by Cecelia Rose
Once I'm all cleaned up, I step out of the shower, wrapping the fluffy towel around me. I head back into the bedroom, flicking the light switch on as I step in. I’m surprised to find the guys still lying stretched out across the bed.
“What are you two still doing in here?” I ask, as I walk further into the room, heading for my little, purple suitcase for some clothes.
“Turns out this bed is comfier than either of ours,” Blake answers, his eyes following me across the room.
“And you'd know that, how?” I ask, gently probing for some answers.
“Now, just what are you asking?” Blake replies. I only now noticing as I'm rifling through my suitcase, that Spencer has fallen asleep while I was in the shower.
“I'm just curious as to how you'd know how comfy Spencer's bed is. I mean I thought it was pretty comfy,” I reply.
“You're right, his bed is pretty comfy, but that's not what I meant. I meant both of us think your bed is better than our own individual beds,” he replies teasingly. I blush from my mistake, and then the first words of his reply sink in. Not such a mistake then.
“So, you guys are pretty close, huh?” I say, pulling out a soft, grey, thin jumper and dark-wash jeans. I contemplate going back into the bathroom to get changed, but figure it's a moot point at this stage. I let the towel drop and pick some matching black underwear, pulling it on quickly, aware of Blake's eyes on me.
“We're as close as can be. If it wasn't for how much we both enjoy women…” he trails off, looking across at Spencer sleeping next to him.
“What about Noah?” I ask, needing to know if that was what Noah's issue was. Was he jealous of me sleeping with the guys because he likes them? Blake laughs, cutting off my thoughts.
“Noah?” he says incredulously. “Nah, Noah isn't built to swing that way. He just likes women, always has,” he adds, answering my question.
“Oh,” I reply, not really sure what else to say.
“He's always been cool with me and Spence, though. He's been a good friend to us. Some guys are weird about it,” he says, shrugging, but I can tell he is bothered by that more than he is wanting to let on. I drop the subject, pulling on my jeans and then tugging my jumper on over my head. I forgo a shirt underneath it, it’s not like I’m planning on going outside anyway.
“You should go talk to him, he will clear it all up for you about earlier,” Blake says, and I sigh in resignation.
“Fine, where is he?” I ask. He’s probably right, if I’m going to stay here for the next few days I should at least attempt to make things not awkward.
“In the home office, up a floor, and it's the only room on that level. It looks out at the rooftop garden,” he answers. I turn to leave, but he's off the bed and by my side before I can open the door. He leans down and kisses me. “For luck,” he says.
“Will I need it?” I ask him, and the bastard just smiles deviously at me. I roll my eyes and exit the room, noticing that Blake crawls back into bed with Spencer as I turn back and close the door behind me.
Chapter 10
I hesitantly knock on the dark, wooden door of the home office. It sits directly at the top of the staircase. I made my way up here as slowly as possible, feeling more dread pool into my stomach with every step I took.
“Come in,” Noah's voice calls, and I hear a dog's bark as I push the door open. Lola jumps up at me, and I scratch behind her ears, happy to have a short distraction to put off the awkward conversation I feel coming. Even if it only saves me for a few more seconds, it’s totally worth it. Slowly, I tilt my head up and look at Noah, who seems to be paying me zero attention as he's busy typing on his computer.
“Can you let the dog downstairs?” he asks, not looking up at me.
“Sure,” I reply, encouraging the dog to go out the door and down the steps. I close the door behind her, wishing I could follow her down and far away from the tension in this office. Sighing, I turn back around and face him. Well, I would be facing him if he'd actually look up from his computer. Quietly making my way across the room, I walk behind him, and he tenses up as I look over his shoulder at the screen.
“Hard at work, huh?” I comment, taking in the nonsense typed into a word document on his screen.
“I was trying to look busy,” he admits, still not looking at me. I sit on the desk and luckily, it’s quite a large one, so plenty of room for me to stretch out next to the computer.
“Why were you doing that?” I ask gently, trying to bring the conversation to a point where we can actually talk about what’s bothering him.
“I was trying to avoid this conversation,” he mutters, finally looking up at me. I find myself just looking at all the different flecks of colour in his eyes. The copper tones seem even more vibrant in the lighting of this room.
“Why?” I finally ask, after managing to pull my eyes away from his.
“Because I was a dick earlier, just walking in on you guys, and then storming off like a spoilt child. I’m sorry, Tamara. I didn’t mean to make you think that I was mad at you for sleeping with them, you’re free to do whatever—whoever—you want,” he answers, sitting back in the large leather office chair.
“Oh,” I reply.
Well, if he wasn’t jealous about Blake or Spencer, and if he isn’t actually all that interested in me, what was the problem?
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, standing and stepping between my legs. He pulls me forward, so I’m right up against him as he kisses me. I slip my arms around his neck and return the kiss eagerly, but I’m a little unsure at what’s going through his head. He pulls back and runs his fingers softly against my cheek. “I’d like to think I’m one of those people, that is, if you’ll forgive me for being an ass earlier,” he adds.
