Commitment

by K. M. Golland

  I closed my eyes. Yes, Mum, I’m aware he is handsome and has a nice taut arse. ‘Dale, this is my mother, Maria. Mum, this is Dale. We work together.’

  He took her hand in his and kissed the top of it. ‘Si prega di conoscerti, Maria.’

  I nearly tossed another sausage roll. Holy shit! He speaks Italian, which means he just heard what my mother said. ‘You speak Italian?’

  ‘Yes.’ He winked at Mum. She winked back. ‘Studied it at uni and lived in Italy for two years on assignment.’

  ‘Assignment?’

  ‘Top secret,’ he said, leaning over and stealing a sausage roll.

  I was just about to tell him they were hot when he shoved the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes bulged and watered as he munched it down quickly with an open mouth. I playfully rolled my eyes, went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, popped the top, and handed it to him with a ‘suck shit, serves you right’ expression on my face.

  He just nodded.

  I nodded back.

  ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please take this tray outside to the table that’s set up under the pergola?’

  He gulped his beer, choking a little. ‘It would be my pleasure.’ Dale picked up the tray and walked off, coughing. ‘Really good sausage rolls, by the way.’

  I giggled.

  Mum murmured.

  ‘What was that, Mum?’

  She smiled, shook her head and said ‘niente’ as she carried two bowls of salad in the same direction as Dale. Nothing my arse, Mother.

  I, too, picked up a plate of sandwiches and a quiche and headed outside, nearly bumping into Dean.

  ‘Whoa! Eyes up, babe. What can I help you with?’ he said all cheerily, as if his absence inside and lack of help was completely kosher.

  I stepped around him. ‘Nothing. It’s all done.’

  He jumped in front of me and tried to take the plates from my hands. ‘Give me these. Where do you want them?’

  I lowered my voice and kept a firm grip. ‘I said it’s fine. I don’t need your help now. Before, maybe. Now, no.’

  ‘What’s gotten into you? You’re acting like a crazed bitch,’ he whispered.

  My jaw dropped, and I was seconds away from slamming the quiche into his face, saved by the fact that it was a good quiche — sundried tomato, rocket and feta — and I wasn’t going to waste it.

  ‘You have gotten into me, Dean. I did all of the food prep and cooking on my own while you were outside by the pool drinking all afternoon.’

  ‘You told me to stay by the pool and make sure no kids peed in it, so that’s what I’ve been doing!’

  ‘Are you serious? They’re gonna pee in it regardless. It’s what they do. Gee, I might be a crazed bitch, but my God you’re thick sometimes.’ I wrenched the plates from his grip and continued outside, unwilling to argue with him anymore. Not at Thomas’s party. I was a simmering kettle of emotions ready to boil over, and I didn’t want to snap in front of all our friends and family, and especially not Dale.

  * * *

  After chilling with a wine or two, playing kids’ party games like Marco Polo, Treasure Hunt and Whack Derek With A Pool Noodle, we’d sung ‘Happy Birthday’, cut the cake and said goodbye to our guests, and it was now time to relax on the sun lounge while cuddling my birthday boy.

  ‘Did you enjoy your party?’

  ‘It was the best party ever!’ He squeezed me tight, his wet board shorts dampening my dress.

  I pretended to push him away. ‘Argh! You’re all wet.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Gee, thanks for that.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ the cheeky bugger replied.

  ‘So, have you opened your presents yet?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What did you get?’

  ‘I got this really cool security set from Dale. It’s real, Mum. Not a toy one.’

  I looked down my nose at his face, which was nestled against my chest. ‘What do you mean it’s real?’

  ‘It’s not plastic with stickers.’

  ‘Right. So what’s in it?’

  ‘Handcuffs, two headsets so that William and I can do secret missions, a taser, a—’

  ‘A TASER?’ I screeched, sitting upright.

  ‘Yeah. But that one isn’t real. It just buzzes a little.’

  A sigh of relief parted my lips. ‘Oh. Good. Why don’t you go get it and show me?’

  ‘Okay.’ He jumped off my lap and headed inside, which was when my mother-in-law, Carol, sat down beside me.

