Release

by J , Louise

  Her brows rise. “Clarissa?”

  “The last time Clarissa spoke to me, she said, “You’re an asshole, douche bag, asswipe. Don’t ever talk to me again.” I might’ve found her description of me funny, if she wasn’t hurt when she said it. I never wanted that, but I made things very clear from my side.”

  “So she got serious about you, and you didn’t feel the same?”

  I don’t know how honest to be. After her reaction to just seeing Clarissa, I don’t think Brooklyn will want, or like, the answer. I’ve got this horrible vision of playing things down and then Brooklyn running into Clarissa and them talking. Maybe my imagination is full of shit, but I don’t like the idea of that happening.

  “Hesitation,” she whispers with light teasing in her tone. It eases her expression, making it less troubled. I smile because of that.

  “I don’t think you’ll want all the details, so we’ll go with this. We were hooking up for a few months and then she wanted more. She was persistent, and I figured why not? We went for the whole exclusive thing, but our feelings weren’t the same. I did care, but I didn’t love her. She was pissed with me for “not really giving things a chance”. I did, but I knew it wasn’t going to get any deeper on my side.”

  Brooklyn nods as though she understands, but doesn’t comment. If she was having doubts about me already, then what I just said isn’t likely to improve her confidence in us.

  “This is not the same, Brooklyn. Don’t doubt me too easily.”

  She frowns. “I never said I was.”

  “You don’t have to say it.”

  “So she was more than a shag and now you don’t talk at all?”

  “Yeah.” What more can I say? I don’t make a habit of acting like a woman I’ve been involved with doesn’t exist – not in their presence – even ones I might’ve only fucked.

  “How long was she your actual girlfriend for?”

  “Three and a half months.”

  “How many girlfriends have you had?”

  “Four.”

  “Did you love any of them?”

  “The second one, Nadine, yes I did.”

  “How long were you with her?”

  “Three years, it was back when I lived in Hillsborough.” This conversation needs to stop right here. “What did you dream about?”

  Turning onto her back, Brooklyn gazes up at the ceiling. “I can’t remember.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You’re calling me a liar?”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Think what you like,” she says with a harder tone. “I don’t remember, I just couldn’t breathe all of a sudden.”

  Fuck, I’m being an asshole. I do believe it’s a lie, but I’m mostly going for a subject change. “You look tired, why don’t you stay here and sleep?” With a schedule like hers, full of classes, clients, and performances, she can’t be having shitty nights like that.

  “I’ll go home and sleep. Are you going to the gym?”

  “I guess. I’ll see you after I finish work, right?”

  After too many seconds of watching Brooklyn bite her bottom lip, I repeat myself.

  “I might stay home.” She pulls the comforter up until it’s tucked under her chin.

  I turn onto my side, my arm remaining under her. “You don’t want to see me?”

  Quickly, she shakes her head and finally looks at me again. We’re almost nose-to-nose now. “No, it’s not that. I just think maybe I should stay at my place tonight.”

  “I want you here with me, Brooklyn. I meant what I said in the shower last night.”

  Silently, she holds my gaze.

  I shouldn’t have gone where I did with her, making requests like that, and I shouldn’t be pushing her now, but I did and I am. I’m not in the frame of mind to go back on my words.

  We continue to stare at each other as I wait for some kind of response.

  “You’d get sick of the sight of me if you saw me every day,” she says.

  A part of me wishes that were true.

  “Not a chance. I want to see your smile and hear you laugh every day. I meant what I said.”

  She’s thinking. No doubt conflicted.

  “Is this because of your dream?” I know she remembers; she looks too troubled not to recall anything. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, it happens to us all at some point.” Some way more than others.

  “I told you, I don’t remember. No bullshit.”

  I don’t buy that, but I won’t push it. Not if she’s more likely to stay at her own place tonight. “I’ll see you after work.”

  “Okay,” she says, after hesitating. “I think I might stay here and sleep.”

  Never thought I’d see the day that I’d leave a woman alone in my apartment.

