Bad Guys

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

“Parfait,” the man says.

  Once we’re alone, I ask Robert, “Why hearts? Why not brains? Stomachs? I don’t know, something else. Why hearts?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, “you just sort of slide into these things when you’re a doctor. You get a feel for what suits you. I like the intricacy of the work I do, the fluidity. I could’ve become a brain surgeon but it’s so high pressure. I know my limits.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine how you do any of it. I get scared if I cut myself, let alone seeing someone else. It’d terrify me. Seriously.”

  “It’s like you said, it’s just what you’re used to. My parents brought me up to be brave about it and to be a bit clinical, actually. I definitely wear a different hat when I’m at work.”

  “Ah, so you’re not as nice, then?”

  “Oh, I’m still nice,” he says, “even with the fools who are costing the NHS millions of pounds because of their dirty habits, but I have a good bedside manner. I get that off my mother, I expect.”

  His words knock the wind out of me a little but I manage to hide it, the dessert arriving just in time. I’d love to have inherited some good qualities from my mother, but unfortunately, I’ve only inherited her mistrust, her critical nature and her perfectionism. All bad, really.

  “Ready?” asks Gideon, a jug of hot sauce in his hand.

  I expect we’re not allowed to pour it ourselves… being that it’s piping hot.

  “Go on then, Gideon. Do it,” I encourage, and he chuckles.

  The chocolate dome gives way to a circular cheesecake beneath which ends up lathered in caramel, melted chocolate and little golden balls, some sort of decoration.

  “Lovely,” I enthuse.

  “Thanks,” Robert says, and Gideon floats away from our side, but not before topping up our glasses with the stealth of a hunter-killer.

  I dig in and Robert waits for me to try some. “It’s really good.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m enjoying myself far too much when he develops a queer look about him and then asks, “So, have you had any serious relationships?”

  God, just the question I didn’t want him to ask – and he instantly recognises he’s made me feel uncomfortable.

  “You haven’t,” he says.

  “Nope.”

  Things go very quiet and he asks, “Why is that? If I’m allowed to ask?”

  I shake my head side to side, hunched over the table. “I could’ve, you know? Had relationships. There was this guy… in Mayfair… Adam’s mate… he was filthy rich. But he was a disaster waiting to happen. A bit like one of your problem patients.”

  “An addict,” he says.

  “Yeah. Everyone at school sort of had little crushes on one another. There was Adam and Chloe, Paul and Lily, Tom and Marie for about a week, maybe I fancied Theo for about three seconds… but, I don’t know, nobody ever really admitted to fancying me. I can’t help that people think I’m aloof and standoffish. I was brought up this way. Plus, I admit, I do love my work and I love myself. I’m not going to be with anyone if it’s not right. I haven’t got time.”

  I look up and see he’s studying me closely, almost too closely. His eyes are on my mouth and his spoon is dangling in the air, like it might drop from his fingers if he’s not careful.

  “You don’t need anybody, but what about wanting someone?”

  I want to tell him I wouldn’t know about that either, having never tasted what it’s like to really, really want someone.

  “There are devices that do the trick just as well.”

  “And yet here you are, sparing time just for me,” he says.

  “Here I am.” I have to agree.

  “So, how about it, then?”

  I’m wondering if I heard right, when I see him scooping up the last of the dessert with a cheeky grin painting his features.

  “How about what?”

  He looks around us. “How about we go up to my room and I unzip your jacket, then your skirt, then lick you until you scream… then fuck you until the sun comes up?”

  A shot of something goes right to my pussy and my clit starts pounding, like my heartbeat has upped and moved right there.

  I can hardly speak and he knows I want it because I have caramel sauce on my spoon but I’m not eating it, the stuff precariously balanced and likely to spoil my white jacket if I’m not careful.

  “And can you answer my question yet?”

  “Which question?” he asks, puzzled.

  “Are you single?”

  His face burns in response and I realise I’ve hit a nerve and that he’s not going to be able to answer me.

  “Could we talk about this upstairs?”

  “No,” I exclaim, “you might be Adam’s cousin, but for all I know, you’re not the guy he thinks you are.”

  He looks down into his lap and smooths his hair back, then frowns when he’s forced to admit, “I’m married. Separating. But married. So I can’t say I’m single. Not in the eyes of the law. And I can only tell you that we aren’t sleeping together, haven’t been for months. That’s the honest truth and now you have it.”

  “Where’s your ring?” I growl.

  “Well, I never wore one. Not all men do. Besides, I’m a doctor. I’d only be taking it off all the time.”

  Privately I decide that if he were mine, I’d make him wear a ring and I’d surgically fix it to him if I had to.

  This date is already over as far as I’m concerned, but I’ll get out of here with as much of my dignity intact as possible… and I’ll get all the facts so I can know for myself I was right about him all along.

  “So, there was no cheating?” I ask him, my eyes trained on the tablecloth in front of me. “No other party… nothing… I don’t know… some outside influence that set off a chain of events.”

  “It’s completely amicable. Before Adam’s wedding, we were already talking about a separation and afterwards, I was more convinced than ever it was the right thing.”

  “Why?” I persist.

