He finishes playing and looks right at me. I don’t know what to say, so I blurt out the first thought that comes into my mind. “If your brother doesn’t live here anymore, then why don’t you move into this room?” Way to go Pia, what a perfect response when someone has just serenaded you with a love song. Could I be any more romantic?
He leans his guitar against the wall, he’s turned away from me when he replies, “My brother’s dead.”
A cold chill runs through me, I gulp down some beer to moisten my dry mouth. “I’m so sorry, Trey.” He still has his back to me. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to move into his room,” I say.
He turns around, picks up his beer can and takes another swig, then he crushes the can in his hand. “It wouldn’t bother me to move in here, he’d already moved out before he died.”
I gaze down at my can, my hair falls into my face. “How did he die?”
He crouches down in front of me and sweeps my hair behind my ear. “A car crash, he didn’t suffer, he died instantly.” He takes my hand and pulls me up off the bed. “C’mon, I’ll show you my room.”
He wasn’t kidding when he said his room is small, it’s so cramped I have to squeeze past a desk and step over piles of books in order to sit down on his bed. There’s a small window with a view of a high wooden fence. At the end of the bed is a closet, there’s no way he could fit any other furniture in here. He has a computer on his desk, and an ipod, and there are shelves along the wall that are filled with more books, he must love to read. The mattress bounces as he leaps onto it. I sift through some of his books on the floor and one of them catches my eye, I hold it up to him. “Fifty Shades of Grey, seriously?” I ask, grinning at him. He’s lying on his back, his hands behind his head, looking totally relaxed.
He just laughs. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
I smirk at him. “So, are you into BDSM?”
He sits up, rests his arms on his knees and fixes me with his gleaming green eyes. “Precious, are you seriously asking me if I want to spank you?”
I bash him on the head with the book, but he just laughs, climbs off the bed and opens the door of his closet. He roots around and when he turns to face me he’s holding a couple of ties in one hand and a belt in the other. He grins. “Do you want to play, Pee Aitch?”
My mouth falls open. I scramble up from his bed, squeeze past his desk and rush for the door. I grab the handle but I turn around when I sense him coming up behind me. He’s laughing. I lean my back against the door. “Oh c’mon, Pee Aitch, let me tie you up and torture your body.” He licks his lips.
He’s standing so close to me I could reach out and touch him. I gaze at his chest and think about his fingers roaming across my skin. My body starts to tingle and I giggle. “Don’t you dare, Trey. If you touch me I swear I’ll kick you in the nuts.”
He busts up laughing and throws the ties and belt onto the floor. “Is that a threat, Pee Aitch?”
I hold my breath. He doesn’t move, his eyes are locked with mine and then he lunges at me, his hands move around my waist and he scoops me up. I squeal loudly as he throws me over his shoulder and we both tumble onto the bed. He’s on top of me, his legs are pinning mine but he’s resting his weight on his forearms. His face is close to mine, the tips of our noses brush together, and I can feel his warm breath. I part my lips as his head dips. BANG, BANG, BANG. I freeze and look over at the door as it begins to open. Trey leaps up from the bed, scattering the books across the floor as his foot catches them, and dives for the door. Whoever it is, they don’t get to come in because Trey squeezes out of the door and pulls it closed. I can hear a woman yelling that we were making too much noise, but I can’t hear what Trey is saying. I get up off the bed and straighten my clothes. It must be his mum, I don’t want her to think I’m a whore. When Trey comes back in, he locks the door behind him.
“I should go,” I tell him.
He stands in front of me and runs his fingers through my hair, brushing it back from my face. “I’m sorry, Pia. I was only playing, you know that, right? I would never hurt you.”
I slide my arms around his waist; his skin feels warm and smooth. I stand on tiptoe and peck him on the lips. “Yes I know, but I think I’ve out stayed my welcome, I should go.”