  Twenty Six: Brooklyn

  Breathing in deep, I lengthen my limbs in a languorous stretch. As my eyes slowly open and I take in his scent, I remember that I’m still at Dane’s. I remain on my back for a few moments, listening to the sound of nothing throughout the apartment. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s just after ten a.m.; I’ve been asleep for over three hours. Reaching to the bedside table, I grab my phone and text Leona to tell her I won’t see her at the studio at eleven like I was supposed to. As long as I’m out of here by mid-afternoon I’ll have enough time to stop at my place, shower and change before going to the studio for my client at five p.m.

  Sitting up, I put my mobile back. Dane’s bedside tables are attached to his headboard, the entire frame is solid, black wood. Every night I’ve spent here so far, I’ve slept on the left side, by the wardrobe. Unable to resist, I pull open the one drawer on the bedside table.

  Is ‘empty’ typical for a man? Mine are stuffed with all kinds of crap; some of it needs to be there, most of it doesn’t.

  I shift across to his side and I know one thing – make that things – I’ll find in there. I pull open the drawer and, as expected, there are condoms. There’s also a notebook, a pen and expensive hand cream. He washes his hands frequently, and because of that, he moisturizes them often. I open the notebook, finding page-after-page of blank paper. Does he use invisible ink? How could there be nothing? I’m disappointed. Obviously I didn’t want to find something incriminating, but I would’ve liked to find something interesting, something unexpected.

  I get up and cross to the wardrobe to collect my clothes. Sliding the doors apart, I gasp with delight. I haven’t seen in here yet, so far Dane’s put my clothes away and then taken them out for me in the morning. I’m not entirely surprised to discover he could wear a different pair of jeans every day for at least two weeks, or that he has more footwear than necessary; trainers mostly, but the stacks of vinyl along the top shelf are a massive surprise. My mum still has days when she pulls out her records from the fifties and sixties. I love the sound of it; the connection of the needle, the rasp as the record plays.

  I wonder what Dane’s collection consists of. Maybe some are from the band his parents used to gig with. Shifting up onto tiptoes, I look farther back on the shelf. That huge black case must be his dad’s saxophone, Dane said he has it. I hope he shows me these things at some point and plays me some of his records.

  I grab my jumper-dress and underwear and put them on. After pinning my hair in a bun and brushing my teeth, I strip the bed and make it with fresh sheets. I should probably leave, there’s no need for me to be here, but I feel too intrigued to go just yet.

  I enter the door next to his bedroom, by the bookcase at the back of the living room. It leads to the main bathroom. The tiles on the floor and walls are dark gray and black, the shower is large, just like the one in his en suite, and enclosed in transparent glass. The white shiny bath is egg-shaped. It’s the kind of bathroom that seduces you into spending hours in there getting up to more than bathing. I wonder if he actually uses it.

  Sitting at the desk, a match for the other wooden furniture in the living room, in the alcove in the corner to the right of the breakfast b
ar, I press the power button on the computer. Whilst waiting for it to start up, I pull open the drawer of the desk. It’s full of letters, some still in envelopes and some without. Reading his private documents is going too far for my liking, so I close the drawer.

  The screen on the PC brightens up. My jaw drops at the sight of Dane’s wallpaper. This motorcycle is beyond any other I’ve ever seen. It’s kind of futuristic looking and so eye catching in silver, red and white. Kayla was right when she said their customization work is totally freakin’ awesome.

  There are only a few folders on the screen. The one titled Wonderful memories for you to cherish, with love from your little sister xxx makes me smile. Clicking on the folder, it opens to reveal photos, thousands of them. It’ll take longer than I have to go through them all with great attention to detail, but a quick scan shows me a mix of shots taken with family and friends. Some are obviously nights out, which aren’t a surprise given the nature of Saffron’s job. Since she put these pictures on here, hopefully that means none of these pretty girls are Dane’s conquests. He did mention platonic female friends, these must be them. Looking at pictures without someone identifying the people is useless, but nothing looks inappropriate. It’s sweet, though, I can imagine Saffron coming here and uploading these for Dane. It’s the type of thing I’d do for my brother, Tommy, as well.