  “Because if I could feel the way I feel about you even while married to her, then it obviously wasn’t working, was it? It’s not fair to keep hurting each other. We argued a lot.”

  “That’s why you made a big deal of the whole house thing, you have a mortgage too?”

  “Yes,” he sighs, and I think that’s probably even worse than the marriage thing.

  It’s easy to get married, but becoming joint owners… that to me means more complications… more extrications… things I don’t want to be a part of.

  “How did you meet?” I ask. “What does she do? Do you still love her? What went wrong?”

  “She’s a radiographer. She’s Indian. My father set it up… she’s the daughter of one of his colleagues. I was an awkward teenager and an even more awkward adult, so when we were twenty-three, we got married. We were both virgins. And now I realise I probably never loved her. It was just convenience, maybe not even that. I think it was just wanting something. Someone. So I wasn’t alone.”

  That could be said for many of us… we just don’t want to be alone.

  So would I just be a replacement? A little bit of an upgrade?

  “And you’ve only ever been with her?” I ask him straight.

  “I swear.”

  I look up and into his eyes, my hands suddenly shaking with anger. I throw my napkin on the table. “And you treat me like this? Asking me to your room? When you hardly know me. When you treated your wife with much more respect than you’re treating me right now. How dare you!”

  I push back my chair and charge away. I don’t give a fuck for decorum or dignity anymore. All of that can go fuck itself.

  I march away, clutch under my arm, held so tight against me I can feel my mobile inside it digging into my ribcage, I’m so hurt and angry.

  I don’t even know why.

  He’s only tried to be honest.

  But he’s also tried to get me into bed rather suddenly. />
  I’m fuming and looking for a taxi when he catches up to me, tugging on my elbow for me to come away from the kerb as traffic races by.

  “Please, Saskia. I think I’m falling in love with you. I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve never known anything like this before. I’m mad for you. We don’t have to jump into bed although I want that more than anything. We can wait. I don’t care. Just as long as you’re in my life… as long as I can see you, I’ll be okay.”

  I turn and face him, upset and mortified. And also exhilarated. And confused.

  It all happens so quickly. He comes at me and holds me in his arms, pressing his mouth to mine, then he slips his tongue in my mouth and pulls me so close I can’t escape. I wrap one arm around the back of his head and clutch his fine black hair between my fingers as he deepens the kiss and turns my whole body to lust, to lava… to throbbing need. I kiss him back, twirling my tongue against his and he groans, his fingers pulling at the material of my jacket, like he wants to get it off… out here in public. We’re eventually kissing in synchronicity, mouth to mouth, sealed tight, our tongues entangled in a mind-blowing, ultra-passionate kiss.

  Then my senses return and I snap away, jerking backwards.

  I slap him hard on the cheek and cry, “I’m a virgin, you bastard.”

  A taxi comes to the kerb at just the right moment and I’m gone – his expression one of shock as I speed away.

  I’m aching and shaking.

  Tears rushing down my cheeks.

  Trembling head to toe.

  I’m delirious.

  Upset.

  Shaken to my core.

  I’m yearning for his arms again and I’m in incredible pain, needing his warmth and his kiss… his love. The taste of him… the warm, earthy, masculine… delectable taste of him.

  But I have so much to give… and I’m not giving it to him until he’s ready to give everything to me.

  I get home safely, still shaken up, the taxi driver having asked me a number of times if I was okay – did that guy hurt me? I drag the wine out of the fridge and peel the post-it note off it declaring it’s mine. Stupid habit. I don’t even have a flatmate anymore.

  I feel my phone buzz in my clutch and open it, finding a bunch of new messages, all from Robert.

  Saskia, I just want you so much.

  I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. Whatever it takes.

  I’m utterly in love with you.

  Please, tell me you got home okay?

  I want to see you again.

  Please, Saskia… I’m dying for want of you.

  God, what else can I say or do? I don’t know.

  I sink to the linoleum floor and cry into my own hands. What the hell am I doing?

  He’s amazing and I’m difficult and he’s telling me he’s in love with me.

  What am I meant to trust? When this is completely insane…

  I get myself together and manage to work my fingers across the keypad.

  I’m home safe. I’m sorry I stormed off. It was a lot… to deal with. I’ve been on my own for a very, very long time.

  Baby, I swear… I couldn’t help myself. I’m not like this. I don’t do this. It’s not like me. I’m socially awkward. But with you… I can’t help myself. I had to speak to you at the wedding. I had to ask you out tonight. Baby, please. Don’t say goodbye.

  Put yourself in my position. Imagine you like me as much as you say you do but you’re also in my predicament and scared. And the person you’re feeling these things for is married and has had a whole other life. And I’m vulnerable, Robert!! OKAY!

  I fling the phone across the room and cry into my hands. I don’t know how long for, but the phone ringing breaks into my crying. I sniff back my tears and answer, “Hello?”

  “Saskia, please… don’t be upset. I can’t… I feel helpless. You just ran off. Let me come there. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please, god… I’m going out of my mind.”

  “Robert,” I say, forcing air into my lungs again.

  “Yes, girl. Speak, say what you need to.”

