Chapter 17

 

As much as I didn’t want to, I left Keir that Saturday morning before he awoke even though my body longed for a few more hours of sleep next to him. But he’d made his position more than clear, and I understood. Even though his words stung, they were also a good reminder. Something I needed to hear.

Since then, there have been other Fridays. Some which have led to lazy hotel Saturday mornings, and others which have ended with one of us creeping out before the morning fully comes to life.

Like this morning.

We ate a rare dinner together last night—we usually feed our more pressing hunger before satiating the other much later from the room service menu. But not yesterday. We ate together. Broke bread, drank wine. Talked about everything and nothing before this time. Then later, I watched him sleep. Watched as the dawn peeped through a chink in the heavy drapes, gilding his golden-brown head. Then I dressed in the semi-darkness and crept like a thief from the room.

Fridays have become my favourite, though they do leave me feeling like I’ve experienced a punishing yoga class come Saturday morning. Just like now. In Chas’s kitchen, I stretch my legs out along the window seat, relishing the aches, each one tied to a sensation or memory from yesterday.

His dark gaze as I’d peeled him from his jeans.

His carnal groan as I’d taken his cock between my lips.

The way he looked as I’d cried when I came the second time.

In some ways, it seems we were made for the other. Yet I know we can never be more than we are on Fridays, and I’m okay with that. Mostly. Sometimes life is just too hard to force in the direction you most want it to go. It is what it is, and I remind myself of this daily.

My dad used to say that people came into your life for either a reason, a season, or a lifetime.

Robin was a learning curve. And in my time with him, I learned. Boy, did I. I moved from one side of the world to the other. Moved from what was familiar to what was almost alien. In the process, I came out of my shell a whole lot. Made what I thought were friends. And I flourished for a while. Later, I learned how resilient I truly am. Learned how my heart had the capacity to heal itself.

Chastity is in my life for the long haul whether she knows it or not! That girl picked me up, gave me a place to heal, and then a place to live. And later, a reason to get out of bed. I hope I’ll never need to return the favour because I don’t want her ever to go through what I did. Also, I can’t imagine I’d have much to offer her if the tables were turned. Support? Sure. A safe place to fall? Definitely. A swanky pad in Chelsea? Not unless I win lotto. A job? I suppose she could hold my makeup brushes . . .

But seriously, I’ll always be there for her in whatever capacity she needs.

And that leaves Keir. He’s my season. One I’d like to think I’ll look back on in fifty years when I’m sitting on my front porch and rocking in my chair. My children will have grown, my grandchildren with them. My husband will no doubt be dead because come on, after birthing and raising our brood of four, I’ll deserve to be the last woman standing. Maybe I’ll be a little like Blanche from the Golden Girls—a little man hungry. Or maybe I’ll be more like sweet like Rose. But whatever kind of senior citizen I turn out to be, I’ll always have my dirty memories.

‘You’ve pulled all the strawberries out again?’

‘Hmm?’ I turn from the window and the greying clouds that I wasn’t really seeing. ‘I did what?’ I hug my cereal bowl closer to my chest, dropping my feet to the ground as I stretch, then notice the little red lumps rolling from my thigh onto the floor. ‘Damn. Who puts strawberries in granola, anyway? Strawberries are bad enough, but dried?’ The spoon chinks against the china as I push the offensive crumbs into a pile with my foot.

‘You’re an odd thing,’ Chas says, sitting next to me. ‘If you don’t like fruit, buy granola with nuts or something.’

‘I was trying to be virtuous.’

‘That dreamy look on your face tells me you spent last night being anything but.’

My cheeks heat immediately. ‘Yesterday was Friday.’

‘Just call you Captain Obvious, yeah?’ Her mouth twists into a worried little pout. ‘Are you sure he doesn’t have a wife?’

An arched brow is my only response because, really? Just because my boyfriend cheated on me doesn’t mean I’m a complete idiot. I mean, not that I can know for certain, but—fuck it! Now I’m worrying even though I know—just know—that’s not who Keir is. As I glance from the clouds to Chas, she suddenly looks a little contrite.

‘Fridays are his day,’ I answer with a short shrug. ‘It keeps things on track. Transparent. It works for me.’ Even though I sometimes long to see him more. Sometimes to the point where I ache for him. Even though we text almost constantly. Check in each morning and last thing at night.

‘What happens if you meet someone else? Someone you want to date, not just fuck?’

‘Then I’ll date.’

‘And so you should. You’ve been seeing Keir for months with no sign of moving on.’

‘Six weeks. And I’m hardly throwing my life away.’

‘Good, because I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet. Someone you’d like to meet.’