I smile and instead of answering him with words, I tug him back down to me, pressing my lips back against his as I wrap my legs around his waist. I feel the tension leave his body, his shoulders relaxing as he melts into me, returning the kiss. I reach for the buttons on his shirt, but he pulls back. Frowning, I try and tug him back to me. He kisses me again, but more restrained than before, and then he pulls away again, stepping back a few paces.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“Nothing, I just can’t do this at the moment, Tamara. Can we talk later?” he asks. I nod, not able to get words out.
Did I do something wrong? I mean he kissed me, I couldn’t have read the signs that badly, could I?
He presses a kiss to my forehead, and quickly leaves the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
I stare at the door for a few moments, hoping he’ll just wander back in and that it was a bad joke or something, but I hear the soft sounds of his footsteps on the stairs as he goes down. Moving off the desk, I slip into the leather seat. I open up the internet browser, and my eyes catch on the photo that is on display.
It’s a photo of Noah and a pretty, brunette woman at a party. He looks gorgeous as he looks at the camera smiling, his arm rests around her waist and there are drinks in both of their hands. I notice the lilac-coloured banner behind them. ‘Happy engagement Noah and Kara!’ is written across it in silver.
I look down at the huge rock on the woman’s left hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I shut the internet window and stand, stepping away from the desk as I stare at the home screen of the computer. It’s a group picture of Noah, Blake, and Spencer. They’re skiing by the looks of it, but I can’t really focus on that right now. All I can do is stare as thoughts slam through my mind.
I just kissed an engaged man. Hell, they could even be married now for all I know. A married man… what the hell am I going to do now?
Chapter 11
Sitting down on Spencer’s bed, seeing as he is currently snoozing with Blake in mine, I pull my phone out. I ignore the missed calls and even more messages from my mother and instead hit the button to call Whitney. The dull sound of ringing chimes out from my phone.
“Come on, pick up, pick up,” I mutter, tapping
my fingers on my knee impatiently.
“Whitney’s whorehouse, you got the dough, we got the hoe. How may I be of service?” she answers cheerily, yet somehow managing to hit the word service with just the right amount of sultry.
“Hilarious,” I reply, my voice sounding bland even to me.
“What’s up, buttercup?” she asks, losing the pep.
“Okay, so you know I’m stuck on the island?” I begin.
“Is this about your mum freaking out, because if so, you know I think you should just tell her to go fu—”
“It’s not about my mum,” I say quickly, cutting her off from shouting more obscenities about my mum than I care to hear.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s, well I’m staying with these three guys because the hotel closed,” I explain.
“Are they hot?” she asks. I chew on my lip while I think of a way to adequately describe them. “I’ll take your silence for that they are smoking hot,” she adds when I take too long.
“Yes. They are, okay, but that’s not the issue. So, I may have slept with two of them…” I trail off, realising how bad that sounds even to my own ears.
Crap, what have I been thinking?
“Yes, girl! You get you some. What’s the problem?” she asks, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
“Well, the problem isn’t Blake or Spencer, it’s their housemate,” I answer.
“Blake and Spencer, hot names, you need to send me some snaps. But what about their housemate? Is he super-hot too? Gonna collect ‘em all?” she teases.
“Well we kissed…”
“Aaaannnnddd?” she asks, dragging the word out dramatically.
“And then I found out that he’s either engaged or married, you know, just the usual standard jackass move,” I snap.
“Shit, he didn’t,” Whitney exclaims.
“He did. He left the computer in the office open on a picture of his engagement party for god’s sake,” I reply, feeling the frustration reach its peak, as hot tears run down my face from the anger rolling through me. I look down and notice my free hand shaking on my lap, so I tuck it under my leg to keep it under control.
“What an asshole, did you slap him? Are you going to slap him?” she asks. I roll my eyes.
“When have you ever known me to slap anyone?” I question her, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I wouldn’t win in a fight with a freaking moth.
“Never, you’re just a little tame like that. It’s a good thing I’ve got more than enough claws for us both,” she replies.
“By claws do you mean those horrendous fake nails you have? Because if so, yes, you for sure have enough claws for the both of us,” I tease.
“Ouch, maybe kitten does have some verbal claws at least,” she replies, and then, I hear her sigh commisaretively. “What are you gonna do about jackass, then?”
“I don’t know, play dumb and stay away from him as much as possible for the next few days? I don’t really have a lot of options here. I mean, I’m stuck on this island, there’s nowhere else to stay, and it’s fucking minus whatever degrees outside and covered in snow. I couldn’t even stay in my car if I wanted to! The only way off this damn island is by the ferry—which isn’t running—or a private fucking plane, which I clearly don’t have access to,” I complain, my words tumbling out in a rush.
“It’ll be okay, calm down,” she says soothingly, her words only making the tears fall faster down my face.
“I feel like such an idiot. I mean I know I only just met the guy, but I feel genuinely deceived,” I admit.
“It’s okay to feel like that, hun. He shouldn’t have kissed you if he has a woman already. We can work something out, just breathe, Tamara,” she says.
“I’m okay, I’m just… what if Blake and Spencer also have girlfriends—wives even? I just I can’t even think about that,” I reply, feeling utterly terrible about myself.
