My Book

by Alam, Donna

  ‘Stop laughing,’ I protest even as I join in, grateful for the opportunity to move on from the topic of my parents and my questionable adulting skills. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to go with a double-barrelled surname.’

  ‘Harry Henry-Harrison,’ he enunciates in that sharp accent of his. ‘It was in the file,’ he adds as I open my mouth to ask him how he knows my surname. ‘We should be shot for naming our child anything resembling that, particularly as Harry is short for Henry. Henry Henry-Harrison.

  ‘How does that work? They both have exactly the same number of letters.’

  ‘I don’t make the rules.’

  ‘Anyway, Harry is short for Haribo,’ I say primly as I reach for my glass, watching the flicker of confusion cross his expression. ‘It’s what he, or she, looked like on the scan.’

  ‘I like it.’ I exhale a little breath as he shoots me a small, conspiratorial smile. ‘So, accommodations,’ he says, bringing the conversation back around again.

  ‘Sorted. Or it will be soon. Actually,’ I add as a tiny jangle of excitement spikes in my veins, ‘I’m going to look at a flat on Saturday.’ Like a real grown-up who’s saved just enough money to pay the first month’s rent and another as a deposit. Though I suppose real grown-ups don’t have to congratulate themselves on feeling like a grown-up.

  Jesus, me and this kid are going to grow up together.

  ‘Would you like me to come along? To the viewing, I mean. I know one or two things about the London property market.’

  ‘I’m renting, not buying. But if you’d like to come, that would be nice.’ And it would save me from having to bribe Heather to get out of bed on a Saturday morning when she ordinarily doesn’t see daylight until gone noon. I was thinking of offering to take her out for breakfast as thanks for tagging along because I didn’t much like the idea of wandering around empty properties on my own—that’s just asking to be locked in the basement and sold into slavery—but given my current propensity for expelling food at speed, it might not have been the best of ideas.

  ‘Great. I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘There’s no need to go out of your way. I can meet you there. I’ll send you the address.’

  ‘Let me pick you up,’ he insists. ‘I do love a captive audience.’

  And erotic glimpses of wrists, as I recall.

  Dinner arrives soon after, and the conversation flows easily, though we’re both careful to avoid the more difficult topics as I make a joke about Dr Travers and how wrong it will seem to have someone so handsome between my splayed legs, which sets us on a course of easy banter and feigned hurt feelings. James orders another beer and then dessert, and when it arrives, he insists I eat half his manly serving of tiramisu. When in a fake Roman cantina, nothing but tiramisu will do.

  My mother would be abhorred by our decidedly lowbrow menu choices, but I do like the fact that James seems perfectly at home here. He’s pretty low maintenance for someone so wealthy.

  We linger over coffee, and I’m more impressed than I ought to be when I realise he somehow knows I prefer a latte. He, I note, orders a macchiato, which is served in an espresso cup, unlike the Starbucks offering of the same name.

  When it becomes clear that we’re both stalling, the bill is ordered, and we proceed to argue over it. I know it’s ridiculous, but just because he’s wealthier than I am doesn’t mean he should pay. Especially when I’m so conscious of those pesky blurred lines. But then James says something cute about being responsible for my heightened appetites, and I find myself burying my red face in my napkin to hide. By the time I surface again, he’s already handed over his credit card.

  ‘Thank you for dinner. I’m really glad I came.’ Something flickers in the depths of his gaze, but I brush it away before I’m tempted to examine it.

  Who am I kidding? The man is temptation personified. He’s basically my catnip.

  ‘I wish you many happy comings,’ he murmurs as we both stand, his delivery as smooth as silk.

  ‘And . . . I’m not touching that.’

  My eyes dip to his hands as he refastens the button on his jacket, every inch the proper gentleman. One movement leads my brain to another, the thoughts linked like charms on a chain. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, and James stands in front, almost towering over me. His fingers work to loosen the buckle of his belt, my own hands covering his as though to speed up the process.

  ‘Of course, you’re not. Touching is my job.’

  My fingers frantically outlining the proud length of him over the fabric of his pants.

