The water pounded on the back of my neck, I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms back trying to loosen up. I could feel the tension in them begin to ease and with it my body started to let go. The Jasmine body wash I favoured lathered up spectacularly, I loved the soft, foamy feel of it on my skin and its sweet, exotic aroma always calmed me. The scented rivulets trickled over my body and down my back, gathering in little soapy puddles at my feet. I pushed the plug of the bath down with my foot and let the water from the overhead shower start to fill it. Playfully splashing and popping the bubbles with my toes I started thinking about what would happen if I were the girl in Joe’s story. If it was me that he seduced and if he was in the shower with me right now? Closing my eyes I imagined his sultry, heavy Italian accent, visualised his whispering words of seduction, his lips perhaps brushing my bare shoulder. My skin tingled. What would he do to me? How would I react? I let my imagination and my fingers take me there…
‘Mmm, Naomi’ Joe would murmur against my neck. ‘You’re so beautiful amore mio… I want to touch you, feel you against me. Let me explore you.’
My body began to respond. This wasn’t the first time I had indulged my erotic thoughts about him and it wouldn’t be the last. My nipples sensitised as I gently trailed soapy hands up and down my body. The Jasmine scent adding its own blend of pleasure to the mix. In my mind, these were Joe’s hands that cupped my breasts and played with the aching buds at their tip. It was his steely body I Imagined pressed hard against me. I allowed myself to drift deeper into the fantasy and raised my arms above my head, interlocking them at the wrists as if Joe was pinning me against the tiled wall. Joe, kissing me, his tongue exploring, licking, tasting. I visualised one of his hands slipping down over my belly and resting on the mound of heated flesh it found. His fingers would begin an agonising tease of the sensitive area between my legs causing my breasts to heave and my stomach to tighten.
My desire for him consumed me. I willed it with every ounce of my being for it to be Joe’s touch and not my own that pleasured me. My mind pleaded with the universe for Joe’s softly spoken words to fuel the ache that filled me. The fine line between fantasy and reality blurred. My slow caresses became more intimate as I slipped a finger past my opening and began to explore vigorously.
‘Mia bella donna, you drive me crazy. Can you feel how much I want you lover?’
“Yes, Joe. Yes.” I could feel him now, his taut body next to mine and the hardness of him. I had completely let go of reality. I wanted him so much! My touch became his touch. My body became possessed by the idea of him here, naked, with me.
‘Spread your legs for me tesoro, I need to be in you…all the way inside.’ I placed my foot on the side of the porcelain bath, allowing full access. Exhaling in sharp, ragged breaths I uttered a desperate solitary whisper as I brought myself to climax, “Joe…”
***
A girlish giggle escaped my lips as I lay on my bed- damp hair wrapped in a towel my thoughts still on my little erotic encounter. At some point during my self-indulgent role playing, I had allowed my mind to drift so deeply into the fantasy, I’d felt like I’d not been alone. Obviously I knew I had been but it was just a strange feeling- like an energy in the room. My fantasies were becoming more and more intense each time. For all the immense pleasure and enjoyment it gave me, I was starting to worry that I might be letting things get a little out of hand. I was taking fangirling to a whole new level! I hadn’t had a boyfriend, as such, since Iain had left. Only a couple of one-night stands and a brief two-week fling, none of which were satisfactory. I missed sex. I wanted great sex with someone but not the relationship baggage that men my age and older came with. Unfortunately, the two seemed to go together and I wasn’t sure I was ready to trust anyone enough to commit just yet. Besides, who was there? I never really got chance to meet anyone these days because I hardly ever left my flat. Nah, I’d stick with the fantasy for now. Who out there could ever hold a candle to Signore Ferrantino anyway?
***
The setting of the sun brought little relief from the sticky summer evening. Bravery, fuelled by- yet another- large glass of Pinot Grigio, prompted me into action. I was going to do this. I was going to try and write. Fuck it! What have I got to lose? I picked up a pen and notepad and stared at it. Now what? I tapped out an impatient rhythm with the nib on the paper, chewed the pen top and continued to stare. Little doodles of five- petaled flowers and tiny houses flowed from my pen but no words came.