He sighs as he unlocks the door. As I step out I expect his mum to be waiting for me, but there’s no one there. We hold hands as we walk to the door. He cups my cheeks in his palms, closes his eyes and presses his lips against mine. My hands slide up his bare back and I pull him towards me, needing him closer. Our tongues mingle, and I feel heat between my legs. He stills and moves his head back to gaze at me. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks. I nod my head, I’m not sure I’m capable of speech right now. “Come over when you get back, okay,” he says. I stumble out of the door into the cool night air. So much for keeping my distance.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pia
Mum stares into her compact mirror, and applies her pink lipstick. Jake is sprawled out on the sofa, watching cartoons on the TV. I head to the kitchen and fill a glass with water. Today has been fun, I thought a place dedicated to satellite communication would be dull but I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was fascinating, our best day out so far. I gulp down the water. Dad comes into the kitchen as I’m rinsing out my glass. “I thought we’d go out to eat at the pub this evening,” he says.
I bite my lip. “Oh, I told Trey I’d see him tonight, I guess I’ll tell him I can’t make it.”
Dad turns on the tap and fills the kettle. “You’ve become quite attached to that boy, haven’t you?”
I pass Dad a mug. “No, he’s just someone to hang out with.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not true.
“Why don’t you invite him along tonight, perhaps we should get to know him better,” he says as he spoons instant coffee into his mug.
“Erm…okay.” I chew on my thumbnail. “What time are we leaving?”
Dad glances at his watch. “In about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll go and ask him, I’ll meet you guys at the pub.” I run my fingers through my hair, slip on my sweatshirt, and head out to Trey’s cottage. Trey opens the door and leans against the door frame. He’s bare foot as usual. He gives me that sexy smile of his that makes me want to plant a kiss on his lips. Oh boy, how did I let this happen, it’s doomed to fail.
“Are you coming in, Pee Aitch?”
“Erm, my family are eating at the pub tonight and you’ve been invited.”
The smile slips from his lips, and his brow creases. “I’m sorry, it’s nice of them to invite me, but I can’t go.”
I bite my lip and frown. “Is it the money? I think my dad is going to pay for us.”
His cheeks get red, and he gazes down at his feet. “No, no it’s not that.” His eyes meet mine. “You go eat with your family; I’ll see you another time.”
Is he brushing me off? I gaze down at the ground and shake my head. Of course, he wants no strings attached fun and it’s all getting too serious for him now. I feel my cheeks heating up. I force myself to make eye contact and salvage what’s left of my pride. “Of course, I get it. Goodbye Trey, it was nice knowing you, I won’t bother you again.” I turn my head so he can’t see the tears forming in my eyes, and walk away. I speed up as I hear his feet slapping against the paving slabs. I’m about to break into a run when his hand lands on my shoulder.
“Pia, please, wait. It’s not what you think, my mum’s sick, I need to stay with her, I can’t leave her on her own.”
I turn to face him. The corners of his lips are turned down. His eyes plead with mine. “I want to come, I can’t get enough of you, but I just can’t. Please believe me,” he says.
I stare down at his bare feet. Maybe I’m a fool, but I do believe him. I raise my head and give him a small smile. “In that case, I’ll stay and keep you company. I’ll text my parents and maybe we can go out with them another night.”
&nb
sp; He strokes his fingers along my cheek. “Thank you.”
“Do you want a beer?” he asks as he opens the fridge.
“Yeah.” I lean against the kitchen cupboard and begin typing out a text to my dad. He places a beer on the counter beside me and walks out of the kitchen. I hear a door open and close, and I can hear the sound of voices but it’s too faint for me to make out what is being said. I hope his mum is okay with me being here. I’m about to send my message when I realise that I don’t have a signal, and even if I could get a signal somewhere, Mum and Dad won’t have one, so they wouldn’t get my message. I’m frowning at my phone when Trey comes back into the kitchen. “I’m going to have to go and see my parents, I forgot there’s no phone signal here,” I tell him.