  ‘I hope you have sunscreen on, dear? You’re starting to look a little pink.’ She gave my body the once-over.

  I smiled. My mother-in-law was a good egg: loving, caring, kind, and she only ever had positive things to say about the world and those who were in it. She adored her son and grandsons, and she was your textbook baker granny, always in the kitchen conjuring up the yummiest cookies and cakes for when the boys visited. She really was ten out of ten in the mother-in-law stakes. Mind you, her optimism was a little irritating at times.

  ‘Yes, Carol, I’ve lathered up.’

  ‘Good.’ She straightened her legs on the lounge beside me and covered them with the material of her dress. ‘So, how are you, dear? I didn’t get to see you much today.’

  ‘I’m good.’ I leaned over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. ‘Oh, and once again, thank you so much for making Thomas’s cake. He loved it. It was delicious.’

  A proud smile lit up her face. ‘You’re welcome. Anything for my boys.’

  ‘You have to tell me what was in that cream filling.’

  ‘Uh-uh. A chef never gives away her secrets,’ she said, placing her finger to her lips.

  ‘Carol, you’re not a chef.’

  ‘I beg to differ. I’m highly trained, despite being trained by moi. And for your information, I’m chief of my own kitchen. That makes me a chef in my own right.’

  I laughed. ‘I suppose you’re right, as usual.’

  Carol didn’t say anything. Instead, she patted my leg and fell silent, and I instantly knew something was on her mind.

  ‘Okay, ’fess up. What’s brewing in that head of yours?’

  ‘Oh, nothing really,’ she said hesitantly, her voice all of a sudden timid. ‘Just something Dean mentioned.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Annnnnd?’

  ‘And … well, he said you’ve been a little … what was the word he used …?’

  I hazarded a guess. ‘Crazed?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. He said you were crazed and all over the place and that he thought you might be going through menopause. He’s worried, Natasha. And so am I, of course.’

  I steepled my fingers and laced them together, resting them on my lap. It was all I could do to prevent them closing into fists and seeking out my stupid husband.

  ‘So … how have you been feeling? Do you think it could be the grand climacteric change?’

  Fuck me to the underground and bury me with Hades. Surely, he DID NOT tell his mother I was crazed and going through menopause.

  Carol waited patiently, concern and sympathy swirling in her eyes, but I couldn’t answer. I was stunned for having been placed under a spotlight and pressured to confess something that wasn’t happening.

  I felt violated and ashamed; I felt betrayed.

  She gave my leg another encouraging pat, and all I could do was blink.

  And blink some more.

  And deliberate the many ways I was going to kill Dean.

  CHAPTER

  10

  TASH

  Dean had slept in the spare room that night, after we’d had a major argument about my supposed menopause and why it was so fucking out of line to tell his mother and get her involved. The dimwit just couldn’t comprehend why I was so angry and embarrassed that he’d discussed such personal matters with Carol. His response had been, ‘You’re a middle-aged woman, so is she. I thought it was a topic of conversation you could discuss. I was only trying to hel
p.’ Firstly, I was not fucking middle-aged. I was thirty-nine. THIRTY-NINE! And secondly, I’d discuss menopause when I was bloody well going through it. Argh!

  I was so mad at him, and although I had every reason to be, deep down I knew I was angry at more than just his slip of the tongue. I was angry with him for not being the man I craved. I was angry with him for not being the man he could be. I was angry with him because … because I just was. And I couldn’t help but feel that way. It was horrible and I hated it. I’d also hated crying myself to sleep in an empty bed.

  As usual, we hadn’t crossed paths the following morning and, again, that had been a good thing because seeing him would’ve been pointless anyway. He’d have chosen to either mope around or pretend nothing had happened.

  It was typical Dean. And I was typically over it.

  Feeling stuffy — not because of menopausal hot flushes but because it was the height of summer — I opened the door to my office to allow better ventilation. I’d been stuck behind the computer all day, putting together the Easter promotion proposal for the board, together with finalising bits and pieces for the Australian Open gala, which was to be held this coming Friday evening.