I’m kind of old school I suppose, or maybe it’s just a habit I picked up from university, but I always draft on paper first and type it up later. The physical process of forming the letters by hand just feels more personal, I just don’t get that from a computer screen. Something about pen strokes on fresh paper and the smell of the ink feeds my creativity and allows me to connect with the words. Except it didn’t seem to be working in the slightest now. All I could think about that was remotely interesting was Joe. Lost in tantalising thoughts of my Italian stallion, I looked again at my notepad and noticed an idly drawn a heart with an arrow through it with the initials J and N. Rolling my eyes I scribbled it out. Leaving the pen and paper on the table I got up and made for the kitchen, nothing fuels creativity more than wine! That was my excuse and I was sticking to it.
I lingered in the kitchen chewing my lip. Taking a moment to think, I found myself questioning any ideas that popped into my head, all of them seemed completely devoid of any value. Self-doubt was a sly old fox, he was outwitting me yet again without hardly even trying! As I brought the glass and the rest of the bottle with me to the armchair I wondered if I’d ever win one of our many battles? I didn’t even look at the notepad I had abandoned on the table, needing no reminder of yet another failure on my part. Who the hell was I kidding? I would never make it as a writer. It was time for this ostrich to stick her head in the sand once again.
Rifling through my tired old DVD collection, I chose a film and stuck it in the player.
“It’s just you and me again Bridget Jones.” Curling my legs under me, I pressed the play button and settled down for another lonely night with only myself for company.
***
It was late- or early- when I woke up at 2am. The bottle of pinot was empty and the DVD player had switched itself off but the TV was still on- white noise crackled in the background. I couldn’t even remember watching the end of the film. God my head hurt, had I really polished off the whole bottle? My liver wouldn’t thank me later.
Hauling myself out of the chair was an effort and a half, my legs were still asleep even if I wasn’t. I thirstily guzzled down some water in the kitchen and headed back to clear away the evidence of yet another drinking binge. When I picked up the notepad to put it back in the drawer- I saw it. The word ‘JOE’ was scrawled all over the page in various sized letters, vertically, diagonally, horizontally, even encircling the initialled heart I had drawn previously. Some were delicately written, some big and bold and several had been written over repeatedly so that the paper had worn through in places. My brow wrinkled in confusion. I didn’t remember writing any of it- the handwriting didn’t even look like mine.
“What the Hell?” My first reaction was to scan the room, looking around for anything that seemed out of place. I turned the page over, there was nothing. Snorting dismissively, I threw the pad back down, shaking my head and laughing nervously en-route to my bedroom. This obsession with Joe was getting borderline scary, so now I was doing things I couldn’t even remember?
“That’ll teach you to get drunk on a school night!” I then finished off with an “Idiot!” Just for good measure.
I crawled into bed, not bothering to get undressed, there was a lot of proofing to do tomorrow and now I had a stinking headache. It didn’t take long for me to drift off back to sleep and, comfortable in my own bed, I met Joe in my dreams.
***
The loud banging jolted me out of my blissfully heavy slumber. What bloody time was it? Squinting at the
bedside clock, its red digits blinked 10:00 AM. I had overslept. Again. Wow, my body clock was so out of sync these days. I still had a headache too- brilliant. Stuffing my head back under the pillow, I uttered a long, low groan. The banging resumed.
“Arghhh! You have to be joking!” I shouted into my mattress, fists clenching the edges of the pillowcase. Someone was at the door but how the hell did they get past the front entrance downstairs without the key code? Unless…oh Christ, Mum! That meant another lengthy lecture about still being in bed at this hour. Throwing back the covers I shouted “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec!” I threw on my baggy old cardigan, noticing with dread how messy the apartment was- bloody fantastic! I huffed out a sigh, opening the door just a few inches, ready to face Mum's disapproving look and got the shock of my life. Instead, there stood Iain, my ex-husband. I felt a blush rapidly rising at the realisation that here he stood, at my door, for the first time in two years and I looked like utter crap!
