by Corri Lee
We drove in silence for the next ten minutes, my unease with travelling in the gremlin car fading with each mile. My gaze stayed fixed out of the window, watching the stop-start rhythm of the sea of cars around us. Despite living there for a little over four years, I didn’t know London well enough to take it’s chaos for granted like the other suits and stiffs roaming the streets between dinner appointments. It still amazed me that anyone could live comfortably in the middle of all the noise.
I’d not once perused the crowded arenas of Piccadilly Circus or Trafalgar Square, so I was daunted enough by being so close to the action before Blaze pulled into a small private car park and retrieved another nightmare mode of transportation from the boot of his ‘car’.
“Rollerskates?” I snapped, crossing my arms defiantly as he pulled off his shoes to slip on a pair of red and white skates of his own. “This had better be your bad sense of humour at play.”
“Nope. It’s rush hour, this is faster.”
“You’re fucking crazy, man.” He shot me a sterling grin and pulled my door open, swiftly crouching to pull my feet from the foot-well. I was horrified when I realised that he was genuinely serious. “Oh, God. I’m going to die today. Without a doubt, this is my last day on Earth.”
“I’ve got your back.” He looked up at me and winked, pulling my shoes off and replacing them with the ludicrously clowny skates. “I had to guess at your size, so I went for a five.” I tried not to focus on the fact he’d guessed right. He was turning out to be weird enough without the words ‘foot fetishist’ flashing over his head in neon lights. “You ever been on a pair of these bad boys before?”
“Sure, when I was about nine.” And I’d felt like an idiot then.
“Great! No tutorial necessary, then.”
Grabbing me by the waist, he hauled me to my feet and tossed my bag down on the seat behind me. It seemed like I was totally at his mercy in the middle of a relatively alien place, separated from familiar company and any way of contacting them. On rollerskates. Why wasn’t I feeling a little more apprehensive than I should have been?
“For interests sake...” I murmured, testing the stability of the wheels underneath me. “... You know how to keep under the press radar, right?” My question had less to do with his lone wolf reputation and more the fear of being identified as a Tudor.
“Why, are you camera shy?”
“If I say I’m camera shy, do you promise not to ask questions?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion but he nodded, agreeing to play along. “I’m camera shy.”
“Righto. Ready?” No.
“As I’ll ever be.”
With one of his hands wrapped around my wrist, Blaze pulled me along behind him at unnerving speed, weaving between the pedestrians that filled the pathways. Occasionally, he glanced back at me to laugh at the hand I had firmly clapped over my eyes and called back insults based around me being cowardly.
Watching him move so confidently and fluidly, there was really no way to avoid being envious of how comfortable he was in his own body—completely refined and controlled in a hectic environment like it stemmed off from him and had been constructed specifically for his enjoyment. He was more ‘London’ than Jonathan and the thrill of being literally dragged along for the ride distracted me from the fact that we were being an absolute nuisance.
“I thought you said we had a route,” I yelled after shouting an apology to the fifth person finding themselves on my collision course. Blaze spun around and ground to a halt in front of me, cheeks flushed and pupils wide with adrenaline.
“We do, I just wanted to see how many times I could take you around in a circle before you noticed.”
Stepping back to look at the surroundings, I realised that I was looking at Nelson’s Column for the third time. “Oh! Bastard.”
Grinning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me in front of him, pushing me forward at a much slower and safer pace than before. His fingers innocuously thread between mine like it was the most normal thing he could have done, and somehow that encouraged me to move my legs. I might have thought it was because I wanted to escape if I couldn’t feel the goofy smile plastered to my face.
Everything in my life at that moment felt askew, turned upside down on it’s head and showing no signs of righting itself. There was no way that we would actually avoid the media when Blaze, of all people, was circling the capital on rollerskates with some ragtag brunette beside him, but that was okay. The time for bitter retrospect and mourning my mistakes would be later. It was impossible to think logically when he had such a stupefying effect on anyone who looked at him. As soon as we parted ways, I was sure I’d be instantly plunged into a deep regret for being so foolhardy, but when he looked so urbane and free, it was hard not to get a little carried away in the moment.
