by Ana Simons
Nothing else, I shake my head. And this is the actual truth.
Jimmy’s my best friend; we share a lot of things, and he probably knows me better than I do myself, but my history with his cousin Olivia has always been a sort of taboo we prefer to avoid.
“How come we never met again, in all these years?” she asks.
“I don’t know. It just didn’t happen.”
This time, however, I’m lying. At the time I was furious at Olivia and decided I didn’t want to see her anymore. And from then on, I never returned to Spain with my folks and, besides, in the following years I was always too busy with some summer crush and didn’t want to leave the city. And then the few times she came up for Christmas, I always found a way to steer clear of Jimmy’s house. That’s what happened: I’ve done my best to avoid her. Eventually, life took its course and I convinced myself that I had forgotten her.
“How come you’re still single, Brian Anderson? What’s wrong with these English women?” She clicks her tongue, amused, giving me a friendly tap on the hand.
Shrugging, I give her a quiet smile. “How about you? You came alone?” Where’s the big-shot doctor you were dating?
She brushes back her hair in a nervous fashion and steers her gaze down, remaining silent for a moment.
“Liv?”
“I guess I may as well tell you, you’ll find out anyway.” She shrugs. “I came alone because the lying cheating bastard, who was supposed to be my husband by now, was screwing around with half of the ER nurses. And that’s not petty gossip, hospital tittle-tattle. I caught him with his trousers down in the meds room!”
I put my hand over hers, a spontaneous, endearing gesture of comfort I can’t quite explain.
“Six years, can you believe it? Six years of my life. That’s how long I’d waited for that prick! Only to find out he’d been cheating on me the whole time...” Her voice breaks. “People warned me, you know, but I didn’t believe. So, I really have no one to blame but myself.” A deep sigh and she stands; my eyes follow her movement. “Come on, mate. Let’s go upstairs.”
*
Damn, she’s already sunk five balls in a row, is getting ready to finish the game and I’m just standing here like a berk. God, have mercy on me. Watching her like this, bent over the pool table in an excruciatingly sexy dress, is making it hard to concentrate and my mouth feels dry at the sight of it.
I take an extra-long swig of my beer.
It’s official: she’s gorgeous. A total knockout. And I can’t help it, imagining how it would be, me undressing her slowly and–
Oh no, I can’t.
Angling my head, hopefully in a not too obvious way, I watch her sprawled over the table, her bum hanging out, her breasts swaying freely as she pulls off what could possibly be her last shot. It’s mind-boggling and I need to take a deep breath to keep my cool.
The black ball tumbles right into the pocket and I huff in pretend annoyance. “That was fun, Liv. The only two shots I got were immensely fun!”
She performs her little happy dance and demands I high-five her while my male pride is plunging into some dark hole of my soul.
“You’re mean, woman. You’re downright evil!”
She shakes her head, fake pity flickering in her eyes. “Brian Anderson, can’t you do any better than this? I’m almost feeling sorry for you.”
I laugh. “I’m sure you are. You wicked devil.”
Women and pool tables are tricky territory, it’s awfully difficult to keep the focus. To be honest, I’ve been fantasising about it the whole time, how fun it would be if she had no bloody idea of how it works.
The truth is, I played it in my mind each time she executed a shot: I’d move right behind her, pull her close and bend her low over the table, my crotch pressing against her bum. Then she’d shiver when my right hand moved down her back, along her arm to the end of the stick–
“Hey, sweetie, ready for another beating?” Olivia winks, taunting me with a wide grin as she slides and racks the fifteen balls in the triangle.
“Sure. Bring it on!” I sip my beer and wink back, amused.
Sweetheart, I’m always ready to watch you – definitely overdressed for this place – bend, stretch and twist till my poor heart can’t take it anymore.
She chalks up, throwing me a confident smirk, and bends over, narrowing her eyes towards the end of the cue stick, examining the angle of her shot.
I hear the balls striking, but again I’m too distracted to care. Apparently, she’s just sunk two balls, the solid ones, she lets me know, rejoicing at the achievement.
She moves around the table to prepare her next shot. But first, she lays the cue stick on the green velvet surface, and ties her hair in a messy bun, teasing me with a smile that’s full of mischief.
Bent over the table, she blows one loose strand of hair off her face. Then, with one eye closed, the other aiming at ball number five, which is sitting right at the edge of the far corner pocket, she strikes hard on the white ball.
My head cocks to one side following the movement of the ball, the sardonic grin on my face widening as I watch it approaching the hole.
“Shit,” she mutters when she misses her shot.
Okay, my turn now.
Do I let her win again or do I put an end to her happiness? Easy. It’s about time I keep my wits about me and pay attention to the goddamn game.
I quickly sink four balls in a row, then stop to give her a triumphant stare. “Feeling dizzy, sweetie? Don’t tell me, you thought I’d go easy on you, didn’t you?”
She frowns. Her mood is sinking too.
Back to the game.
I expertly set myself up for each of the next two shots which, obviously, I don’t miss.
“Still feeling sorry for me?” I boast, giving her another look of vainglory.