  ‘Stop it.’ I sound like an automaton, my thoughts lagging behind in the memories. ‘I’m leaving now.’

  ‘I don’t know whether you know,’ James purrs as he comes up behind me, his mouth almost at my ear, ‘we’re going in the same direction. There’s no escape.’

  ‘That sounds like a threat.’ Or a promise. I half turn, my voice a little silky with the admonishment as a shiver of exhilaration caresses my skin. It’s just how close he is, and his teasing. It doesn’t have to mean anything. ‘We’re only going as far as the cars, then we’re going our separate ways.’

  ‘I’m sure etiquette dictates I see you to your door.’

  ‘I’m not going home, remember? I’m off to look after a flatulent poodle. Oh, sorry!’ We reach the door to the restaurant, James still behind me as it swings open. Why I’m saying sorry when the fault isn’t mine, I don’t know. But I do soon know why my heart has suddenly dropped to my boots.

  ‘Cameron.’

  25

  James

  My hands curl around her shoulder immediately, her body turning as the door glances past her. Protection—avoidance of injury—is my immediate instinct, my second to make sure she’s okay. My third is the overwhelming urge to pull the head off the wanker who almost opened the door on her face. But innate behaviours adapt to certain stimuli. Like the body of the woman under your hands suddenly turning as stiff as a corpse. A split second later and I’m staring over her head into a face I immediately dislike. She doesn’t even have to say his name for me to know who this bastard is, but she says it anyway as waves of hostility emanate from him.

  ‘Cameron.’

  There’s no tenderness in her deliver. No hurt or hate nor upset. No warmth or pleasure. She doesn’t even betray a modicum of shock. In fact, there’s very little to discern in her tone at all. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps the opposite of love is indifference. At least, for her.

  He doesn’t speak, but he processes the situation, much as do I. Like two dogs circling, sizing the other up before one lunges for a bite. Metaphorically speaking; I only bite the people I like.

  The man is around Miranda’s age, maybe a little older, fairly tall and broad, though heavyset might be a more apt description. The kind of thick that has the propensity to turn to fat with age. He’s fair, not bad looking, relatively speaking, though his complexion is slightly florid for someone so young. In fact, he has the kind of colouring you’d expect to find on a pensioner with gout. On a second examination, it could be that he’s embarrassed as his gaze slides from Miranda’s face to mine, his expression shuttering.

  That’s right, fucker. You take a good look at me. Remember this face because this is the face that gets up close and personal with the woman you threw away. These hands touch her liberally. This mouth tastes and devours. This heart holds her, no matter how much she tries to fight the inevitable.

  In an unconscious moment, my hand tightens on her shoulder, her body moving closer with the kind of synchronicity that speaks of familiarity. Of intimacy. He doesn’t miss the understanding between us; this is a man who is familiar with the tide of her movements. The ways of her body.

  The realisation hurts, doesn’t it? The grass is always greener on the other side. The pussy is always tighter, and the blow jobs always more. Until you realise what you’ve lost. This is a realisation that has already settled on him before now.

  Youth is wasted on the young. And the stupid
.

  ‘We should get going,’ I murmur huskily, grazing her jaw with my lips, gratified by the dozen small ways she responds to me. Her tiny hitch in her breath, her body unconsciously moving with mine. The way she leans into my touch as though she’s already forgotten he’s standing in front of her. I’m aware I’m acting like a cock, but the feathery kind. I’m just protecting my little flock. Grooming. Preening. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ An affirmation delivered on a longing sigh. My head turns to him, the motion like a gun raised in an old cowboy film.

  ‘You’re in the way.’ Physically, not longer literally. Of that, I’m sure.

  His eyes flick back and forth between us. He knows we can’t get by, not unless he moves. I’ve no intention of barging past, shoulder to shoulder. What we have here is an impasse. A pissing competition. Perhaps I’d get out my cock if I were twenty years younger.

  ‘Excuse me.’ My tone is arctic, my stance bold.