  My heart stops for a moment and then proceeds to race as though I’m in the middle of Evan’s circuit training class. I hover the cursor over the folder called Bodies, nervous as bloody hell. Oh my word. Please don’t tell me Dane’s the type of man who keeps souvenirs from his conquests, photographic souvenirs.

  Is my body in there? Not possible, we don’t have photos of each other – except for the one I took of him on the sly with my phone when he was still asleep the second morning I woke up here. That doesn’t count, and it was just his face in profile and his neck and shoulders. Has he caught me in my sleep? Exposed? No way. He’s definitely not some dodgy pervert.

  Fuck it!

  I quickly click the folder.

  As it opens, filling the screen, I flop back on the leather swivel chair breathing a massive sigh of relief. It’s motorcycle stuff. Why couldn’t he just call it Bodywork instead? I would have. I think.

  All the other stuff is work related, so I open up the web browser. I enter his search history, and as quickly as I can, I scan down each page working in reverse, looking for … something that stands out, I don’t know what. Is impulsive snooping as bad and as sneaky as planned snooping?

  My eyesight is great, so I’m not sure why I’ve got my face literally pressed to the screen. I back up, it’s really hurting my eyes. It’s mostly his email accounts and music downloading sites he visits on here. I’d love to get my hands on his tablet; that’ll probably have something of interest. I glance around the living room for it, but it’s not in sight. I think he takes it to work with him, because it definitely wasn’t in the bedroom. There aren’t even porn sites logged here. Don’t all men watch porn? Even I’ve indulged.

  One of the guys, Stephan, from my dance family introduced me to my first gay porn when I first came to San Francisco. It was an amateur video clip, and I was surprised to find that it aroused me. Now I have a small selection of gay erotic romance novels, recommended by Stephan, waiting to be read from my tablet.

  I continue my search and stop with my brows raised in surprise. There’s a list of visits to YouTube; and the titles show that they’re my performances in All about the Dance. I read through them. It shows all the genres I got to do before I had to leave.

  Frowning instead of grinning, I look for the ones I’d rather he didn’t see – the two where I spoke to one of the presenters after I got injured. I was with Owen and crying because I was completely taken over with emotions; sadness, disappointment, pride and gratitude for even having such an amazing opportunity. I never understood all the crying contestants do on TV talent shows, but you really have no idea if you haven’t lived it. Mostly I was scared – I convinced myself I’d never dance again.

  I don’t want Dane seeing me cry, but I can deal with the fact that he watched one of the dances I performed that did make me shed tears. It was so powerful, beautiful. I’m glad he didn’t click on the ones where I was upset, I definitely don’t want him witnessing those, though I’m curious about why he didn’t.

  He’s watched my performances.

  My smile is so huge right now. I feel warm and proud, and I’m going to hold on to this feeling. It’ll certainly make staying here with him tonight easier. I hope I sleep through, I like spending the night with him. I don’t want to have to stop. It should be fine. I’d never tell him this, but I think he triggered my nightmare last night.

  The sound of a key pressing into a lock causes my heart to race again. I don’t have time to shutdown properly, so I quickly close the browser and the folders and press the power button. As the front door opens quietly, I move from the chair and press my back to the wall, hiding in the alcove. Would he mind me going on his computer without permission? What would be my reason? I have email and everything else on my bloody phone.

  I hear the bedroom door slowly open. “Brooklyn?” Dane says.

  I peep out from behind the wall. He calls my name again, the sound of his voice telling me he’s in the adjoining bathroom. I make a mad dash across the living room, to the main bathroom. Before I make it in there, Dane’s coming out of the bedroom. I’m stood in the doorway of my intended destination. “Hi,” I say with a huge grin to mask my anxiety. Fucking hell!

  “Hey,” he says, approaching me.

  “I was just having a nosey at your bathroom.” It’s plausible. I haven’t been in there, and better that than his computer, though I’m technically admitting to snooping in some context. I’m not cut out for this. “I Love it. Ours is so average.”

