by Nicky Wells
Casey shook her head. ‘I’d—I’d rather be inside, if that’s possible. But kind of nearly outside.’ She felt herself blush, although she couldn’t fathom why she should be embarrassed.
‘Inside, but kind of nearly outside,’ the maître d’ repeated calmly. ‘I see. No problem. Follow me.’
He picked up a menu and a wine list from his stand and led Casey to a table for two by one of the wide-open French doors giving onto the terrace.
‘How’s this?’
‘Perfect. Thank you.’ Casey thought her face would split in half with her smile of relief.
‘Lovely. Your waiter will be with you shortly.’ The maître d’ set down the menu and whipped away the second table setting in one smooth movement before Casey could say, ‘don’t bother.’
‘Here you are, ma’am. I trust this meets your requirements, and I hope you enjoy your evening with us.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
The maître d’ retreated, and Casey let out a deep breath. The restaurant was stunning. The walls were painted a stark white but textured with wide, blackened beams. Fairy lights were trailing down each beam, softening the heavy appearance and suffusing the restaurant with a magical glow. The tables were laid with crisp, white linen and expensive crockery and cutlery. Along one side of the restaurant, the bar was a riot of colourful spirit bottles balanced on glass shelves reflected in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, making the area seem twice as large as it actually was. The overall effect was one of understated glitz, extremely tastefully done. Casey loved it.
As for people—the place was filled with impossibly beautiful, groomed, and fit-looking men, and that was only the staff! The clientele was arriving in small groups of twos and fours who were quite possibly even more delicious than the staff. Bolstered by the knowledge that they were all off limits to her, Casey allowed herself to people-watch unashamedly. It was like feasting on the most extraordinary buffet without any fear of the consequences.
As the thought of feasting entered her head, Casey had to force herself to let go of the eye candy so that she could peruse the menu long enough to choose some food. After a small moment of deliberation, she settled on the muscles—mussels! Pull yourself together, Casey!—followed by medium-rare fillet steak with potato Dauphinoise and tiny spears of asparagus, and Peter’s special spotted dick to finish. The latter promised to be a white chocolate mousse studded with succulent raspberries and blueberries.
‘Goodness,’ she exclaimed to the waiter—Jim—who took her order. ‘Your menu is certainly stuffed with extraordinary—’
Innuendo!
‘—choices.’
‘It is that.’ Jim smiled like he had read her subtext. ‘Peter, the owner, has a wicked sense of humour. You’ll see when the food arrives.’ He winked.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Casey smiled. She settled back to wait.
For a few minutes, she looked out to sea and allowed herself to absorb the atmosphere. But as the restaurant began to fill more and more, she became a little self-conscious. People-watching turned out to be a bit challenging when you were conspicuous by your very difference, and she kept making accidental eye contact with men whom she had intended to observe discretely. Her face was starting to ache from her permanent sorry-I-didn’t-mean-to-stare smile, and she gave up. She pulled out her tablet and called up a book.
No sooner had she finished a couple of pages than her starter arrived. She suppressed a laugh. Jim hadn’t been kidding when he said the restaurant owner had a wicked sense of humour. Dirty might have been a more appropriate description. The mussels themselves came in the obligatory black pot brimming with marinière sauce—nothing out of the ordinary there. However, the bread that accompanied it was another matter. An artistic baker had moulded a bread stick with an acorn-shaped protrusion at the top and two round dough balls at the bottom. Owing to this substantial base, the highly suggestive arrangement was, in fact, upstanding by its own accord.
Casey gazed it at for several seconds, debating whether it would be rude to take a photo and whether, in fact, she would even dare to tear a piece off. Or at which end she would start if she did.
‘I’d start from the top,’ a male voice broke into her thoughts.
‘Of course you would, you dirty soul. Me, I like to grasp things by the balls,’ a second male voice teased the first.
Casey looked up. A couple of handsome men towered above her and regarded her with amused eyes. There was a subtle flamboyance about them that was intriguing. Little details like the flowery cufflinks and the red patent leather shoes hinted at an extravagant mindset and a certain joie de vivre. Casey had to stop herself from staring.
