A Brit Complicated

by Brenda St John Brown

  I slide the trousers up over my hips. They’re tight on my bum and I do a deep knee bend so they don’t look obscene. “I’ve already packed my jeans. Besides, these are way more comfortable.”

  Comfort has never been my go-to reason for anything and Tara raises her other eyebrow, but says, “At least wear a cute top then.”

  “I’m not going on a date. Bradley’s taking me to see my mother, who’s lying in a hospital. I don’t think it matters what I wear, do you?”

  “Whoa.” Tara takes two big steps backwards until she’s standing in the hallway. “Sorry.”

  I pull an oversized T-shirt from my drawer. It’s one of Jasper’s old Cambridge T-shirts I nicked last summer. Technically, he lent it to me and I “forgot” to give it back because I love how soft and worn it is. Also, it grounds me in some weird way. I don’t answer Tara until I’ve put it on. “Sorry. I’m nervous and I’m taking it out on you.”

  “Uh, no shit.” Tara smiles.

  I give her a half-grin in return. “I’m sure it will be fine, right?”

  “If it gets too awkward, pretend you’ve fallen asleep,” Tara says as I pick up my purse and keys.

  “Not a bad plan.” I glance around my room one more time. “Okay, I’m off. I’ll text you and let you know what’s up, but I doubt I’ll be back before Sunday, so have fun on your date. I’m going to need all the details.”

  “Send me good vibes,” Tara says.

  “Likewise.” I’m going to need them.

  Especially if the first twenty minutes in the car with Bradley are any indication. I thank him again for the ride and give him the post code for Castle Calder. The sat nav warns us it’s going to be five hours and nineteen minutes until we arrive and then…nothing. Bradley and I don’t exchange a word as he zips across London towards the M1. Normally when we don’t speak, it’s because he’s speaking to someone else, but tonight his phone is tucked out of sight.

  I alternate between looking out the window and sitting on my hands, but the silence makes me more and more uncomfortable until I blurt out, “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Why?” Bradley sounds so surprised I look away.

  “You seem preoccupied.” Better word would be distant, but that implies a familiarity I’m not comfortable with.

  “I’m a bit preoccupied, I suppose. I have a lot of balls in the air at the moment.”

  I don’t think he’s directing this at me in any way, but guilt fills me. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t have the time for this.”

  “Well, no. But like I said, I–”

  Yep, I don’t need him to say it again. “Care very much about your employees. I know. But, like I said, I also know you don’t have time for this and I appreciate it.”

  My tone has an air of finality to it. I don’t want to spend the next four hours and forty-nine minutes feeling indebted or apologetic. I lean my head back against the leather headrest and let my eyes flutter closed, ready to feign sleep until it becomes a reality, when Bradley says, “Tell me about your mom.”

  My eyes fly open. “My mum? She’s great. Why?”

  Bradley smiles a little. “I assumed that. But why? How? What’s she like?”

  “That’s quite a question.”

  This time when Bradley smiles it’s wide and easy. “Which I assume has quite an answer. It’s not like we don’t have time.”

  Indeed.

  For the next however-long I tell him about my mum. What she looks like, how she dresses, the way she gets herself all worked up before a big event at the hotel. I talk about how she encouraged my love of art when I was little, even when Jaz teased me. By the time I see the first sign for the North, I’m talking about Jasper and Bea. “He’s dated one of my best friends before and it didn’t end well, but I think he’s learned his lesson.”

  “One would think. He’s probably not as hopeless as you think he is, you know.”

  I do know, but hearing Bradley defend my brother he’s never even met? So not on. I swat him on the forearm. “What is this? Some kind of guy code that you automatically rush to defend my brother?”

  “Guy code? No. But as a man who’s learned from his mistakes, I can assure you it’s possible.”

  I turn so I’m facing Bradley. It’s dark and the only light is from the passing headlights on the other side of the motorway, which makes it easier for me to ask, “So what kind of mistakes have you made then? Did you date and dump your sister’s best friend, too?”

