The Tempest

by Brit Constantine

  “About sharing my face? I’d like to think the public care more about what I do with these hands than how pretty my face is,” he laughs.

  They care about both, Lenic. Both.

  “Being famous doesn't bother me, but don't care for it either,” he adds.

  Lenic is only England’s greatest icon. You’d have to be under the age of … I don't know, dead, if you don’t know who he is.

  “Last time I checked, you had over six million likes on Facebook. You must care a little.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “I've got Facebook?”

  “Yes,” I laugh. “How can you not know?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “Well, how about that…? Cross must've set it up. Probably his way of getting the girls’ phone numbers.”

  I chuckle softly with him, enjoying his company, and the slight morning breeze on my face. The June air is warm with a faint chirping of birds from the woods nearby, and the conversation keeps flowing. I feel at ease with him, and there is never any awkward silence. It feels natural, like I have breakfasted on his boat for years, rather than one morning.

  A little green fly lands on my knee, near a long thin white scar. I got it falling off my bike as a teenager. I gently blow away the little insect.

  “Nice scar,” Lenic says. My head shoots up. The way he is looking at me makes me feel nervous. He stares into my eyes until my body hums, and then leans back, hands behind his head. “Your scar. It’s sexy.”

  I still for a second, surprised. “Sorry … it’s just when someone sees my scar, the first thing they do is ask how it happened. Like it’s a big deal. Like I died and went to Hell to get it.”

  “It's hot.”

  I smile, my head crumpling under the strain of the compliment, and I have to look down at my coffee mug. My skin is so hot I can hear it sizzling.

  I stand up to stretch my legs and lean against the boat rail, glancing into the water on tiptoes, wondering if my bracelet is hidden at the bottom, or if it has been dragged out, lost at sea.

  I pivot to face him. “What made you choose to live on a boat?” He shrugs his shoulders and moves to stand by my side, his gaze suddenly taking on that far-off quality as he stares across the sun-kissed water. “Please don’t misunderstand me. This view is breathtaking. But, it doesn’t seem like a permanent way to live.”

  I glance at him to find him staring up at the sky, but I can tell from his troubled expression it isn’t the bright white clouds chaining down his thoughts. He lets out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Don’t know what I’m doing with my life, to be honest. The winner of the Road to Redemption championship will get the chance to be signed with a top-dog American sports agent. There’s a million pound deal on the line. But it’ll mean moving to America.”

  I stand up a little straighter, frowning. “You’re leaving Stonebrook?”

  He pauses. “It’s a pretty big deal to pass up.”

  “Yeah, of course … that’s great news.” I watch a pair of seagulls take flight over to the right, and wonder why West never mentioned anything about America. “I mean … of course. All that fame and fortune … who would turn that opportunity down?”

  Silence stirs the air, the subject of the competition reminding me of the real reason I came to visit. I open my mouth, then pause to steady myself, feeling a faint film of sweat clinging to my skin all of a sudden.

  “What is this feud between you and West?” My question catches him unprepared. I wait, watching something change in his eyes, a hard edge that hadn’t been there before, and I wonder about the layers that are concealed within him. “Please don’t be evasive and say it’s because you two are fighting in the ring soon. I know there is something else, something that happened between you two.”

  His expression flat-lines and sombreness settles, offsetting the effects of sunshine falling upon us both. His whole body goes rigid, and I can see a vein pulsing in his neck. Guessing from the way he is reacting, he isn’t going to let me in the loop.

  I scoff lightly in frustration. “Were you two in a secret relationship that ended in a bad break-up?” I suggest, like a last ditch effort. Only silence greets my bumbled question.

  I try to fill the silence but the next response on my lips dies — the sarcastic and clever thing I want to say, that I can no longer remember — because Lenic’s mouth is over mine, and the short distance between our faces has been bridged. I feel the bruising force of a blistering kiss; there is no finesse beyond pure lust that takes less than a second to react to. It only takes half a second to react to.