  “I don’t want to call you Robbie. I like Robert.” I take a deep breath and shudder.

  “Okay.”

  “And I only want to see you again when you’re single. Do you understand me?”

  “Okay, if you want.”

  “And… it doesn’t bother you?”

  “What?”

  “That I—I’m—a—”

  “It’s surprised me, I’m not going to lie. I thought you’d have had hundreds of lovers.”

  “No, it’s… what I allow people to think.”

  “I want you so much, it doesn’t matter to me. I mean, it’d be amazing if I could be your first and your last, I’m not going to lie. It scares me that I might not be enough. You might be with me and then want to find out what it’d be like with someone else.”

  “Would you? If we were each other’s firsts?” I finally manage to catch my breath.

  “I wish we had been.”

  “I don’t want you to tell anyone about this.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “It was… I was…”

  “Take your time,” he whispers.

  “I was seventeen and was going to do it with this boy. It was just so I could get it out of the way, really. I kind of liked him, but it was horrible. He thought he did it, but actually, he believed between my thighs was it. It was really, really traumatic. He was hideous and it was just… it was repulsive and he said the most horrible things after I laughed at him when he asked me if it had been good for me. It made me not want to… you know… unless it was special. And it nearly happened, a couple of times, but each time I knew it would’ve just been to make them happy and not me. And I don’t attract the right kind of man. I don’t want to be treated like a piece of meat. I watched my best friend get treated like that and I hated that for her; hated that she continued as she was, even though people would talk about her.”

  “I understand,” he says softly, “I really do.”

  “You do?” I almost squeak.

  “I really do, Saskia. I understand. You want something special.”

  “Yes, exactly. That’s it.”

  “I know I’ve found something special, I just know it this time. When we kissed, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. If I have to wait, then I will, because if just a kiss felt like that… I know the whole of you is so worth waiting for.”

  “I want to believe you, Robert. I really do.”

  “We have time. We can get there.”

  “Okay, I want to go now and wash my face and get into bed.”

  “You do that, sweetie. Sleep tight. Can we talk tomorrow?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, good. Thank you for coming to dinner tonight.”

  “That’s okay. It was a nice—wait, we didn’t pay!”

  He chuckles softly. “It’s on my room, don’t worry.”

  “Oh, thank god,” I sigh.

  “You’re worried about that? Aren’t you more worried you broke that poor man’s heart tonight?”

  “What, Gideon? Surely he was gay.”

  “Nope, no way.”

  “Shit. I really must be a bitch.”

  “Or just always trying to fend for yourself, maybe.”

  I say nothing in response. It’s too close to the bone.

  “I’ll let you go,” he whispers.

  “Goodnight Robert, I hope… well, you know.”

  “I know. Goodnight.”

  I hang up on him or we’ll be here forever trying to get off the line.

  I fall into bed feeling absolutely exhausted and still a little tearful, but mostly, happier than ever and also hopeful, too.

  Chapter Six

  In the morning, with all the alcohol drained from my system, the excitement of last night dissipated and my work hat back on as I get my head into game mode, everything looks different.

  When we met at the wedding, he could’ve told me then h
e was married and separating, but maybe he wasn’t separated at all before that day. Perhaps I present a little distraction… a new chapter… and he’s getting way ahead of himself. He said it, too… he works in Leeds. He doesn’t plan to leave. He works long hours. I do, too. Sometimes I work into the night and still have to get up for nine a.m. the next day. It’s just a bloody stupid fantasy, all because he saw me across a room at a wedding.

  If only his Facebook wasn’t set to private, maybe then I could spy on his wife and see pictures of them together… find out if they really are going their separate ways.

  Instead, I fire off a text to Adam, who will be back off honeymoon by now and back at his desk.

  Dude, you didn’t mention he’s married?

  I make coffee while I wait for him to reply, then I take my coffee to the bedroom and eat my cold, rubbery toast while I dry off from my shower and start pulling on my boring underwear. He replies soon enough.

  Shit, I thought he would’ve said? He’s been up and down with her for years now. We knew it would never last. Well, my mum knew. You know how mums are…

  No, I don’t fucking know, Adam. Because my mum is a nasty, sharp-tongued old wench.

  Cheers, Ads. Cheers, you know? Anyway, hope the honeymoon was good?

  It was great, thanks. Slept through most of it. Knackered!

  I finish my breakfast, brush my teeth in the bathroom and pull on slate-grey cropped trousers, heels and a sheer blouse. I rough dry my wavy hair and use a bit of lip gloss, a tiny bit of mascara, a bit of powder and blusher… and I’m ready to go.

  While I’m on the bus, heading towards work, I receive another text.

  Are you two seeing each other, then?

  No!

  Come on, I won’t tell.

  Listen to me, Hartley. No. End of. Don’t even say anything to Susan. It isn’t going to happen. He’s married.

  Yeah, but I can tell he really likes you. Plus, he’s gonna be filthy rich when his parents die. If not before. He’s a surgeon… or near enough.

  I’m so pleased you think me so shallow.

  Soz, Saz.

  I hate when you call me that.

  He’s also a really good guy and would sell his shoes to feed the poor.

  Go away, freakazoid. I’m starting work now.