And then I remembered an old cliché I’d heard so often before but never really put value to: ‘Be careful what you wish for’. If I really thought about it, Blaze might just fit the description of the tall, dark and handsome stranger I’d wanted to mess up my life, and maybe I’d dreamed of him so hard he just sprang into existence. Hardcore Buffy The Vampire Slayer fans might call him my ‘key’—a complete fabrication of something else moulded into human form, creating false memories of his fame and popularity for everyone else but me. Admittedly, I probably wasn’t subconsciously protecting him from a psycho goddess, but my being there with him seemed just as unlikely.
But why the hell was I complaining? I’d wished him, so if he was going to send me down in a blaze of embarrassment and public humiliation, it was my own damned fault.
Our route led us to Hyde Park, where skating seemed to be far less bizarre. Girls in daisy dukes and tank tops spun around skilfully with their bandana wearing boyfriends to the music pounding from portable CD players, swirling around us like we were no real obstacle. Masses of people called Blaze’s name when they saw us, proving to me just how notorious the man was, and their curious frowns at our linked hands were a confirmation that this was not his usual means of association.
Like I had any doubt. I shook my grip free and folded my hands securely under my arms, painfully aware that I didn’t fit in wearing tattered grey slacks and a style-less work shirt.
Apparently sensing my insecurity, Blaze pointed at my shirt and shook his head authoritatively. “Off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Okay, not off as such. Undo the bottom buttons and tie it up like a bolero.”
Sparing a quick glance down, I rolled a foot away from him and turned my back on him. Revealing my midriff in public was possibly a bigger anxiety trigger than if he’d asked me to strip naked. At least all eyes would have been fixed on my chest that way. The way my body looked was a secret shame.
“Come on, Emmeline. You’ll burn up like that. I know that’s your specialist area, but—”
I spun back around to him, hands on my hips. Would he ever let that go? “It’s Emmy, not Emmeline, and I’m not doing shit to this outfit. Let me sweat or take me home.”
“Interesting set of options,” he murmured, trying not to laugh at the fact that I’d been unwittingly suggestive and had the blush to show that I knew it. “But seriously, whatever your beef is with your body, nobody cares what you look like here. Check it.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at a seriously overweight man wearing less clothes than decent. “You could be seriously disfigured and nobody would care with this guy hogging the vista.” I froze, numbed by his unintentional perceptiveness.
He arched a brow at my expressionless face and took advantage of my stillness. “Okay, I’ll just sort you out myself.”
Before I had any time to object, he had the bottoms of my shirt tied off low enough to not reveal flesh and my sleeves rolled up. Surprised by his swiftness and embarrassed by the fight I’d put up over nothing, I stared at him, struggling to muster the smile he’d so easily caused before.
If he sensed my inner turmoil about being so dangerously close to being exposed, he didn’t giv
e it away when he turned me back around and began to pluck the bobby pins from the French knot styled into my hair. “So how long is this mane of yours?”
“Very. That’s why it was tied up.” He must have ignored the blatant vehemence in my voice, too, because he kept on pulling at the pins until there was nothing to stop it tumbling free. His fingers sifted through the strands of raven from root to the tips that ended at my waist.
“Jesus.” Something in his tone made my stomach flip. It was carnal and raw—something which had no place being directed at me. I’d been object of enough men and women’s affections to hear lust in a voice, but Christ, this was so primitive that I half expected his teeth to sink into me. “Why the hell don’t you wear it down all the time?”
“It gets in the way,” I whispered, scared to turn around and see if his face matched his sultry growl. “You’d find out how much if you backed up enough for me to stop feeling like your prey.”