  I was exhausted and wanted a tea break, although taking a break meant my thoughts would drift to my problems at home, and I didn’t need that. What I needed was to remain focussed.

  Lifting my hair and holding it in a messy bun on top of my head, I rubbed my exposed shoulder, allowing a cool breeze to caress my sweat-dampened skin. I tilted my sore, stiff neck, wishing that I was currently enjoying a hot relaxing bath or that I was at the mercy of a masseuse. Suck it up, princess, you’ve got shit to get done.

  Just as I was about to take my own advice and get back into the joys of celebrity tennis-player seating arrangements, my phone beeped. I picked it up and found a message from Dale.

  Dale: Someone needs my hands on them.

  Someone needs a swift kick to the balls. I read it again, which was when I realised what he was doing. You perverted spy.

  Swivelling my chair, I looked directly at the security camera in the hallway outside my office door and flipped him the bird before swivelling back around again. And not even five seconds later, my phone danced its merry vibration jig along my desk.

  Dale: Cute. I bet that finger tastes good.

  Oh my God! Shocked — and in all honesty a little turned on at the thought of his lips on my skin — I stood up, strode to my door and, right before closing it, placed my finger in my mouth and sucked on it for him, slowly dragging it back out before the click of the door’s latch stole his view. A devious grin met the tip of my finger, which was still teetering on my bottom lip. That tasted … salty.

  ‘Yuck.’ I tried to remove the taste from my tongue by half spitting and half blowing a raspberry as I stepped away from the door and sat back down at my desk, facepalming as mortification hit tenfold. Natasha Idiot Jones, what the hell was that? You just performed a finger blowjob to a security camera perched on the ceiling. Are you insane?

  Maybe I was. Maybe Dean was right and I was menopausal, crazed and out of my mind.

  ‘No. No. No,’ I reaffirmed out loud, raising my head and straightening my shoulders. ‘He’s wrong and I’m fine. I may be a little misguided at the moment, but that’s all. I just need to focus.’ I linked my fingers and straightened my arms, pushing my hands out and cracking my knuckles. ‘Rightio. Focus. Back to work. I’ve got this.’

  I woke up my computer screen with the jiggle of my mouse and proceeded to type when there was a knock at the door. Argh! Go away. ‘Come in,’ I called out, turning to see who it was and nearly falling off my seat when Dale opened the door, walked in, and closed it behind him. ‘Um … my bird-flip wasn’t an invitation for you to come down here, you know,’ I stuttered, wide-eyed, my stomach fluttering nervously.

  He didn’t answer as his purposeful strides brought him closer to me, each step he took sending anticipation and unease surging through my body. It was clear by his direct, resolute approach that he was on some kind of mission — what that mission was, I was about to find out.

  ‘Dale I … no—’

  ‘Just sit and turn around.’ His voice was authoritative but held a softness that instantly alleviated my apprehension, so I did what I was told.

  Actually, I didn’t have a choice in the matter, because he spun my chair around and placed his hands on my shoulders, his fingers gently skating over my sensitised skin before settling and kneading my aching muscles. Oh! Oh wow!

  Heaven descended upon my office.

  ‘Um … you shouldn’t do that. You need to st— oh my,’ I moaned, unable to help myself. ‘Look, that’s great but … but you really need to stop.’ I tried to wriggle out of his grip.

  ‘Tash, just let me help you.’

  I paused at the annoyance in his tone, adding a little of my own. ‘Is that all you’re doing, Dale? Helping me?’

  He, too, paused for a few seconds but then continued. ‘For now, yes.’

  ‘And after now? What then?’

  ‘Then is then. Now is now. Honestly, you just need to shut up and let me fix this.’

  I scowled then closed my eyes. Fix this? Fix what … my knotted muscles or my knotted heart and mind?

  He couldn’t do the latter; I knew that. He’d only succeed in making the knots in my heart and mind worse. But damn was I confident he could fix the tension underneath my skin.

  ‘Okay. Thank you,’ I whispered, melding to his rhythm and losing the battle to fight him. ‘I am really sore and tight.’