Before she knew it, a little devil spurred her on. If it was double meanings and dirty puns they were after, she could spar with the best of them.
Very deliberately, she picked up her dough stick and dipped the tip deeply and repetitively into the marinière sauce. When she was satisfied that the bread had absorbed enough of the fragrant white wine creaminess, she lifted it up again, watching with feigned fascination while a few white drops oozed their way back into the bowl. Slowly and provocatively, she put the bread stick between her teeth, bit, and chewed. She let out a little moan of pleasure and swallowed.
‘That’s so good,’ she announced. ‘Giving head to a breadstick is a delicious new experience for me.’
The couple burst out laughing. ‘Oh, she’s good,’ one of them giggled. ‘Priceless.’
‘Darling, you’ve got style,’ the other one agreed. ‘What brings you here on your own, my little flower?’
Casey smiled in what she hoped was an enigmatic fashion. ‘I fancied the food.’
‘She fancied the food,’ handsome man number one repeated. ‘Well, fancy that!’
‘Peter’s food is out of this world, of course,’ handsome man number two declared with a flourish of the hand.
As the two men didn’t give any indication of wishing to remove themselves from Casey’s vicinity, Casey started to tuck into her mussels.
Handsome man number two furrowed his brow. ‘It pains me to see a beautiful woman on her own. What do you think, Rodge?’
‘Oh definitely, James.’ Rodge nodded vigorously.
‘May we sit?’ James enquired. ‘Would you mind?’
Casey shrugged slightly. ‘Yeah, sure. Why not? Some company would be nice.’
‘Great!’ Rodge pulled up another chair while James sat down on the free chair opposite Casey.
‘I’m James.’
‘I’m Rodge. Short for Roger.’
‘Ah.’ Casey grinned. ‘I’m Casey.’
Momentarily she wondered whether Rodge might be the same Roger that had beguiled her former boyfriend Jason all those years ago, but she told herself she was being silly. What were the odds? But nonetheless, her mouth asked the question.
‘You didn’t used to have a boyfriend called Jason, per chance?’
Rodge looked startled. ‘Jason? No, certainly not. I’m strictly a James man,’ he replied after a moment’s hesitation.
Oh good. Meeting Jason’s Roger here after all that time would have been too twisted for words. Casey smiled widely with relief.
Jim reappeared from out of nowhere with two table settings and a bottle of Prosecco. ‘I hope these two rogues aren’t bothering you?’ he asked of Casey in a joking tone of voice while he carefully placed plates and glasses on the table.
‘Not at all,’ Casey assured him. Somehow, she had managed to finish off her mussels among all the hilarity that the arrival of Rodge and James had caused, and Jim whisked her empty dishes away when he left.
‘So.’ Rodge leaned back and sipped at his Prosecco. ‘What brings a lovely girl like yourself to Peter’s Place all on her own?’
‘Gosh.’ Casey chuckled. ‘Don’t hesitate to ask the big questions.’
‘Oh, it’s a big question?’ James trilled. ‘Go on, do tell.’
‘Really? You want to know?’ Casey raised her eyebrows
. Crazy though it seemed, she was in the mood to confide in two random strangers that she would be guaranteed never to see again, ever.
‘We do, we do,’ Rodge and James chorused.
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’ Casey knitted her fingers together while she searched for the right words. ‘Right. Well, if you must know—I was supposed to go out angling for a one-night stand, but I couldn’t face it, so I came here instead to eat and to be safe from men on the prowl.’
James and Rodge stared at her with open mouths. Casey suppressed a giggle. She would have bet a bottle of their fancy Prosecco that they weren’t often rendered speechless, but she had managed it.
‘Wow,’ James cried after a while. ‘That’s a lot to take in.’
‘What do you mean, you were supposed to angle for a one-night stand? Who asked you to do that?’ Rodge wanted to know. ‘And why?’
Casey twisted her napkin around her fingers. ‘That’s a really long story.’
‘We’re all ears,’ James suggested. ‘We’re good listeners.’