“You’re an awful person, Brian Anderson.”
“And you’re a sore loser.”
I walk slowly around the table, pushing her gently backwards as I pass by, taking my time to make the final shot. The mischievous smile I neither can nor want to suppress is getting on her last frayed nerve – which, dammit, is really turning me on.
I look up at her again and waste no time finishing off the game, knocking that last striped ball into the pocket right next to where she’s standing.
I’m willing to bet she’s not amused.
Smirking, I take slow steps towards her. “First, your little dance show…” Caging her against the pool table with both hands, I let my gaze linger on her mouth. “And now this. Why do you keep challenging me, sweetie? You’ll never stand a chance! Ever.”
She glances up, her face unreadable.
“Olivia Burke, now I know why you didn’t want to come to the wedding. You knew we’d meet again, and you’d have your ass kicked!”
My playful statement is met with silence. Maybe I didn’t push her just a little; there’s a mixture of hurt and contained anger reflected on her face.
“Liv, I’m joking.”
“Yeah, that must have been it. You’re such a genius, aren’t you? Maybe you think you do, but you don’t know anything about me. I’m not that silly little girl anymore.”
She releases herself and heads to the cue hanger. Apparently, the game is over.
“Liv?”
“Take me back to my uncle’s? Please,” she asks.
I hold her chin and lift her face, trying to get a read on her thoughts. She’s clearly distressed, holding back the tears.
I go with my first instinct and hold her, burying my fingers in her hair, rocking her gently. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
“Never mind.” She relaxes against me, accepting my touch, her hands fisted in my shirt. “Please, let’s just go. It’s been such a long, exhausting day.”
And I’m such an idiot. It dawns on me that the last place she’d want to be was at a family gathering, having to explain where’s the long-time boyfriend everyone thought was perfect, going all over it
again, remembering her own wedding, the one she planned and dreamt about but which never happened.
It’s almost eleven and we’re outside, in front of the pub. Her dress is fluttering in the cool night air, the dim lamplight shadowing her face. I cover her with my jacket and wrap my arm around her shoulders, before leaving a long kiss on the top of her head.
“Let’s go. I’m taking you home.”
And we start to walk down Dean Street towards my car.
9 THUNDER WITHIN
“FLYING BACK TOMORROW ALREADY?” I ask Olivia, trying to fill the heavy silence that weights the air as we head west towards Holland Park, to her uncle’s. She’s been mostly quiet, pensive, looking out the car window.
She hums in agreement.
I tighten my fingers around the wheel seeking to release the tension. Though my face gives nothing away, my head’s a mess too.
“What time then?”
“In the afternoon,” she murmurs so quietly, I can barely understand the words.
I turn on the radio, thinking to fill in the uncomfortable space between us with music. ‘Only Love Can Hurt Like This’ begins to pulse through the speakers.
Great, as if the mood in here weren’t depressed enough.
I quickly change the station.
“No, leave it!” Olivia emerges from her thoughts, hovering her hand over the radio, trying to find the key to set it back.
I control the radio system directly from the steering wheel and do what she asks. She gives me a thin smile, which I half-heartedly return.
“Mind turning it up just a bit louder?” she asks, with her head leant back against the seat and her eyes closed.
“Sure. You like this one?”
It would be nice to get an answer for a change, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just hums the song, sometimes singing along.
I force myself to focus on the road, only on the road, but the truth is I’m losing it. It’s sending me into a frenzy, the fact I’m running out of time and don’t really know what to do next. I’m seriously thinking about pulling some crazy stunt, like... lose myself in the place where I’ve lived my entire life?
But isn’t that the stupidest idea?
It certainly is, but I’m all strung out, barely able to get my emotions under control.
Damn it, I should just leave her at her uncle’s once and for all and forget about it! When I see her again, maybe sometime around 2030, I’m certain I’ll be over this sad episode.
I glance at her again. She’s still singing with her eyes closed, on her face is the same enigmatic expression. And my mind starts reeling, imagining there’s some sort of mutual electrifying tension, one that would make me slam hard on the brakes and pull over to the side. To kiss her.
Her temples, her eyelids, the cute freckled bridge of her nose. Her perfect mouth. Her neck, her shoulder.
The exposed shoulder that’s been teasing me all day long.
I imagine my hands meandering down her body, her lips murmuring my name, asking me to take her home and–
Stop thinking about the 375 ways this could go badly and do something!
Without giving it any further thought, I do pull over.
“Olivia?” I stare intently into her eyes, trying to read the emotions behind them.
She looks confused but remains silent.
Then I take her hand in mine. “I’m still a good listener. So why don’t you tell me about it? What’s troubling you?”
Silence engulfs us again as she stares at me, her face undecipherable.
“What’s troubling me?” She pulls her hand away. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s my feet. They’re swollen, these shoes are killing me, and I want my clogs back! Goddamn killer heels, they’re driving me bloody mad!” She kicks them off, forcing out a chuckle I know is not sincere.
“Olivia, look at me.” My tone takes a hard edge. I know her better than that.