  “I don’t have a sister, so no. But I’ve made my share of mistakes in the dating department, for sure.”

  That’s an invitation to ask, right? I’m taking it as one. “Like?”

  “Like expecting too much and giving too little in return. When give and take is assumed, it becomes problematic when it always skews to the same side.”

  Now is the time to ask about Anne von Thaden. But since I can’t figure out how to do that without breaking Tom’s confidence, I say, “You know what they say when you assume.”

  My tone is sing-songing and light, but Bradley’s isn’t. “I don’t like letting people down. Often the reason such an expectation exists is because I’ve somehow set it in the first place.”

  “That seems a little self-important, doesn’t it? Never mind harsh. How are you responsible for someone else’s perception of you?”

  Bradley takes his eyes off the motorway for a full three seconds and studies my face. I know because I’m counting and just as I’m about to remind him to look at the road, he says, “You thought I was an asshole until we started spending more time together. Now, you still think I have asshole tendencies, but your overall assessment of my character has improved. I daresay I did very little to discourage your former opinion, but I have tried to shape the latter.”

  “Because you were trying to get me into bed.” I keep my voice flat and, I hope, free of judgment. If Bradley were romancing me, it would be one thing. Or it would be nothing because it wouldn’t have progressed on either side.

  Bradley side eyes me. “Because good sex happens as much in the mind as in the body. Physical attraction only gets you so far.”

  “And your character gets you the rest of the way?” I grin, but I see the grain of truth in what Bradley’s saying.

  “I believe it gets you the rest of the way. If you didn’t like me, deep down somewhere, you’d never let yourself come like that, let alone call my name when you do.”

  My thighs clench a little, even though Bradley’s tone is matter-of-fact. Nothing like the power of suggestion. I’m on the cusp of making a smart remark when a car speeds up behind us, illuminating Bradley’s face in the rearview mirror. He looks the same as he always does, except for the slight line between his eyebrows. My mum always calls it a worry line and maybe that’s what makes me reach over and put a hand on his knee. I say, “You’re right, you know. I do like you.”

  He puts his hand over mine and squeezes my fingers a little. “I like you, too, you know.”

  We hold hands across the gear shift for the next 150 miles.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  By the time we get to Castle Calder, it’s almost three a.m. and way too late to go to the hospital, even without Dad’s warning that the night-shift nurses are cranky. We agree I’ll be there for the start of visiting hours at nine, and once Bradley grabs the bags from the boot, I lead him up to the family apartment and head straight to the kitchen.

  “I’m having a cup of tea and going to bed. Do you want one?” I ask, clicking on the electric kettle.

  He shakes his head. “No. I don’t have the British affinity for tea anytime of the day or night.”

  “That’s a shame.” Because it speeds up the ‘where are you going to sleep’ conversation. But right now, I’m too tired to draw it out. “Don’t feel like you have to wait for me to go to bed. I’m sure you’re even more tired than I am.”

  “I’m going to take you up on that. Where should I crash?”

  How to tell Bradley Walking-Sex is exh
austed? His one eye droops and he drops the veneer of formality and sounds like a normal guy. It’s sort of endearing.

  “I have a queen-size bed in my room or, if you prefer, you can sleep in Jasper’s room. Either way is fine.” But as I grab a tea bag and toss it in a mug, I realize I have a preference. A strong one.

  “Either way is fine.” Judging by his tone, it’s not fine with him.

  And after our car journey and the hours we spent talking and touching, it’s not fine with me either. I take a deep breath. “That’s not true. Stay with me. My room is the second door on the right. It’s the messy one filled with old artwork.”

  “Done. See you there. Don’t be offended if I don’t wait up. It’s no reflection on the company.”

  Bradley doesn’t wait for me to respond before heading down the hallway. I appreciate the view of those tracksuit bottoms and lean against the wooden counter, letting my eyes flutter closed. Even though it’s dodgy circumstances, I can’t deny it’s nice to be home. The sheer quiet alone is overwhelming compared to my flat in London. And the smell – a mix of lavender and bleach with undertones of the cinnamon Dad puts in his coffee – wraps around me like a duvet on a cold November night. There really is no place like home.