Immediately, he stepped back out of my personal space, but I could still feel his intensity permeating off him in waves. I was sure my brain was starting to bleed from how severely sexual he was, and I decided in that minute that, as popular and gorgeous as he was, I wouldn’t grant him the privilege of being treated any differently from any other man who was drawn to me. If one night in my bed was what he was looking for, he’d get it without this charade.
“There are easier ways to score a lay than with disingenuous flattery and outlandish dates, you know.”
My fists clenched at my sides as he closed in on me, grabbing me by the hips to pull me right up against him. His hands so close to my bare skin made me sway—I wanted them lower, tensing and flexing, nails biting into my skin as I rode him... My head tipped back to catch a first time glimpse of the twining flecks of copper coursing through his irises. “Wow.” Ugh, damn it...
“Cute,” he laughed, “but I’ve got you pegged, Emmeline. You’d be surprised how much you give away without even knowing it, and trust me, I’m no enabler. If you think I brought you here as part of some juvenile mating ritual, you’re wrong.”
“So why did you bring me here?”
He frowned, slowly releasing me. “I don’t know. I didn’t even think about it. But I’m not an idiot—I know that if I took you home and screwed you now, I’d never see you again.”
“So?”
Scowling, he ducked down and planted a quick kiss right on my lips. I jerked back in surprise, baffled by the passionless advance. “No. I’m not nearly done terrorising you.”
His rejection didn’t hurt as much as it should have, unlike my palms and knees after repeated impacts with the concrete. An hour in the baking June evening sun proved that I wasn’t half as graceful as he was and not nearly as reflexive. Every time I fell, he darted over to me to save me but ended up on the floor with me. While he laughed, I sulked, feeling like an uncoordinated no-hoper.
“We’re not doing that again,” I huffed, rolling my eyes at being carried around like a sleepy child. There was no denying that being that close to him was a treat for all the senses—he smelled divinely of shower gel, sweat and himself—but the blood soaking through the fabric of my slacks made me feel more idiotic than the rollerskates did.
Pain didn’t bother me, but it seemed to bother Blaze, who insisted on carrying me back to his silver bug car en route a pharmacy so he could clean me up when I winced uncontrollably with every step.
“Agreed,” he nodded. “I should have guessed that you were too accident prone for something my seven year old nephew does quite capably.”
“Don’t mock me. I know people.” Throwing his head back to laugh, Blaze set me down on the bonnet of his car and lifted my trouser legs to survey the damage. His laugh was almost as silken and seductive as his voice—a good distraction. “Is it bad?”
“You’ll live. Though judging from the state of these kneecaps, you’re no stranger to falling over.”
“Occupational hazard. I’m a professional wino.” He ripped the packet of an antiseptic wipe open and seemed to look up for signs of life when I didn’t flinch on it’s contact.
“So you’re kind of self-destructive?” What the hell kind of question was that to ask a woman he’d just met?
“I got in a car with a total stranger and you’re only just realising this? Sure, I’m ‘kind of’ self-destructive like the Pope is ‘kind of’ Catholic.”
He didn’t answer until he’d finished cleaning my grazes. “What would it take to change that?” Why the hell do you care?
“Crack.” As much as he tried, he just couldn’t resist laughing at the dark joke, making it somehow clear that he knew I wasn’t that kind of person.
“You always drink at Esme’s”
“Yup. The five of us; we’re a coven. We call the corners every night and substitute the virgin’s blood for red wine because we’re strict vegetarians.”
His brow arched with wry amusement. “Do you ever stop being ‘on’?”
“No, I’m like a wind turbine. Or a solar powered calculator.”
After removing the skates and replacing my shoes, he pulled me up to my feet and guided me to the passenger seat by the small of my back. In just ninety minutes, it had become like he’d been in my life forever. He was easy to be around, too easy. His little touches and secret smiles felt special and gifted to only me, and he was going to have to knock that right off. There was no space in my head for another man. Hunter, Chris, Daniel and Jonathan had my ‘platonic penis’ quota covered.
“You never actually told me why you don’t socialise with women.”