So Casey allowed herself to tell the whole story, starting right at the beginning. Halfway through the story, her main course arrived, and she ate in small bites between chunks of narrative. Rodge and James had each ordered a Peter’s Burger—organic beef patties topped with caviar and chives inside two hunks of sourdough bread—and they ate daintily whilst listening to Casey’s woes.
‘You can’t do it?’ Rodge summed up when she had finished. ‘At all? Like, ever?’
Casey shook her head.
‘How absolutely horrid.’ Rodge went pale with compassion. ‘You poor, poor thing.’
‘And so you thought seducing a stranger might break the cycle?’ James reiterated. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
‘No, I’m not sure that’s wise,’ Casey replied easily. ‘That’s why I came here.’
‘But what about Alex? What if he’s going through with you-know-what?’ Rodge appeared so discomfited by the notion that he couldn’t even get himself to say it.
Casey sighed. ‘We’ll have to live with the consequences, I assume.’
‘What about lotions, potions, toys, that kind of thing?’ James reflected out loud.
‘I told you—we’ve tried it all, and then some.’
‘And after all of that, you still love him?’
‘Of course I do!’ Casey couldn’t keep a touch of indignation out her voice. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’
‘Hm.’ Rodge was perplexed.
‘You need professional help,’ James declared out of the blue. ‘I don’t normally tout for business on a Saturday night, but your case touches me deeply. Here.’ He proffered a card. ‘I’m based in London. Get in touch.’
Casey took the card and read it. She felt dizzy and unreal. She had always thought of herself as open-minded, unflappable, and sexually liberated, and yet she was embarrassed.
‘You’re a sex therapist?’
‘That’s right. I do couples. Straight ones. Trust me, I can help you both.’ He offered a disarming smile.
‘I—I don’t know what to say.’ To her great annoyance, Casey found herself stammering. ‘What—what does sex therapy entail, exactly?’
James pursed his lips. ‘That’ll depend on what’s required.’
Rodge nudged him in the side. ‘You daft old professor, you. Will you ever learn what people really think when they hear the words “sex therapy”?’ He gave Casey a complicit smile and explained. ‘What she’s asking is will they have to do it in front of you?’
‘What? No! Of course not. Well, not unless they really want to.’ James laughed. ‘No, it’s not like that. We talk. I suggest things. I figure out what’s blocking you. I recommend… actions. Positions.’
‘Like a living, breathing Kama Sutra?’ Casey suggested lightly. ‘Because we’ve already tried that, too.’
‘Yes and no. It’s hard to explain. Come and see me. Bring Alex. We’ll get you sorted out.’
Casey shook her head. ‘As much as you seem a nice guy, James, I don’t think Alex would go for it.’
‘Ah!’ James pounced immediately. ‘And why not? This may be part of the problem.’
Casey was taken aback by this reason. ‘How so?’
‘If your man is emotionally blocked and unwilling to open up, that could explain your temporary inability to get close.’
‘No, no.’ Casey shook her head again. ‘Alex isn’t emotionally blocked, nor is he unwilling to open up. He’d simply baulk at sharing intimate details with a stranger.’
‘Hm.’ James waggled his head from side to side. ‘I see.’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘Still, keep my card. You never know when you’ll change your mind. And I’m intrigued. I’d love to see you again.’
‘More Prosecco?’ Rodge muscled back into the conversation. ‘Casey looks like she could do with some.’ He started pouring before Casey even had a chance respond.
‘Thanks,’ she said weakly, her mind racing all the while. Sex therapy? Really? Would that be an option? With a gay counsellor, no less?
‘Hey, hey,’ Rodge interrupted her thoughts. ‘Earth to Casey! We’re clinking glasses here. You’d better make eye contact, because I ain’t risking seven years bad sex. That would be a catastrophe!’ His tone was light and teasing, and Casey could tell that he didn’t take his own words seriously.
‘Cheers,’ she smiled, looking Rodge squarely in the eye. ‘May you never be afflicted by poor relations.’
‘The girl’s a hoot,’ Rodge guffawed. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers!’ James accepted the conversational redirection and joined in with the toasting.