  I finish my tea, leaving the mug in the sink. If Mum were here, she’d remind me that it’s just as easy to put it in the dishwasher, but I make her a silent promise to do it first thing in the morning before grabbing the handle of my case and heading to my room.

  Bradley’s left the bedside lamp on for me, but I have a feeling the room could be filled with spotlights and he wouldn’t notice. He lies on his side facing away from me, but I tiptoe around and peek at him to make sure he’s not awake before kneeling to open my suitcase and grab my nightgown. Last time we slept together, nightwear wasn’t even a consideration, but it feels strange to sleep naked with him now. Part of it is that we’re in my parents’ house – even if they’re not here – but the other part is that sleeping together naked without the sex first implies a level of intimacy I don’t think we have.

  Also, I’m pretty sure I saw a sliver of T-shirt peeking out from beneath the duvet, so I’m not the only one who thinks that.

  Of course, unzipping my case is louder than a train coming into Waterloo Station. Bradley shifts and the duvet falls off his shoulder. Yep, he’s kept his T-shirt on, which means naked is a no-go. I inch the zipper down a bit more and he groans. Crap.

  Into the loo with me it goes, banging against the door and whacking my thigh on the corner of the countertop hard enough for me to utter a pretty loud curse word. I bend to unzip my case and there’s a soft knock on the door.

  “Scarlett?” Bradley’s voice is rough and low. I shove my suitcase aside with my foot and open the door as far as it will go. Which is about ten inches, so no wonder he sounds confused when he says, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you, so I thought I’d get ready in here. It’s not working out so well.”

  “My toothbrush is there.” He points to the sink behind me. “Help yourself and come to bed. It’s an early start tomorrow.”

  If we’re not close enough to sleep naked sans sex, we’re sure as hell not close enough to share a toothbrush, but now’s not the time to point that out. I offer a tired smile. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  For a few seconds, he stands there and I think he’s going to wait for me, but then he turns back down the hallway and I set a world record for my nighttime routine. No exfoliating or pore minimizing tonight, just good old-fashioned soap and water and a quick slap of moisturizer. I toss my clothes in the tub and yank my blue strappy nightgown out of my bag. It’s the equivalent of a long camisole top, but it’s just fitted enough through my chest not look like I’m wearing a sack.

  I hoist my suitcase into the tub, too, to get out the door and pad back down to my bedroom. Bradley’s asleep again, but facing the door this time. I stand for a minute and let myself appreciate the view. His face is relaxed and he looks young and without a care in the world. It’s a good look – one that makes my heart do a little skip in my chest.

  Which I ignore and slip into bed, my back to him. I’ve no sooner let my head sink into my pillow before his arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me close until my back rests against his chest. “Sweet dreams,” he murmurs and kisses my hair.

  I let my arm – which has been frozen in mid-air – rest on his and my fingers splay over his forearm. His chest rises and falls behind me and its regular rhythm is what quiets the skip in my heart. Which had picked up to a slow jog for a minute there.

  I’m tired and overwhelmed. That’s all.

  I’m confused. And not in a good way.

  This is going to get complicated if I don’t figure it out.

  The voices in my head vie for attention and I fall asleep to their clamoring, sure of one thing – one of those bitches is lying.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  When my alarm goes off at 7:30, I feel like I’m coming up from the bottom of the ocean, surrounded by sharks taunting me. That’s what I get for going to sleep with my head in a muddle and Bradley’s strong arm – still – around me. He pulls me back against him and slurs, “My God. Shut that thing off.”

  I wriggle to reach my phone and end up with my bum pressed against his morning wood. And what a lovely feeling that is. I grab my phone and snooze the alarm just in case, then half-turn so I’m facing him. “I’m going to get up in a minute to get ready to go. But you can stay in bed if you want.”