‘I think we already agreed no adult entertainers.’ Not that I have anything against those who work in the sex industry. But there is jealousy. I’m prone to it, so I don’t think I could have a meaningful relationship with someone who screws for a living. Nor with any man who goes gay for pay. ‘Chas, you really should be saving your efforts for your own love life. How can you nag me when you don’t have a boyfriend yourself?’

‘I don’t think I could look after a boyfriend,’ she replies. ‘I’m too busy creating a business. Plus, I don’t think I’m ready for the responsibility. I mean, how often do you need to walk a boyfriend? Feed him? That kind of stuff?’

‘Har-har.’

‘On the other hand, this guy I met—Troy? He’s perfect for you.’

‘Troy? His parents named him after a movie?’

‘Actually, the name Troy predates Brad Pit. Troy is more ancient. Think of the Iliad.’

‘I was teasing you.’ Mostly. Wasn’t there a much older film, too? ‘Tell me, does he at least look like Brad Pitt?’

‘Better.’ Her answer is a little too excited. ‘Brad’s heading for his pension while Troy is only thirty, tall, dark, and pretty buff. Plus, he’s got this whole Clark Kent thing going on.’

My heart sinks. I thought she wasn’t truly serious—that maybe she’d been window shopping at best. But as she begins to animatedly recount a meeting at her bank, I realise how serious she is about this. She’s never met Keir—why would she? Our boundaries dictate that we don’t get involved in each other’s lives. But maybe if she had met him, she’d know why I’m still hanging onto Friday evenings. Because Keir is fun and decent and good. Plus, the filthiest individual I’ve ever met. Seriously. He should be the one running a porn company.

‘You’re not even listening, are you?’

‘No—I am.’ I duck my head to granola and yoghurt mess. ‘I totally am.’ When she doesn’t speak, I look up. ‘What?’

‘You might be fooling him. You might even be fooling yourself. But sweets, you’re not fooling me. This . . . this whole thing is unhealthy.’ She stands, her hands slapping her thighs as she shrugs in a motion of futility. ‘I worry about you. You’re going to get hurt, I just know it. And if he’s as decent as you say he is, you aren’t going to be the only one. So soon after Robin, too.’

‘This isn’t the same,’ I say, unable to hold her gaze. ‘Robin and I had a past spanning years. Keir and I . . . well, I suppose what we have at best is a temporary contract.’ Without a guarantee.

Chas’s brow creases, her eyes moving to the gloomy morning beyond the kitchen window. A morning that started so promising.

‘Speaking of Robin. Have you heard from him at all?’

‘Nothing.’ And no news is good news, as far as I’m concerned.

‘Doesn’t that strike you as strange? He chased you for weeks after you left. Flowers, gifts, phone calls. The man was obsessed.’

‘I guess having his nose broken was enough to make him stay away. Or maybe the fact that I spent the night with another man was enough to turn him completely off.’

‘It’s still strange. It’s like there’s been no closure, don’t you think?’

‘I got closure enough when I saw him poke his needle dick in some other chick.’

‘I wasn’t meaning for you—that’s a given. I just think it’s strange how he stopped bothering you all of a sudden.’

On occasion, I get the odd feeling that I’m being watched, but I keep that to myself because voicing those feelings makes me sound like a nut. Besides, I’ve seen evidence of his moving on. Pictures of him coming out of the places we used to frequent. A different girl on his arm as he attends music events.

‘Don’t you have a shoot to get ready for? I’m not supposed to be on set today. I’d intended to treat myself to a coffee and maybe mooch around some of the expensive Chelsea boutiques.

‘I’m really not looking forward to today.’

‘Do you want me to tag along? I don’t mind.’

‘You wouldn’t?’ she asks a little cautiously. ‘Only, I’ve booked a couple of rooms at the Bawdy House Hotel. We’re doing this whole bordello scene, and Jackson is only in the UK for a few more days.’

‘Sure.’ I don’t have concrete plans. ‘What time are we going?’

‘Could you meet me there? Say, around three? There are enough bodies for a hotel room as it is, but it would be really great if you could be there at the end.’

‘I can do that,’ I answer, glad that I can help her in some way. ‘I’ve heard their rooms are something else.’

‘More four poster beds than you can tie an orgy to.’

‘Then why aren’t you more excited? At least the staging won’t be a lot of work.’ As well as her PA and pimple hider, chief toy washer, and lube holder, I’m also sometimes called to help move furniture, wipe clean mirrors, and throw scatter cushions around. All in the name of setting the sexy stage.

‘I know. But there’s been an uptick in the search engine requests for anal. So that’s on the cards for today.’

‘At least it’s not your butthole that’s being pounded.’

‘Really?’ Chastity says, screwing up her cherub-like face. ‘I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.’

‘And if you were today’s lucky starlet, you definitely wouldn’t be eating breakfast.’

‘I know. Just inhaling more laxatives than a retirement village.’