“Wouldn’t they live with them?” Whitney asks.
“They might do. Noah and Blake are only here at Spencer’s house for the month, and from what they’ve said, Spencer moves a lot anyway,” I explain.
“Hm, so it sounds at least like Spencer might be unattached at least?” she says.
“Maybe, but I think Spencer and Blake are a package deal,” I reply, with a cracked laugh.
“Package deal, huh? I’ve gotta go to a tiny population island if that’s what’s on offer,” she replies jokingly.
“What am I going to do?” I ask her seriously. There’s a long pause before she answers.
“I have a suggestion, but you’re not going to like it,” she begins.
“Go on?” I prompt.
“You could ask your mum, to ask her husband, to ask his even more rich-ass brother for help?” she suggests.
“Your suggestion is to ask my mum for help?” I whine. I cannot believe she would even suggest that.
“Sorry, Tam, but that’s your only option for a private plane. Which means it’s your only option to get out of there,” she says.
“Great, just great. She just tried to set me up with a job at his company, Whit. If I ask for this, she’ll guilt me into taking it, I know she will.”
“Could you not just let her think you are taking the job and then not?” she suggests.
“Whit!” I whine her name. “You know I couldn’t lie if my life depended on it.”
“I know, but it was worth trying. Damn, girl, what are we going to do with you?” she asks. I sigh, wiping the tears from my face. Blinking my eyes and refusing to let more follow.
“We pick out a new work wardrobe for me, I guess. I’ll call my mum,” I whisper down the line defeatedly, the inevitable sinking in. I knew this would happen. She always gets her own way somehow.
“If you’re sure… but just know you don’t have to take some stupid job just because she bails you out of a mess. She’s your mum, it’s her job to bail you out,” Whitney offers gently.
“I know that, Whit, but my mum never got that memo,” I reply, sighing deeply. “Look, I better go. The sooner I grovel to mum, the sooner I can be on a plane off this damn island.”
“Okay, sweetness. I’ll see you when you get home then. Text me, okay?” she asks.
“Of course I will. Talk later, Whit.” I reply.
“Good luck. Talk soon, Tamara.”
I cut off the call and let my head fall into my hands. After taking a few deep breaths, I move and sit back against the headboard, flicking through my phone contact list. Dread fills me as I reach the name I’m looking for.
This can only end in grovelling and my total humiliation…
Chapter 12
Creeping into the guest room, I'm surprised to find it empty. Blake and Spencer must have moved back to Blake's room. I flick the light on, considering that nobody is in here, there’s no reason to be discrete.
Throwing my suitcase onto the bed, I quickly make my way around the room grabbing all my things. I toss them in messily, not caring if things take longer to sort through later. I grab my shower stuff from the bathroom and pack that in too, before squishing the suitcase top down and zipping it up, just about getting the zip done all the way. I didn't even need to sit on it. I grab my laptop bag and slide my laptop in, completing the last of my needed packing.
With my stuff all packed, I look sadly around the room I barely spent any time in. “Bye, Stronsay. You were fun while you lasted,” I whisper to the empty room as I turn to leave.
I creep down the stairs, thankful it's so early that all the guys seem to be sleeping still. I pause in the hallway by the door, noticing a notepad and pen by the house phone. I grab the pen and notepad, and quickly scribble a note explaining that I'm leaving—forgoing an explanation as to why. I slip my boots on and grab my coat, pulling it on quickly, knowing just how cold it'll be outside.
I leave the house, dragging my suitcase across the snow-covered ground to my little, beat-up Corsa. I throw the suitcase in the boot and my laptop bag on the pass
enger seat, and then set off for the airstrip.
The short drive seems to take forever, with the light snow beating down unrelentingly onto my windscreen. I drive slowly, telling myself that it's a precaution to be safe on the icy roads, but in reality, I’m savouring my last views of Stronsay.
The waves crashing in the distant water, the white snow-covered fields, and all the open space. Despite it being such a small island, not one inch of it feels cramped. The early morning sky is a light blue, the snow falling looks out of place against the clarity of it. I drive past several farmhouses and cottages, and then finally, Stronsay Airport comes into view.
Calling it an airport is generous, the place consists of a small, white building with a dark, shingled roof. On one side of the building, across the road is a field which according to the sign on the fence is normally occupied with cattle, not that I can see any. On the other side of the building, behind the metal gate, is the runway where a small private plane waits, all ready to go by the looks of it.
I park my Corsa by the building, and just sit there for a moment looking at the plane, a sinking feeling settling into my stomach. I take a deep breath and step out into the cold, slinging my laptop bag’s strap over my shoulder, and walking around to the boot to grab my suitcase. Just as I’m pulling it out, I notice a car coming towards me, speeding down the road at a risky speed considering the weather.
I slam the car’s boot down, and drag my suitcase along behind me as I head for the plane. The car screeches to a stop, but I don't turn around as I push open the gate. Someone steps out from the airport building, a man in his late thirties by the looks of it. He waves me over, I step forward, but a hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around.
“Why the hell are you just leaving like that?” Blake demands, his face is a mixture of confusion and hurt, the look in his eyes cuts me deeply.