  Miranda’s gaze is one of panic for a split second. Because that’s all the time it takes for me to press my lips to her cheek again.

  ‘You’re in the way.’ The second time, I’m less polite. I’m also aware of the hush that’s fallen on the tables behind us, just as I’m aware of the change in his expression as his gaze hardens.

  ‘You’ve got my ring.’

  ‘And you’ve got my best friend,’ Miranda retorts immediately. ‘But what do you know? They’re both bloody worthless. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘No? I bet your mother doesn’t, either. It was her mother’s ring,’ she says almost as an aside in my direction. ‘I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know that you’ve pilfered the diamond.’

  ‘You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,’ he snarls. ‘But it sounds to me like you’ve swapped a diamond worth twenty grand for something worthless. I’m sure the police would just love to hear about this.’

  Miranda inhales sharply. And that’s my cue.

  ‘Out.’ Pushing him out of the doorway with my hands on his shoulders wouldn’t be my first choice. It’s a little too school yard for me, but what the hell, I need the space.

  ‘Get your fucking hands off me,’ he yells as he stumbles out into the evening light. ‘Or you’ll find yourself in the nick, too.’

  ‘Don’t make idle threats. Just get the fuck out of my way, and while we’re having this conversation,’ I say, going toe to toe with him, ‘don’t you ever speak to her in that tone.’

  The little prick ignores me, calling out to Miranda over my shoulder. ‘So this is who you replace me with?’

  ‘It’s called an upgrade,’ I growl, getting right in his face.

  ‘I never knew you had daddy issues, babe.’

  My laugh is all bark. I’ll save the biting for Miranda.

  ‘The only issues she has is making sure she gets enough of me.’

  Bless his cotton socks and his skinny jeans; he didn’t like that.

  ‘You’re just, like, the dude banging my old pussy.’ Chest puffed, his words carry across the street. ‘How does that feel, knowing I was fucking that first?’

  ‘It’s funny you should ask.’ My response is delivered in an even tone as I lean in, my response a growl in his ear. ‘After the first two inches? Her pussy feels brand fucking new.’

  At this stage in my life and regarding this woman, I shouldn’t behave so childishly. Be so coarse. Behave with such laddish mentality. Because this is a woman who deserves better than us both. But hot heads and tempers held tenuously in check lead to such aggrandised behaviours.

  I shouldn’t behave like this, but there’s no escaping the fact that I am—I am a slave to my feelings. And right now, I feel like I should deliver a punch to his gut. So I do, swift and hard.

  The prick makes a noise like a set of bagpipes that’s been stood on as he stumbles. But he doesn’t fall. Shame.

  ‘Don’t look at her.’ As I step forward, he staggers back, the wind knocked out of his sails now, as well as his guts. ‘Don’t speak to her.’ I wrap my hand in his shirt and tighten it. ‘If you see her walking down the street, you cross to the other side. Got it?’ The bluster drops from his stance, and there’s genuine fear in his eyes as I raise my balled fist. I fucking hate bullies.

  ‘James, leave him. He’s not worth it.’

  ‘You hear that?’ I get a little closer. ‘She thinks you’re a waste of oxygen. I’m inclined to agree.’ And with that, I push him away. In five long strides, she’s in my arms, and then we’re on our way.

  * * *

  ‘So you didn’t give him the ring back?’

  She sighs, and I glance across the darkened interior of the car, watching as one shoulder lifts in a shrug before she draws her bottom lip between her teeth.

  ‘That expression? That says you had plans for it.’

  The rush of adrenaline from earlier has long since washed from my system. I’m back to cool, if not a little calculated. Funny how, when I’d opened the passenger door to my car, she’d slid right in without a protest.

  ‘You’ll just think I’m a psycho if I tell you,’ she murmurs, turning her head to the passenger window. The light from a streetlamp catches the flare of her hair, highlighting the curl of her smile she’s trying to hide from me.

  ‘Go on. You can tell me.’

  ‘What is it about the cars in the night that makes the space feel like a confessional?’

  ‘Does it? I can’t say I’ve ever noticed.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s just because I want to confide in you. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’ Fuck me, her delivery is all vice and no virtue.

