I also knew when to not push a person.
‘Yes. But it’s all done with now. So where are you going overseas?’
I was grateful for him to change the subject.
‘Well, I bought a ticket to London. I guess I’ll stay around there for a while and see as much of Europe as I can. I did my teaching certificate, so I can work if I need too.’
‘Ah. I went to school in London.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Six years of boarding school. That’s how I met Lu.’
‘So you went to boarding school in a foreign country?’
‘Yeah. It was okay though. I did it for the opportunity. Music opportunity.’
‘So, what? You were thirteen and decided to leave your own country for music?’
‘Twelve. And yes. Really, that is quite old to start. Most professionals start lessons at four or five. It’s incredible. But I was older.’
‘That’s how you learned English,’ I said.
‘It wasn’t such a big deal. I already knew a bit of English from my father.’
We kept talking, about music for a while and then more about travel. We crashed into awkward subjects but the conversation flowed easy.
‘You’re very good to talk to,’ I said.
He shrugged.
‘You don’t like hearing good things about yourself,’ I said.
‘I call it as I see it.’
We got to my building.
‘This is me,’ I said.
We stopped walking out the front. It was an awkward pause. But I wasn’t ready to part company so soon.
‘You want to come up?’ I asked.
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
‘Come on then,’ I grabbed his hand and squeezed it, pulling him behind me into the foyer.
The elevator doors opened, we got in. Before they could close, he started kissing me. At first, his lips felt soft against mine. He wrapped his arms around me, one hand around my waist and the other in my hair, pushing us closer together.
There was a soft clunk as the doors closed. He pushed his body hard against mine while still kissing me. The excitement I’d felt in my stomach a few moments earlier moved lower, expanding inside me. I was aching for him already.
I could feel his cock hard against me, raised against his pants. As soon as I felt it I wanted to reach down and touch it. Badly, I wanted to know what it would feel like in my hand.
He curled one of his hands in my hair, the other he slid under my dress, running from my thigh to my hip. I could already feel I was hot and wet.
‘Sölo... déjame tocarte.’ He whispered, falling into his native language. I looked up at him and he registered I didn’t understand. ‘Let me touch you,’ he repeated in English.
‘Okay,’ I said back, pushing his hand downwards.
‘Yes,’ he whispered, his mouth beside my ear. His hand slid down, gently rubbing my pussy through my underwear. ‘Yes?’ has asked.
I nodded. He traced soft circles over my clitoris. He moved his hand inside my underwear, then running his fingers to my entrance.
‘You’re so wet,’ he said and kissed me. ‘I want all of you. Right now.’
His touch felt amazing but I wanted more. I wanted his cock inside me.
He pushed a finger inside of me, then two. Without realising it, I let out the smallest moan, he ground his cock against me harder in response.
‘You like it?’ he asked. I nodded again.
‘I want to make you come,’ he said.
I pushed my hand between us to feel the bulge of his cock. I undid his top button, but he moved to stop me. What I wanted more than him to touch me was to feel his cock in my hands and mouth. I wanted to be fucked by him more than I’d wanted to be fucked in all my life.
He moved his body away from mine. He gave a small but satisfied smile. Taking his hand away from my pussy he put two fingers inside his own mouth.
‘You taste so good. I can taste how much you want it.’
I finally unzipped his pants and reached inside for his cock. He let out a gasp as I touched him. I ran my hand up and down its length, smooth and thick.
‘You like it, yes?’ he asked. I nodded.
‘Tell me then. Say it out loud’
‘I like it. I like your cock,’ I said, barely more than a whisper.
‘And you want it?’
‘I want it,’ I said, still whispering. Sex had always been a quiet affair, and it felt strange to say the words out loud. But it also felt reckless. In the best possible way.
I kept my hand wrapped around his cock, wishing he’d put it inside of me.
‘Come upstairs,’ I said.
He smiled, ‘Okay, but first you come for me. I want to show you how good I can make you feel. And I want to watch your face while I do it.’
He knelt down on the floor and took off my underwear. Placing his hands on my hips, he leaned in and licked the length of my slit. It sent a rush that made me feel dizzy. Before I could react he stood back up again. He lifted my left leg up and wrapped it around his hip, tilting my hips upwards. I waited for his cock, but instead, he pushed his fingers inside me again, but this time deeper.
‘You have no idea how much I want you. I want to make you come so badly,’ he said.
He started moving his fingers faster, in and out. Quickly, I lost myself to his rhythm. I could feel his body pressed against mine, his hands, his smell all coming together in a heady mix. I could feel my climax building fast inside me.
‘Come for me,’ he said again.
As if at his command, I came in that moment. It was a powerful orgasm that started deep in my abdomen and stretched through my entire body. I closed my eyes and felt the world shatter all around me.
‘Oh, God,’ I said, leaning back against the cold metal wall of the elevator, catching my breath. My skin buzzed like I was covered in static electricity. I reached for Alex but he had let me go.