“They’re at the pub, right?” He picks up the handset of his land line phone. I nod my head and he flicks through a small book that is beside the phone, and dials a number. “Hi Phil. My girlfriend’s parents are there, a Mr and Mrs Hamilton, she needs to speak with them, can you get them to come to the phone?” He’s silent for a couple of seconds and then he passes the phone to me. Dad is on the other end of the line. I explain the situation and tell him we’ll arrange a meal together for another time, he seems okay with that.
“I’m glad you haven’t eaten yet,” Trey says.
“Why is that? Are you going to cook something for me?” I remember the delicious meal he cooked for me last time.
He laughs. “Not quite, we’re going to cook it together.”
“You want me to cook? I hate cooking,” I frown at him.
He chuckles. “You said you were disappointed that you couldn’t have a pasty, so we’re going to make one without onion.” He opens the fridge and pulls out something covered in plastic wrap. “I’ve already done the hard part for you, I made the pastry,” he says, as he unwraps it.
I’m excited; I do want to try a pasty. “That sounds good, but do you know how to make a traditional one like they sell in the bakeries?”
He stops what he’s doing and stares at me, his eyes wide. “Are you kidding me, Pee Aitch. I’m Cornish, of course I know how to make a pasty, in fact, ours will taste better.” He sprinkles a handful of flour onto the counter.
I step closer to him, if we’re going to be cooking it could get messy. “Do you have an apron I can wear?” I ask.
His eyes gleam. “No, but if you get flour on your clothes you can always-”
I hold my hand up. “Don’t say it.”
His forehead creases. “Don’t say what?”
I fold my arms and glare at him. “You were about to say if I can always take my clothes off.”
I stare at him as he busts up laughing. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Precious. I was going to say that if you get flour on your clothes can wear one of my shirts.”
Hmm, I like that idea, especially a shirt he’s been wearing, that smells of him, it would be worth getting in a mess.
He hands me a rolling pin and stands behind me, his hands resting on top of mine. “We need to roll the pastry into a circle,” he says as his hands guide mine. I feel his warm breath on my neck. I press my body back towards his. I would never have believed I could get aroused by rolling pastry. He dips his head and plants little kisses along my neck. I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing, all I can think about is him. I gasp as I feel his lips touch my ear. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he whispers.
He moves to another part of the kitchen and begins peeling potatoes. I feel suddenly cold and I crave the warmth of his body, I go to join him. I watch as he dices the peeled potatoes and cuts some beef into cubes. I glance down at his butt; he sure knows how to wear a pair of jeans. Feeling mischievous, I reach down, grip his butt and squeeze.
“Aww,” he sucks his finger. “I love it that you want to grope me, Precious, but next time give me some warning.” Blood trickles down his finger. He washes it under the tap, opens a cupboard and pulls out a first aid box.
“Sorry,” I say.
He tears a band aid open with his teeth. “Don’t worry; it’s just a tiny cut.”
I take the band aid from him. “Let me put that on for you.” He holds out his hand and I carefully position the band aid. “There, all better.” I kiss his finger. He scoops up the meat and potatoes and places them on one half of the pastry. “What’s wrong with your mum?” I ask.
He cracks an egg into a bowl and beats it with a fork. “She’s had problems since my brother died. She gets depressed and anxious. She’s tried to kill herself a few times, that’s why I can’t leave her on her own.” He opens a drawer, pulls out a pastry brush and hands it to me. “You need to brush the edges of the pastry with the egg.”
“I’m sorry about your mum, that must be hard. When did your brother die?”
He’s standing behind me, his arms slide around my waist; he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Four years ago.”
When I’ve finished egging the edges he folds the pastry in half and crimps the edges with his thumb to seal it. He places it on a baking tray.
“How old was he?” I ask.
He opens the oven door and puts the pasty in to cook. “Twenty.”
I swallow. He was just two years older than me, that’s too young to die. “How is your dad coping?”
I jump as I feel something wet brush against my nose. I wipe my hand across my face, it’s egg. Trey is grinning at me, holding the pastry brush. “Gotcha,” he says.