  ‘Where are the dark country lanes when you need then?’ I mutter, twisting in my seat with the aim of accommodating the sudden swelling of my cock. Miranda’s gaze sees all, knows all, as her tongue unconsciously rolls across her bottom lip.

  ‘Tell me about the ring.’ Distract me from a charge of indecent exposure.

  ‘I’d asked the jeweller I’d taken it to if he’d be able to remove the stone from the mount.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He can. And I’m going to send them both back to him by courier.’

  ‘That seems like a very damp kind of vengeance. A diamond plus a mount still equals a ring, I think.’ And another girl to fool at a later date, perhaps.

  ‘Ah, there’s where you’re wrong,’ she says, turning back from the window. ‘Well, not completely. I told you the jeweller confirmed the moissanite, the fake stone, was recently set in the mount. It probably did have a diamond originally. Quite a sizable one. I thought he must’ve had it taken out because he didn’t want me to have it. That maybe I wasn’t worth it to him.’

  ‘What a complete fucking prick.’ My blood begins to boil again. How could someone profess to love another and not want to give them the world?

  ‘Has anyone ever said you sound really sexy when you curse?’ As I glance at her again, I see the honesty in her words. ‘It totally works for me,’ she utters quickly, as though desperate to speak the words. ‘Swearing, I mean.’

  ‘You want me to curse more?’

  ‘No. I like that you generally don’t. That you use it for effect.’

  ‘What kind of effect?’

  ‘You know what kind,’ she murmurs, her gaze dipping from mine before rising again, bolder now. ‘The bedroom kind. The bossy kind.’

  And there we have it. Confirmation that she’s a little submissive. In the bedroom, at least. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘You know what else is interesting?’ Along with her question comes a challenging tilt to her chin and a daring glint to her gaze. ‘Swearing is supposed to display a lack of imagination. But in your case, it’s a sign of the exact opposite.’

  ‘You have no idea,’ I murmur, slowing the car for the red light ahead. Red for danger. A red rag waved at a bull. ‘But I could show you. Any time you like.’

  She shakes her head a little disparagin
gly. But she started it.

  ‘So the ring.’ I don’t give a fuck about the ring. Unless we’re talking about her ring—I halt the thought before the images rotating through my brain become responsible for me wrapping my car around a nearby lamppost. ‘I thought maybe he wanted it back for Tamara.’

  ‘Your former friend? They sound like two of a kind and fully deserving of each other.’

  ‘Agreed. And she can have the ring if that’s what he’s doing with it. But I hope he’s got some glue and a lot of patience because the moissanite will be in a million pieces when I send it back to him.’ Her expression is a strange mix of wicked and bashful, and as the lights change, it takes some effort to tear my gaze away. ‘Is that too awful, do you think?’

  ‘No, I like it. I think it’s a pretty exquisite plan.’ And second only to me making him eat the sharp shards.

  ‘I thought so, too,’ she adds happily. ‘I was never one hundred percent comfortable with the thought of keeping it for myself because it had been his grandmother’s. Heather said I should’ve sold it back to him when we thought it was worth something.’ She shrugs lightly. ‘You know, if it had real sentimental value to him. But that’s not why he wants it back. I think he sold the stone and now he’s terrified his family will find out. So I’m going to crush it in a vise or something; I haven’t ironed out the details. Then I’m going to send it back to him and never think about him again.’

  ‘As far as revenge goes, I like it. Your conscience will suffer no adverse effects; he gets what’s left of his grandmother’s ring, and you can move on.’

  ‘Exactly. Except I’ve already moved on. You’re sure it doesn’t sound too crazy?’

  ‘It’s the exact opposite of psychotic. And actually a little calculating. I’m impressed. And I can help.’

  ‘Really?’ Her smile widens, reining free. ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll gladly crush it with the help of a forklift truck.’ I’m sure we have one of those in the warehouse. If not, I’m a resourceful man. ‘I’ll gladly deliver it, too. That way, I can describe his reaction to you.’