  There really is no moderation with Lenic. He is all hot or all cold and now … now he is searing hot, so damn hot. And I feel the heat from his mouth shift into my core, and I am quickly forgetting about the reason why I came here, and only thinking about how his mouth is all over me, and how I want him to rip my clothes off and take me … and bloody hell…

  He kisses me like he’s trying to break into every inch of me; bare his soul to me, like it’s a secret between us. His tongue invades my mouth like a Royal Marine, all armed and dangerous. It isn’t tender or merciful, in the least.

  My hands roam around his hair, and when I tug hard at the long length on top, I hear his sharp intake of breath. When he pulls back, I draw in a stuttering breath.

  “You’re a fruitcake but you're driving me crazy,” he groans out, the throaty tone of his voice sending a shiver down my spine, despite the scorching summer heat.

  For a fleeting moment, he seemingly drinks in the entirety of my face, the full length of his body still pressed against mine, and the primal need in his eyes threaten this isn’t the end.

  He is going to kiss me again or die.

  I have a split second to stop him, but I’m too frozen by shock to make my mouth move. And then he captures my lips again with his, surprisingly, in a gentle kiss. Something kindles inside my heart, something urgent and unrelenting, and suddenly we are kissing like long-lost lovers, deep and firm, with no sight of an end. I’ve kissed before, but not like this, not with such tender desire. I am realising I have never been kissed the way a man should kiss a woman. When he releases me enough to come up for air, I have to hold on to him or fall.

  I hear him breathe out a throaty groan, treading backwards, away from me, as if he doesn’t trust himself to stop at a kiss. I am left dumbfounded on the spot. His kiss had the power to touch my clit.

  It was … magic.

  My skin is flushed, tingling in the open air, and I feel as though I haven’t breathed for a lifetime. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a throaty sigh.

  My nails dig into my palms and I will myself to stand there and wait. Say nothing. Just breathe. That, in and of itself, is made more difficult by my racing pulse, until it seems like all I can hear is the rush of my own blood in my veins and the frantic hammering of my heart.

  “What was that for?” I ask quietly, my eyes searching his dark gleaming ones.

  His lopsided grin melts my heart. “Payment accepted.”

  8

  “ROYAL SOCIETY FOR THE PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO PENISES.”

  CROSS

  “YOU TWO HAD sex?”

  The X-rated visions of Lenic that have been swimming around in my imagination all week, start blinking out of existence like popping balloons.

  “No,” I deny to Cross. A little too much. Spooning a mouthful of the strawberry cheesecake Cross shouted, it occurs to me he is the kind of guy who brings it all down to the bottom denominator, making everything about sex.

  Sitting across from him at a corner booth in Marge’s café, I look around and then glance back at him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not close enough for you to be sitting here with me and acting like we’re girlfriends who lunch.”

  “You’ve got that look is all I’m saying.” He glances at me suggestively. “I know that look.”

  “Amazing. Only a two minutes conversation and you know me better than I know myself. You
should know — it’s quite obnoxious when a guy’s ego gives him false authority to tell a girl he knows her better than she knows herself. How’s your relationship with your right hand going, by the way?”

  He chuckles, setting his black coffee down on the table. “Bit of a sprain, but we’re still solid.”

  “I’m ecstatic for you both.”

  I wipe the corners of my mouth and peer out of the window, watching the afternoon crowd mill around Saint Mary’s Square. I spot Pigeon Girl sitting in her usual seat. I see her nearly every day. Near enough when the clock strikes twelve, she comes and sits by the fountain and feeds the pigeons for an hour.

  You’re not allowed to feed the birds, but I don’t have the heart to tell her. Her perpetual expression of melancholy is heart breaking. Meek and timid, she is hunched over like she’s permanently apologising to the world for existing. It hits a chord with me. No one should feel worthless.

  “Are you really telling me there isn’t something a little more to you and Big Man, other than friends?”

  Cross’ question draws me back to the café. I sense something strange in the pit of my stomach as I try to dismiss the memory, try to turn my mind to something else, but I am fighting a losing battle. And there it is again, the tangible memory of Lenic’s body hard-pressed against mine, kissing me, invading my senses. I remember it all: every movement, every breath, every tick of his Rolex watch … everything that happened is impressed into the memory of my skin. I can never forget it.