I snatch the brush from his hand, plunge it into the egg and swipe it across his stunned face. “Gotcha back.” I smirk at him.
Still grinning, he strolls over to the fridge and takes out a box of eggs. “You want an egg fight huh?” His eyes sparkle as he opens the box and grabs two of the eggs. He takes three steps towards me. “It’s on, Precious.” He raises his hand, ready to throw the eggs.
I take a few steps back and cover my face with my hands. “Don’t you dare, Trey. You’ll make me scream and it will upset your mum.”
He steps towards me. “She’ll be fine. She took her meds; she’ll be out of it for at least another half hour.”
I look at him, standing there with egg dribbling down his face, and decide that I’m not going down without a fight. I run at him and knock him back against the wall. I grip onto the egg box. Trey is now laughing hysterically as I try to prise open the box; he’s holding it tightly in his hand. Realising I’m not going to be able to wrestle the box from him; I make a grab for the two loose eggs he’s holding in his other hand. I manage to get one and I slam it down on top of his head with a satisfying crunch. Yellow yolk slides down through his hair. He’s laughing so hard he’s shaking. I feel his sticky hands on my cheeks as he pulls me in towards him and plants a kiss on my lips. “We’re going to need a shower, Pee Aitch.”
I finger my hair; the ends are sticky with egg. “There is no way I’m getting into a shower with you,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. At least let me wash the egg out of your hair.”
I clean up the mess we made in the kitchen while he takes a shower. There wasn’t much mess and it doesn’t take long. I head to the bathroom to see if he’s finished. The door is open so I poke my head around, I can hear water running, and the room is steamy. The shower is surrounded by frosted glass; I can see the outline of his body. He’s singing a song I don’t recognise, and it looks like he’s running his hands over his stomach. I stand there, transfixed. My body wants to be in there with his, my hands want to be gliding over his wet skin, and taut muscles. My hand slides down to the area between my legs. I jolt as the shower door begins to open, I rush out of the bathroom and head back to the kitchen. He comes in a few moments later, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and briskly rubbing a towel over his hair. He tosses the towel into the washing machine, and then he grabs my hand. “Time for your hair wash, Pee Aitch.”
He leads me back to the bathroom. He turns on the hand held shower over the bathtub, and lets the water run, testing the temp
erature on his arm. When he’s happy with it he folds up a thick towel, lays it on the floor and asks me to kneel down by the tub. I lean over and he sweeps my hair forward, and soaks it with the water spray. It’s the perfect temperature, just the right level of hot. His fingers gently massage shampoo through my hair, he takes his time and I like it, it’s soothing. I may never want to wash my own hair again. He rinses away the shampoo, and then repeats the process with conditioner. I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensations he’s creating with his hands. He turns off the shower and squeezes the excess water from my hair, then he kneels down behind me and wraps my hair in a warm towel. I feel thoroughly pampered.
He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. I step over his books, squeeze past his desk, and sit on his bed. He leaves and comes back a few seconds later holding a hair dryer and a brush. He sits on the bed behind me, and runs his fingers through my hair as he directs the heat at it. As he dries my hair I think about his dad, or the lack of him. I wonder if he died in the car crash too, I hope not. I have to know. “How is your dad coping, Trey?” I ask. He doesn’t answer but he may not have heard me over the noise of the hair dryer. I close my eyes. About five minutes have gone by when he switches off the hair dryer, and runs the brush through my hair. I reach up to touch it, it’s still damp. “It takes ages to dry, it’s fine to leave it like this,” I tell him.
“No, let me dry it properly for you. I love long hair and yours is beautiful, it’s the colour of syrup, I love syrup.” He strokes his hands through my hair. His fingertips graze my neck, which makes me shiver.
He picks up the hair dryer but before he has chance to switch it on, I ask him again, “How is your dad coping?”
I hear him sigh. “He coped by getting another woman and a new family.”
I start to turn my head and let him know how sorry I am, but he’s already switched on the hair dryer. It must be hard for him, looking after his mum all on his own.
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