“Hey sleepyhead” he teased as I poked my head around the door, trying to hide the rest of myself behind it. The corner of his mouth twitched and he raised a quizzical eyebrow at the hot mess that was me. Great! My hand flew to my hair as I replied in what I hoped was a confident, I-don’t-give-a-damn kind of way.
“Oh, hey Iain. What can I do for you?” My mind raced. Please don’t come in, please don’t come in.
“Um, can I come in? We need to talk.” And with that he stepped forward over the threshold. I reluctantly opened the door wider to let him in. His eyes swept over my messy kitchen and I groaned. His timing was bloody awful! He coughed and then said “Look, I’ll get straight to the point. I know it’s been a while.”
“Two years” I said and he smiled awkwardly.
“Yeah. Well anyway, like I was saying, I’ll get to the point. I didn’t want you hearing it on the grapevine, you know?” He paused and looked at me, eyes narrowing as if he was waiting for me to provide an answer.
“Hear what?” I asked.
“Nay…” he began. Oh God he used my nickname! The nickname he gave me. This wasn’t going to be good news. “Nay, I’m getting married.” He looked at me again. I stared back in silence. Iain looked unsure what to do so he stepped towards me, raising his arms as if expecting a congratulatory hug. I stepped backwards and gave him a look of unguarded indignation. He stopped in his tracks and immediately dropped his arms to his side. We stood in a silent face off and then he slid both hands in his jeans pockets. A few more excruciating moments of silence followed as we looked awkwardly at each other. All the pain of our separation, his affair and our divorce came rushing back to me in one dirty great big punch in the gut. I had no prepared defence for the onslaught except fight or flight- fight won.
“Get out Iain.” Surprised at how calmly the words came out, considering the broiling anger and hurt that filled me. He cocked his head to the side, like a dog, as if he’d not heard me correctly.
“What?”
“I said get out. Now. Right now. Just go. Just fucking GO!” I shouted the last word, feeling the familiar prickling of tears beginning to form which, made me even angrier. How many more tears would I have to shed over this man? This complete, utter arsehole who had promised me his heart forever and then betrayed me after only five years! I hated him. I hated that I still cared enough to hate him. I hated that he’d made me cry again. Iain looked momentarily stunned and opened his mouth as if to say something. Thinking better of it he turned on his heel and marched towards the door. He didn’t even look back when he said,
“Jesus Naomi, I was trying to do the right thing!” He walked out, slamming the door behind him without even a second glance. Wanker!
I stood in stunned silence. Did that seriously just happen? Did he really just turn up after two whole years of nothing and tell me he was getting married? Married! Why the hell would he do that? Bastard!
“Do the right thing?” I asked the door. “The right thing, Iain, would’ve been to keep your dick in your ‘effin pants in the ‘effin first place!” I was shouting now, my voice louder with each angry word. I launched myself at the closed door and a kind of strangulated, battle cry erupted from my throat as my fists pounded on the wood.
“BASTARD! ARSEHOLE! WANKER!” I screamed, punctuating each curse with a fist pound.
I was crying, not because I was sad but because I was angry. Furious with him but also with myself for allowing him to get under my skin. Why couldn’t I have just acted like I didn’t care? Or at least shown some modicum of self-control when he gave me his ‘good news’? More to the point, why on earth was I chastising myself for his behaviour? How dare he do that to me, how dare he just turn up like that, out of the blue, no warning and make me feel like shit.
“Fuck you Iain.” I flipped my middle finger at the door and then raised my other hand and gave it a double flip! It’s the very least he deserved. I realised two things as I strode angrily back to my bed, wiping tears from my burning cheeks- one, that despite the past heartbreak, I missed being loved and two, I needed to change the key code to my front door!
Chapter Two
Mystery Man
I kept going over things in my head, analysing this morning’s events with Iain. By the time evening came around, I’d talked myself into getting my life back on track and going in a direction that I chose. Instead of just letting life happen to me, I wanted control. It was time. No more settling for second best, no more feeling sorry for myself and burying my head in the sand. This was it. My chance to really turn things around. Why should a prick like Iain get the cheese? Unfortunately my new found bravado was met with a wall of internal cynicism and serious self-doubt and I couldn’t sleep.