  My cheeks flush bright under the warmth of the café, and I do my hardest to bite back the I-heart-Lenic smile creeping on my lips as Cross studies me like a hawk.

  I shake my head, and bite down on my bottom lip, not trusting myself to speak with the vision of Lenic’s body still burning in my mind, the taste of his tongue still entwined with mine.

  Oh dear, now I am sure Cross suspects something and I also know if I start denying it, he will smell a rat and call me on it. So I shove three mouthfuls of cheesecake into my mouth, all at once. Gesturing to my mouth with a pointed index finger, I indicate my lack of ability to reply to his question, my eyes telling him I'd really love to discuss this further, when all I want to do is dine and dash.

  He runs a finger around the rim of his coffee mug. “He told me you’ve been having breakfast at his for the last week.”

  Since the kiss, every morning when Lenic returns from his early run, we sit out on the deck of his boat for breakfast, and fill the time with general small talk and our usual banter. I wouldn’t say we were BFF, but I enjoy his company. And unless he is a glutton for punishment, he seems to return the sentiment.

  I swallow the heavy load of cheesecake in my mouth. “Was there another reason you wanted to meet up, other than discussing if my sexual needs are being fulfilled?” I pick up the crumbs that have fallen onto my strapless black-and-white gingham summer dress.

  “As his manager and trainer, I should order you to take those videos down.” My body tenses and I glance up at him. He sits back in his seat, crosses his arms. “But I won’t.” I feel my shoulders relax. I should count my lucky stars. He would be well in his rights to force my hand.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” I smile across at him. “How come?”

  He nods, looking thoughtful. “Let me be perfectly honest with you. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. And Lenic’s got a charity fight coming up soon. Tickets sold out in less than an hour after that video of him in the shower went up.” I nod in understanding. “But that’s not the real reason.” Pausing, he eyes me while parking his elbows on the table, and stabs a finger at me. “You’re the reason.” My brow lifts. Before I can respond, he beats me to it. “You’re more than pretty, but it’s deeper than that. You bring something long dead out of him.”

  He shakes his head in disbelief and peers out of the window. I am a little too shocked to say anything as I listen to the steamy hiss of the coffee machine and the clatter of plates and cutlery.

  His gaze drifts back to me. “The guy doesn’t smile let alone laugh these days. Didn’t think he had it in him. It’s because of you, I tell you.”

  Fair enough Lenic’s laughter is once in a blue moon, but I think Cross is over-exaggerating. “He isn’t as bad as you’re making him out to be. I’ve seen him smile a fair bit.” He eyes me with a see-my-point look.

  “Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ve not seen him this happy or interested in a chick for a long time.” He shakes his head and sighs. “The man deserves it. Sexy bastard saved my life, more than a few times.”

  My interest is suddenly piqued. “How long has it been for him?” I try to mask the desperation in my voice.

  The corner of his mouth turns up. I can’t hide anything to save my life. “Long enough I was thinking about calling the RSPCP.”

  “What’s the RSPCP?”

  “Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Penises.” I laugh out loud, Cross following suit. “He's never been a promiscuous kind of guy,” he adds, his shoulders still shaking from his laughter. “He’s sort of old-fashioned when it comes to the ladies.”

  Brooke, our waitress, stops by our table and offers us a refill. A little younger than me, she has bright green eyes and shoulder-length copper hair. She fills the mug in front of Cross and tops mine to the brim, giving me a warm smile. Cross doesn’t get the same treatment.

  I thank Brooke for the coffee and notify her that I’m not on a date with Cross. Her shoulders sag with relief. Poor girl. She’s got it pretty bad. I invite her to join me on a girls’ night out soon.

  Cross shuffles in his seat, at least showing her the courtesy of looking uncomfortable. He tries to appease her with a smile. Brooke huffs, turns on her heels, and struts off, the clicking of her shoes on the floor sounding behind her.