Alex stepped back from me, putting his own underwear on.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, surprised.
‘We never pressed the button. The lift is on the ground floor.’
‘Oh, let’s go up then,’ I pressed the button for the third floor.
‘I’ve always thought a good lover should never unbutton his pants until he’s made a woman come at least once,’ said Alex.
‘What?’ I laughed.
The lift started moving upwards as I pulled my dress back over my hips.
‘That was just rushed. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. It’s more than fine.’
‘You want these?’ he said passing me back my underwear as the doors opened.
‘Probably. Yes.’ I replied, taking them and stuffing them into my bag. We walked down the hallway to my front door.
‘I don’t know any Spanish, none at all,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what you were saying when you…’ I trailed off.
‘I’m sorry,’ He laughed, ‘I just forgot myself. It’s okay, I didn’t say anything awful to you…before.’
‘What did you say then?’
‘Oh, I don’t even remember. Probably that you are hot,’ he smiled, wrapping an arm around me. ‘I’ll try to speak in English.’
I paused at my front door, with my keys in hand.
‘It’s okay,’ I said.
The front door to the apartment opened straight into the lounge room. The lights were all off, but enough moonlight fell through the windows to let me see.
‘Come on,’ I whispered, leading Alex by the hand to my bedroom.
‘You want me to flick the lights on?’ he asked.
‘My flatmate’s asleep. She’s not well.’
‘You live with someone?’
‘Yes. Don’t you?’ I opened my bedroom door and turned on the light. The room was plain, as I didn’t really think I’d spend long enough here to decorate it. In its middle was my old wrought iron bed and the timber side tables I’d painted white last summer. Beyond that, the room was sparse. The curtains were already closed.
‘I live out of a suitcase that has broken wheels.’
I laughed. ‘You want a drink?’
‘I’m okay,’ he said.
I sat down on my bed. He sat down next to me.
I reached out to put my arms around him. He didn’t move.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. It felt like he had physically pulled away from me.
‘I think I have to go,’ he said.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Your friend is sleeping a room away.’
He stood up. I walked behind him to the door.
‘’I’m sorry. I didn’t plan any of this,’ I said.
‘I know,’ he replied.
He let himself out the front door and walked down the corridor. I might not be well versed in one night stands, but I didn’t think this was the way they were supposed to go.
‘Goodnight, Emily.’ He kissed me on the cheek and stepped into the elevator.
I went to speak, but the doors closed between us before I could get the words out.
What the hell? I was right earlier. The cute guys are crazy.
My body felt tired, but my mind decided it was staying on alert, and all it wanted to talk about was Alex. Alex’s smile, Alex’s body, Alex holding me up against a wall. Alex that had stood up and let himself out without rhyme or reason. What was that all about? Was it a cultural thing? Should I have not have let a man into my room? Should I not live with another woman? Or was it nothing to do with me at all?
I got into bed, in a state that was somewhere between lust and anger. Fuck him. That was a shit thing to do.
No, I was not going to get a whole lot of rest tonight.
I thought about the look of his chest in the tight black t-shirt he’d been wearing. I thought about his hands, and the way they’d felt on me. And then I imagined his hands as my own, running over my body.
Fuck. This was going to make me insane.
Friday
Alex
First of all, I am not a stalker. I saw a woman in an airport and asked her for an appointment. I happened to see the same woman in a bar just a few hours later. So of course, I went and sat next to her. It probably sounds a lot like coincidence, but truth be known, I thought it was more. It felt much more like fate.
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the bar was the view, and I’m talking about the one of the harbor. Along the window, I spotted one empty seat. Not noticing me at all, she looked out across the night. Her dark silky hair fell at her shoulders. It had the slightest curl to it. I wanted to touch it, run my hands through it. She wore a black dress, just tight enough to let me see her curves. What I wanted was to take her home and spend the night with her. But it didn’t work out. Not entirely.
I’ve been alone for a while now. Not because I don’t want to be with someone, God knows. Taking a woman out, buying her dinner, taking care of her, these all appeal to me. Sex appeals to me. Sex is easy. The rest of it I am terrible at. So, I have a rule. I stick to what I’m good at.
There are some caveats. I am always honest with a woman about my intentions. I never lead anyone on. And, generally speaking, I don’t have sex in elevators. So, as I walked Emily to her door I started to feel a little bad. What did she think this was? A date or a one-night stand?
What I should have done is talked to her. But instead, I went home, leaving her standing at her front door with a confused look on her face.
I walked home, trying not to get lost in the unfamiliar city. On the walk there I was more focused on Emily than what street we were on. I found my way back to the apartment. No one else was home, so I went to bed.
Closing my eyes, all I could see was Emily. The image of her perched on my lap, her thighs on top of mine. Her looking down on me, her hands in my hair, telling me she wanted me. And then I thought about her warm, wet pussy, slick with lust. I’d been the one that had left her, but it still felt unfair that I hadn’t gotten to have sex with her.
I was not able to sleep. So instead I just thought about her.