Avoiding my gaze, she sags back into the seat and closes her eyes. “It’s nothing, I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long day and I can’t wait to take a shower and crawl into a bed.”
“Can I invite you for a quick drink? My flat’s right here around the corner.”
Her chest expands on a deep breath before she turns to face me. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says softly and the awareness she won’t come, not in a million years, slowly settles in my churning gut.
I let the silence hang between us for a moment.
“It’s not that I’m asking you to spend the weekend in Paris with me. It’s just a drink. Who knows when we’ll see each other again?”
She smiles, a small pained smile. “Well, maybe you should. Invite me to Paris.”
I’d love that.
Indecision flickers across her face for a few beats, then she squints at her watch. She’s pondering the possibility and I immediately feel a blast of adrenaline racing through my veins.
“Okay, but one drink only!” she agrees, holding her index finger up.
My thoughts begin to race back and forth in a wild rush, and I can’t help imagining how it’d be if we didn’t make it to my apartment. As soon as the lift doors slid shut, to hell with the wine, compliments and subtle flirting! I’d press the full length of her body with mine, I’d dive my hands into her hair, to hold her head steady as I kiss her hard and deep. I’d whisper into her mouth how desperate I’ve been the entire day to have her back in my arms. And I’d eagerly seek her breasts, I’d fondle them, I’d tease them. I’d have her up against the wall until she gasped for breath and moaned in surrender because I’d made her lose track of time and space and–
“BRIAN! Watch out!”
Reacting purely on instinct, I hit the brakes and only then look around. Shit, I’ve almost run a red light and headed on out into a junction in Kensington High Street.
“So sorry, you all right?” I ask, most certainly with a guilty expression on my face.
She nods, blowing out a breath of relief.
“Here we are,” I announce a few beats later as I park in front of my apartment in Warwick Gardens.
I’m playing it cool, but the truth is, I’m overly anxious. In fact, I’m half scared and half desperate at the remote possibility of spending the night with her.
I rush to hold the car door open for her, but she doesn’t wait and gets out first, barefoot, one hand holding the small handbag and sandals, the other grabbing the hem of her dress. Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide her through the entrance door towards the lift, my eyes caressing her face when she gives me a soft smile.
No one would know, but my heart is stomping, kicking hard against my chest, such is the thrill of anticipation rushing through me.
10 UNFINISHED BUSINESS
“THIS IS SUCH A LOVELY neighbourhood. When did you move in here?” Olivia asks, looking at her reflection in the lift mirror. “Oh my, look at these Halloween eyes! I’m as good as ready to go trick-or-treating…”
“Little over a year ago.” When the whole bloody nightmare happened. “And you look splendid, trust me.” I force the bad memories away and move my hand in long, gentle strokes up and down her back.
“You’re a terrible liar. But I’ll pretend to believe you.” She elbows me playfully.
We’re standing side by side, my hand still resting on the small of her back. I’m fighting the urge to grab her in a less subtle way and finally pull her so she’s facing me.
My eyes, wild with a need I can hardly control, meet hers in the mirror. I wonder if she’s noticing the state I’m in.
Probably she isn’t.
Hopefully, she isn’t.
She nudges me with her elbow again, smiling. “Hey, neighbour, may I borrow some salt?”
I take a moment to process the question. “What?”
Like a valve relieving its pressure, she blows some air out of her mouth, and a couple of strands fly up. “Twenty-six bones, thirty-three joints and nineteen muscles need urgent h
elp!”
My reflected image looks down at hers confused, my frown demanding clarification.
“My feet. Just trying to prevent a not-so-splendid high-heel hangover. So, if you don’t mind, we’ll have that drink in your bathroom.”
I grin inwardly, first picturing all the different things I could do with her in that room. But then it dawns on me that the easy-going, down-to-earth girl I’ve known my entire life is still here, acting as if there’s never been a gap in our lives.
“Hmm… a drink in my tub. That would be an excellent idea! Why didn’t I think of that before?”
She notes the sly innuendo and fakes her best scolding look. “Brian Anderson, shame on you!”
Unable to disguise the mischievous smile on my face, I give her ribs a quick tickle, teasing her. “Red, white or beer, sweetie?”
“You’ve got some port?”
Third floor. The lift finally announces the arrival with a signal and a soft bump.
*
“Ooh, this just feels soo good!” she breathes out in a sort of orgasmic moan and I almost lose my balance.
After having set some background music, I enter the bathroom, two glasses in one hand, a bottle of vintage port in the other.
Olivia is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, the skirt of her dress pulled up to the knees revealing her slender legs, both feet dipped into eight inches of salty water.
I can’t help but snicker to myself. Not quite what I had in mind, but entertaining, nonetheless.
After pouring the wine, I clink my glass with hers. “Cheers!”
Smiling, she raises her glass and takes a slow sip.
I take off my tie and roll up my sleeves before I sit on the ceramic floor.
“Living alone here?” she asks with eyes closed while continuing to lengthen her back and perform some feet stretching and twisting movements with her feet.
I hum in confirmation.
“Girlfriend?”
“Nope.” I swirl my glass before taking a sip from the dark, full-bodied liquid.