  I give him a pointed look. “Ring her.”

  “We went out on a couple of dates a long time ago. We didn’t click — and I never slept with her.” I shake my head, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. “I’ve just got cheated on because my ex girlfriend couldn’t resist putting Mr Whippy in her mouth,” he moans. “Gimme a break.”

  “Lenic told me you were only dating Alice for three months.”

  “It was three months and five days … Look, I really was beginning to get serious about Alice…” He sips his coffee and shrugs. “I’d like to ring your sexy French friend. There’s just something about her...”

  I cough out a laugh. “Keep dreaming. She might not be able to handle her drink, but she’s classy … when she isn’t drunk. And still way out of your league.” He fits her type of trouble with a capital T, but I think Jack Cross’ box should sweat a little before it is opened.

  “Come on, it’s obvious she can’t get enough of me.”

  I cross my arms on the table and lean forwards. “Take my advice, Cross, quit the cheesy pick-up lines. Or the only relationship you’re going to get with my friend is with your imagination and your fiancée.” I point to his right hand.

  “Noted.”

  “If you’re not serious about my friend, you mess her around…” I glance over at Brooke. “…I’ll make you sorry you were ever born. Do we understand each other?” He gives me a knowing smile. “What?”

  “You and Lenic … you’re more alike than you both realise.”

  Cross pays the bill and we part ways outside the café, after I thank him again for treating me to lunch. I start to walk in the direction of my house when Cross calls out, “Wait up.” I wait as he approaches. “Don’t tell Lenic we met for lunch.”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “The only reason we met in public is because Lenic’s in Canada visiting his parents. If he asks, this never happened.”

  I laugh and nod my agreement. I don’t have the heart to tell him that word spreads like wildfire in this neighbourhood, and that I think he should probably emigrate when Lenic finds out.

  He hesitates on the spot. “Listen, I've got nothing to gain from not being on the le
vel with you. I'm not trying to score points to get into your friend’s underwear. I'm just saying it like it is. You’re good for him. In a sick twisted way, your humiliating videos are bringing him out of his misery.”

  I don’t know why, but it suddenly feels like Cross is putting a lot of pressure on me. I blow out a frustrated breath. “I told you, nothing’s going on.”

  “Then be a friend. Don’t let his ice exterior scare you. His bark is worse than his bite. He’ll try and push you away, Felicity, but I think you’re the first person who won’t let him.”

  When Cross leaves for the gym, I take in a deep breath and let it out, falling into a world of confusion. How can I tell him what I don't know? It is hard to explain your feelings, especially when they don’t make any sense, and that is the problem.

  Ready to edit my bikini haul video, I make my way across the Square and notice Pigeon Girl is still hunched over by the fountain. She is tall and thin, dressed in leggings and a short leather jacket. Covered from head to toe, I wonder why she isn’t sweating in this summer heat.

  Now that she is barely centimetres away, I realise how pretty she is, even with her wan complexion. Her brown eyes are big and her long hair is golden blonde.

  “You OK?” I ask her in a gentle voice.

  Her whole body flinches. I detect more than just a note of alarm. I see panic and fear. I recognise it, because I know it. I’ve felt it, lived it.

  She looks up at me. She’s got that wary look on her face that dogs get when they've been kicked one too many times. My eyes are immediately drawn to her arm when she pulls on the sleeve of her jacket, but her movement isn’t quick enough to hide her fresh bruise. I grind my teeth.

  Some bastard is hurting her.

  Her eyes dart to the left then right before she barely focuses on me again. “Yes,” she sniffs, staring at her boots.

  I sit down on the bench beside her, because I don't really want to leave her all alone. She seems ready to break into a million pieces.

  “Hi, I’m Felicity.” She acknowledges me with a hesitant smile. “Nice day, isn't it?” She seems on edge, remaining quiet. I dig into my bag, pulling out my take-out muffin. Breaking pieces off with my fingers, I throw them towards a group of pigeons. “Local Council don’t permit people to feed the pigeons but don't tell anyone, I like to feed them.”