  He stops close to me, his lips hinting that he wants to laugh. “Elevators, carpets, and bathrooms, you’re pretty easy to please.” His hand snakes around the side of my neck, warm and lovely. “Did you sleep?” He searches my eyes, which will be more than awake after the shock of his presence. First chance I get I need to shutdown that computer.

  “Too well, I missed the eleven a.m. class I wanted to attend. What are you doing here, skiver?”

  His right brow arches. “Skiver?”

  “Yeah, don’t you have a business to run?”

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  I smile, feeling guilty as sin. I’ve snooped and lied to him and his care is so genuine. Wrapping my arms around his midsection, I press my face to his chest, breathing in his wonderful scent. “Thank you.”

  His hands stroke up and down my back, and I feel both lucky and horrid.

  Twenty Seven: Brooklyn

  I arrive at my mum’s hotel room and practically jump on her the second she opens the door.

  “Oh, darling, let me look at you,” she says, pulling out of my hug and stepping back. “You look gorgeous.” She cuddles me again.

  “Have you been splashing out on perfume?” I ask, as we let each other go.

  “I couldn’t resist duty-free at Gatwick.”

  I laugh at her because she’s such a shopaholic. Any excuse to shop. “Mum, you look fab.”

  She always does. Her skin has its typical healthy olive glow and her brown eyes are excited and warm. Her hair, the same color as mine, is shiny and long enough to reach her lower back. She’s just beautiful. Even in simple, fitted black jeans and a cream V-neck sweater she looks glam.

  “How are you feeling after the long flight?”

  “Never mind me, look at you. Being here’s doing you the world of good.”

  “Yeah, it is,” I beam.

  We sit on the sofa by the window, which provides a view of Union Square. Mum cups my cheeks and strokes them with her thumbs. “It shows you’ve been sleeping well.”

  “Didn’t you believe me when I told you I was?” I ask lightly.

  She nods, giving me the s
mile I’ve been missing. “Of course I did, it’s just nice seeing the effects of that for myself. The bad night you had on Sunday was probably just triggered by something unexpected. Don’t let things upset you if they’re not important.”

  I cuddle her again, unable to resist it. “I’m so glad you’re here. Being away from you, Dad and Tommy is the only thing I hate about being here.”

  “We hate it, too, but it makes it worthwhile knowing you’re so happy. This opportunity came at the perfect time for you.”

  We let each other go, and Mum runs her hand over my hair.

  “So where’s Tommy and Katie’s room?” I ask.

  “They’re next door, we’ll pop over now. I hope you’re ready for a week of non-stop activities; Katie’s come with a list of places she wants to see. She’s been driving your brother mad with that camera of hers already. He couldn’t understand why she needed to take pictures of the sky. It was so funny, she said, “It’s the sky from San Francisco. Bit different to North London, don’t you think?”” Mum laughs and I really love hearing it. “Then Tommy said, “Babe, it’s the sky. Not even the sun, just bloody clouds.” She ignored him and carried on snapping away.”

  I smile, I’m more than happy to do stuff with my fabulous family and I’ll be sure to show Tommy the pictures I’ve taken that didn’t get uploaded to Facebook. If he thinks Leona’s bad, wait until he sees my collection.

  In the hotel bar, I’m seated at a circular table with Mum, Tommy and Katie. It’s just past lunchtime and quiet, with only a scatter of people around. We’ve eaten, laughed, and I’ve been filled in on all the gossip from home that didn’t make it into our phone conversations. I’m going to make the most of their week here. Release finishes tomorrow night, and I’m taking next week off from studio work for their visit.

  Tommy’s sitting across from me, his teasing brown eyes staring into mine. He’s utterly cheeky by nature and also very protective of me. Like Mum and me, he has olive skin, though she’s a little darker than we are. As always, he ran his fingers through his dark brown hair when it was damp and left it to dry with the short strands shooting off in all directions. I call it neatly messy.