Blaze looked at me like he’d known the question was coming and was glad I’d finally cracked. “Honestly? Without sounded conceited, it’s impossible to find a woman out there who doesn’t want me to fall in love with her and whisk her off to my ivory tower. Better to steer clear of temptation. I can’t get attached.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. And neither can you.” He turned to me, catching me in a gaze so shimmering hot it was like watching magma bubble, and it burned right through my resistances to the truth inside me. I’d never felt so much like an open book to someone. “I told you, I’ve got you pegged. I don’t know the why’s, what’s and who’s, but I knew last night that, when you looked at me, you wanted nothing more than to screw me senseless and send me packing. Not a single white picket fence in sight in that scorching hot fucklust stare of yours.”
“Fucklust?” I settled back in my seat, impressed by the new expression I was definitely going to add to my vocabulary when he was out of earshot. “So why all this rollerskating bullshit? Why not just invite yourself back to my flat and have done with it?”
“Well, for a start, you set yourself on fire and left pretty quickly.” He smirked and started the engine, pivoting in the car park to head back in the direction of Double Booked. “And I’m not a misogynist. I have no objections to forging friendships with women who don’t pose some sort of threat of wanting ‘more’. But you know, with this face,”—he pointed—”it’s difficult to avoid running into complications. Better to steer clear completely and avoid the stress.”
Nodding to the sentiment, I rested my head back and narrowed my eyes at him. “That doesn’t explain the rollerskate torture. Are you seeking petty vengeance on the inherently clingy womankind through me?”
“Shit no. I like rollerskating, it’s fun. I like to have fun with friends and the people I hope will become friends. I get the impression that you’re at your best before you’ve swapped bodily fluids. I’m in no hurry to become disposable to the first woman I’ve felt comfortable being around in a long time.”
That hurt because it was true. With a few minor exceptions, my attitude towards a lover had a tendency to cool significantly after I’d kicked them out of my bed or made a dash for their front door. It wasn’t intentional, just a method of self-preservation that stopped me from getting too close to anyone who wanted to chase a commitment. Blaze couldn’t have been more rig
ht when he said I couldn’t get attached to someone. It simply wasn’t an option.
But I didn’t know if adding him to my circle of friends was, either. Could I simply socialise with a man who screamed SEX, not succumb to weakness and not turn arctic like I could with only four others? I didn’t trust that I could.
Esme’s jaw dropped when her eyes fell on my bloodied slacks and raw palms. She seemed so appalled that she didn’t stop to eye-fuck Blaze, who lingered in the doorway to my flat after insisting that he had to make sure I made it inside without falling over. In fact, she glared at him icily and demanded an explanation for me looking so dishevelled, which he volunteered casually with no hesitation while he walked aimlessly around my small open plan flat, stopping occasionally to check out my displays of movie and video game memorabilia.
“Rollerskating, are you fucking kidding me?” She spat her words like venom, tugging the knot of my shirt free because she how crazy it must have driven me. “Who does that? You take a woman out for a nice meal, maybe a drink if she’s not hungry, then if you must sate your libido, a cheap hotel for a quickie.”
“What can I say, Esme? I’m out of practice.” Blaze raised his hands like she had him at gunpoint and edged over to the dining room table to set down my bag and sketchbook. “She’ll deny it, but she had a great time. Isn’t that right, Emmeline?”
“No,” I lied, but he saw my betraying smirk. There really was no denying that a part of me was disappointed to come home, even if he did insist on using my full name like some kind of manager or scholar. “Just promise me there’ll be no extreme sports next time.”
He cleared the space between us in five strides and grabbed my hands, pulling them up to his lips and staring into my eyes with faux-seriousness. “I swear to never put your life in danger again. I have something way better in mind.”
When he left shortly afterwards, I had no expectations of seeing him again. We hadn’t traded numbers and I didn’t know his surname, age or anything people usually discussed early into a ‘friendship’. He knew my name and where I lived and worked, but what use was that if he’d decided I was too much of a klutz to be seen with?