You can’t write Naomi, you’re not good enough. It’s just a pipe dream. Stick to what you know. Said the voice in my head. Do you know how many people manage to publish a book? Proofing is as close as you’re going to get!
“Oh shut it Jiminy Cricket!” I shouted at the voice. But what if the voice was right? What if I wasn’t good enough? Then what would happen to all my big plans? Iain’s smug face flashed in my mind. Throwing the bed covers back I sat up and with renewed determination, turned on the lamp, strode over to the lounge and got out my notepad. The first thing I noticed was the page of scribble that had so mysteriously appeared on it the night before. A myriad of inked ‘Joe’s’ lay before me. I thought I had thrown that sheet away? Maybe not. I shrugged and screwing the page up, threw it in the bin. A slightly outrageous thought formed in my mind and I promptly retrieved the paper, smoothed it out and laid it on the table. I stared at it for a few seconds and went over to my work desk, opened the filing cabinet and took out Laney Marsh’s manuscript.
All The Best Boys By Laney Marsh
Copyright Laney Marsh 2016
Final Draft.
I stared at the hefty document in my right hand. The fingernails of my left hand tapped rapidly on the metal cabinet. It’s only the paper copy, no one would know. I bit my lip. It’s only practice. Sitting down with my red pen, I flicked through the pages of Laney’s manuscript until I found the page I was looking for. This was the scene that introduced Joseph Ferrantino. I began reading,
‘I noticed the silver haired man behind the bar. He was the type of man you couldn’t fail to notice. Tall, lean but athletic and toned. Six feet two inches at least and much younger than his hair colour belied. Mid-thirties at a guess. He leaned over the bar, both hands in front on the counter top, arms straight. Engaged in conversation with a woman, he smiled and chatted with her, no, flirted with her. I could tell that from the way she played with her hair and laughed over enthusiastically at whatever it was he said to her. I smiled and glanced down at the book on my table. I took a sip of my wine- red, obviously, being in Italy. It was good even though I wasn’t particularly a red fan. But like they say, ‘when in Rome’… well Florence in my case. I loved what little I’d seen of the city so far.
The book bar I currently sat in could quite easily become my favourite
place to hang out during my stay. I certainly liked the view anyway. I smirked again, chancing a quick glance at the sexy barman. He was looking at me. No longer talking to the woman. He shot me the most bewitching smile and I felt my heart flutter. He straightened then walked out from behind the bar and started towards me. The man’s eyes never left mine and his enchanting smile still held my gaze. God he was gorgeous! From the tips of his carefully messed up hair, right down to his self-assured walk, every inch of him screamed sex. My nervous fingers played with the stem of my wine glass as he approached. He stopped in front of my table and looked first at me and then down at the book in my hand. He said, “Love is a condition in which the happiness of another is essential to your own.”
“Hmm?” was all that came out of my mouth.
“Robert A.Heinlein.” He nodded towards my book. I looked down at my copy of Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert.A.Heinlein.
“Oh! Yes, you’re right.” I said, amazed. Gorgeous and literary, I thought. “Wow, you really know your books.”
“It is one of my favourites.” His deep Italian accent floored me. Could this man get any sexier? “Do you like science fiction?” He asked. “Because if you do I can recommend you some classics.” He offered, hitting me with a smile more dazzling than the sun.
“Thank you! Yes. I do um, like science fiction. That’d be great, thanks.” I beamed at him knowing my smile was nowhere near as bright and fetching as his.
“Why are you here bella donna?” He stepped closer and pulled out the chair opposite me. “Posso sedermi con te?” He asked. I had no idea what he just said but my insides melted.
“Um…” I crinkled my brow slightly and gave a little shake of my head. “I’m so sorry, um, no speako Italiano.” I explained. He let out a small laugh. Oh my God even his laugh was sexy! I was definitely visiting this place again.
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