They finished off the bottles and their meals—including Casey’s spotted dick, which was every bit as suggestive as her starter—amid much chatter and laughter. Casey turned the tables on James and Rodge and quizzed them about their own lives. She was amazed to find that they were high school sweethearts, and that Rodge was a successful consultant at a London hospital. ‘He deals with the mind,’ Rodge explained, pointing at James. ‘And I fix the bodies. Together, we’re unbeatable.’
‘I bet,’ Casey grinned before turning a little more serious. ‘I think you’re incredibly lucky, the two of you.’
‘We have our moments,’ James concurred. ‘But it’s not all roses and bubbly, not even in this day and age.’
‘No, I’m sure it’s not,’ Casey agreed. ‘But still.’ She smiled, unsure how to put her feelings into words.
‘”But still”,’ Rodge echoed cheerfully. ‘I’ll drink to the most articulate comment of the evening. It says it all: but still!’
‘But still!’ James chimed in, and Casey decided that they were probably sharing a private joke of some description.
When their glasses were once more empty, James stole a look at his watch and blanched. ‘Rodge,’ he squealed. ‘It’s past ten o’clock. We were supposed to be at Vince’s by now!’
‘Really?’ Rodge gave a start. ‘Vince is our best mate,’ he explained to Casey. ‘It’s his stag do tonight. He’ll be getting married next week, and we’re supposed to take him out clubbing.’
‘Oh, right,’ Casey uttered weakly, reeling from the speedy turn of events. ‘Of course, you must go. It’s been lovely meeting you and… thank you. For listening, you know.’
The two men rose and flapped about her with kisses and hugs.
‘It’s been darling to meet you, too, sweetie,’ said Rodge. ‘Take care of yourself now.’
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ enthused James. ‘I wish you well. And you know where to find me.’
‘I do. And thanks.’ Casey smiled her farewell. She watched with fond amusement as Rodge and James fluttered out of the restaurant. Their meeting had been short but intense, yet she felt as though she was letting go of two great friends. Who knows, she mused. Maybe we will cross paths again. Anything is possible.
But first of all, it was time for her to make her way back to the hotel. Surprisingly, she had had a nice evening and som
e fabulous food, but now she felt tired and a little drained. She refused to think about Alex and the progress of his evening. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset that she hadn’t stuck to the plan. So she hadn’t figured out if she could find satisfaction with a stranger, but she had confirmed the most important thing: she loved her man far too much to mess around with someone else. And that had to count for something, didn’t it?
~Alex~
He would have known her silhouette anywhere. In the fading light of the August night, he could just make out Casey ambling along the promenade ahead of him, heading towards their hotel and entirely unaware that he was only a few steps behind her. It was about ten-thirty p.m., and she was alone. His heart soared, then dropped, then soared again. There were two possibilities. Either she had been incredibly quick about her stranger’s dalliance… or she, too, hadn’t gone through with it. And based on the carefree swing in her step, he very much suspected that it was the latter.
He followed her sedately, relishing the very sight of her. Her right hand was loosely trailing along the railings separating the promenade from the beach. The breeze was playing with her hair, picking up the occasional strand and blowing it about in curling tendrils like drifts of smoke. He urgently wanted to reach out and touch it.
She was wearing a dress and heels. With a pang, he noted that he hadn’t seen her in a dress since the wedding. She had made an effort, and he was jealous.
Silly man, he admonished himself. You’re in your best pulling clothes too. Get a grip.
Casey slowed up ahead of him, and he matched her speed. She turned toward the sea and leaned on the railing. The pose was classic and alluring, and Alex noticed that Casey was drawing attention from passers-by. Male passers-by. Suddenly driven by the desire to reassert his claim over his woman, he increased his step and stood beside her.
‘Hi,’ she said without turning her head. ‘I thought that was you.’
‘Hi.’ He turned to the sea and matched her pose, ensuring that their arms and shoulders touched. Really, he longed to wrap her in an embrace, but he got the feeling that it was too soon. Casey would have questions—a question—that needed to be addressed before they could get close.