  “How are you going to get to the hospital?” Bradley pulls back so he can see me more clearly.

  “I was going to take my mum’s car. As long as I’m careful driving, it should be fine.”

  “I’d like to go on the record as saying that’s a terrible idea and I cannot, in good conscience, let you do that.” Bradley’s awake now. He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me with equal measures of Bradley Walking-Sex and I Am Your Boss in his expression.

  So my reaction is all about the latter. “I don’t think you’re in a position to let me do anything, thank you very much.”

  “I’m taking you.” He wraps his arm around me more tightly. “And I’m prepared to play dirty to convince you to agree.”

  The alarm on my phone rings and I snooze it again. “I have a two-minute snooze on my alarm because the only way I can get up is by annoying myself enough to get out of bed. If you can work with that, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Two minutes, huh?” Bradley’s hand slips under my nightgown and rests on my stomach for a second before creeping up and pinching my nipple. He moves closer until his lips are against my neck and his tongue makes a long sweep of my collarbone. He grinds his hips into my ass and says, “Give me four.”

  I’ve remained motionless so far, but it’s not easy when he’s doing that thing with his tongue. Have I always had an erogenous zone on my shoulder? I don’t think I have. Or maybe I have and no one’s ever found it before. That seems likely because when my snooze alarm goes off and Bradley’s hand slips my panties down and slides between my legs, I’m so ready for him to get me off I can’t help moaning.

  “You want more of that, beautiful?” Bradley dips his fingers in and out of me so fast I call out in protest. “Then you’re going to have to ask.”

  I twist so I can see him better. I don’t have the benefit of his cock pressed into my ass anymore, but now I have one better. Access. I put my hand inside his boxer briefs and tighten my grip before saying, “Make me come, Bradley.”

  His eyes flare with desire and for the next minute he works my clit like a virtuoso as I keep a steady rhythm from the head to the base of his cock. Feeling his excitement turns me on more and I manage to gasp, “I’m close. Let yourself go, too.”

  He doesn’t need convincing and starts to thrust into my hand as I buck against his. I swear to God, I haven’t given a hand job since uni, but at the minute, it seems underrated. Especially when we
come at the same time and his mouth crushes against mine, his cock twitching in my hand.

  My alarm goes off again as if on cue and I’m surprised to find my phone still clutched in my free hand. I press end and look down to where our hands are buried. “Um, it’s time to get up.”

  Bradley laughs. One of the laughs I love. If I were to use Bradley’s name and love in the same sentence, which I am not. “Come on. Let’s go shower.”

  “Together?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Saves water and time?” He grins. “We need to leave for the hospital and I’d love to see the castle before we go.”

  “Sure, we can do that. But I don’t remember agreeing to you taking me to the hospital.” I try hard to hold back a grin of my own, but fail.

  “I’m sure I heard agreement there as you came.” He grips my wrist and removes my hand from his boxers, kicking back the duvet and swinging his legs over the bed in one swift motion. He glances at my hand and says, “I’d say sorry about the mess, but I’m not.”

  “I’m not either.” I push my panties down my legs and follow him out of bed to the bathroom.

  Where all of my stuff is still in the shower. Before I can even say anything, Bradley lifts it out, puts it in the hallway and turns on the water. He strips off, steps in and holds out a hand. “You’re joining me.”

  Again with the bossiness? I put my hand on my hip and say, “You’re going to have to quit that right now.”

  “Quit what?”

  “Acting like you have any right to tell me what to do.”

  He furrows his brow and a trickle of water runs down his nose. “I don’t think I have any right to tell you what to do.”

  I parrot his words back at him. “‘I’m taking you. You’re joining me.’ I’d be a lot more amenable if those were questions.”

  “I didn’t mean…” He stops and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so used to taking charge that I don’t even realize I’m coming across as overbearing.”

  Whoa. A full-on apology was not what I was expecting. Maybe it’s meant to disarm me, but it works. I roll my eyes. “Well, I don’t mind you taking charge some of the time.”