  Relaxing, I opened my neck to his touch, drifting into a realm of heightened sensitivity and pleasure, a place where restraint was difficult to uphold. It was dangerous territory, but I needed to go there. Wanted to go there. And he wanted to take me.

  ‘You’re not wrong, Tashy. Being this tense is not good for your body. You’re gonna have to learn to relax and let go.’

  The push, slide and glide of his fingers intensified, creeping over my shoulders to the top of my chest. My breath hitched. My chest rose. My nipples hardened. Pleasure shot right to my core like a bullet, and my legs clenched together, tight. I was now more tense than ever and feeling things I shouldn’t, sensations that were not allowed.

  It had to stop. I had to stop him.

  ‘Dale,’ I sighed. ‘Please stop. I can’t …’

  ‘You can’t what?’

  ‘I can’t let you touch me like this.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m feeling things I shouldn’t feel right now.’

  ‘But you want to feel them, right?’

  His voice was low, breathy, and his hands kept inching down my chest.

  ‘Yes. I mean, no. I mean …’ My head fell back and my eyes closed when his hand slid inside my blouse, his fingertips skating ever so delicately across the tops of my breasts. His touch was feather-light, barely a touch at all, yet it created a surge of need that bounced from every extremity of my body. It also tripped the alarms of my conscience.

  ‘No, Dale, please, you have to stop.’ I clasped my hand over his, securing it in place on my chest.

  Warmth tickled my neck as his lips sought my ear. ‘You want this, I can tell. Your body is screaming for what I can give it.’

  I opened my eyes and turned to face him. ‘So what if it is. That doesn’t make it right. I’m married. It’s wrong.’

  ‘Denying what you want is also wrong.’

  I removed his hand. ‘That’s not fair and you know it.’

  He swiftly spun my chair to face him, dropped to his knees, opened my legs, and wedged himself between them. ‘Why? Why isn’t it fair? It’s true, isn’t it? We’re the only ones who know what we want … can give us what we want.’

  His hands slid up the outsides of my thighs and settled on my arse. I tried to pry them off but he flexed his fingers and abruptly pulled me to him, my front slamming into his. ‘You want me. You want this.’

  The contact of his body against
my clit nearly tipped me over the edge, and I had to draw upon every ounce of willpower I possessed to stop from grinding against his erection. It was there. Hard. Throbbing against the seam of his trousers and the seam of my self-control. Oh God! No. Shit. Donuts. Donuts. DonutsDonutsDonuts!

  ‘No, I don’t,’ I blurted out, placing my hands on his chest and gently pushing him back.

  Defeat rose to the surface of his heavy-lidded eyes, his forehead coming to rest upon mine. ‘I know you do, Tashy.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered, tilting his chin up and leaning in to kiss his cheek ever so softly. I needed to give him something, to give myself something. I didn’t know why, because, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have given him anything, and yet my natural instinct was to reassure him that he hadn’t been wrong, that I did want what he wanted; I just couldn’t allow myself to have it.

  But that was all I could grant; a soft, swift touch of my lips before pulling back. ‘Thank you, but you need to leave.’

  Dale held my stare for what seemed like several minutes then got to his feet, leaving my office and leaving behind a bigger problem to be fixed.

  * * *

  For the rest of the day I’d buried my head in my work with the sole hope of erasing the memory of Dale between my legs, against my lips, to erase the touch I still felt of his hands on my hips.

  It hadn’t worked. He was everywhere.

  Turn the handle, Tash. I stared at my idle hand clasped around the doorknob of my front door. It wouldn’t move. I couldn’t move it.

  The familiar smell of dinner passed through the wood panel, together with laughter from the boys playing. All of it churned my stomach and twisted my heart. Come on, you can do this.

  One slight rotation of the wrist didn’t seem all that difficult, but in that moment it was the hardest action I’d ever performed. It meant entering a world I had built over the years with my husband, a world I had once felt was the reason for my existence, but now I wasn’t sure if it was the only world for me. It meant facing doubt, anger and guilt head on.

  It meant facing my family.

  As I was about to do just that, the door opened for me, revealing Dean with a bunch of flowers and an I-fucked-up look on his face.