The Dating Game

by Avril Tremayne

  She wouldn’t go back, she couldn’t go back; the scene under the glass had changed, the glass had cracked and split and she was free. She clung to him as he thrust slowly and surely into her, with her arms and her legs and her greedy mouth and her throbbing heart. ‘Love me, David,’ she said, and kissed him. ‘Love me, please.’

  ‘I will, darling one. Hold on to me, hold me, and I will, I will, I will.’

  ***

  Every time David took Sarah, it was as though he ceded a part of himself to her. But during their thunderstorm, he ceded everything he’d already given her all over again, and every last tiny hidden corner of his soul. All because of three little words.

  Love me, David.

  The most wonderful words in the world. And David basked in them. In the words, and in the cold, and in the wet, and in her. He knew her body intimately in all its miniature glory, and he loved it with something close to worship. She was everything he’d ever wanted to touch in his life, all in the one place, here, now, and with those words, she was wholly his. And he was going to brand her with the flavour of his tongue, singe her with his heat, claim her with his body. He was going to imprint himself on her, make her long for him the way he longed for her, make her think about tonight for the rest of her life and miss him, dammit. Miss him the way he was going to miss her. Make her as miserable without him as he was going to be without her. And he didn’t give a fuck for the consequences. Consequences were for tomorrow, when she would no longer be his.

  So as the lightning flashed and the thunder crashed and the rain poured over them, he relinquished all thoughts of tomorrow. Tonight was all. Kissing, kissing, kissing, until he couldn’t breathe. Tasting her and the clean, clean rain. Feeling the electricity in the air. Using his fingers to memorise her shape, the texture of her skin. Hearing her whimpers of pleasure and need. Getting her closer, closer, closer again.

  And when Sarah came, in one continuous, lingering wave of mindless abandon, David shuddered his own release, shouting her name into the final growl of thunder. The storm eased slowly around them, as he kissed her even harder. Just one more kiss, one more, one more.

  Mine.

  ***

  Sarah woke smiling the next morning.

  What a night. What an earth-shattering night. A magnificent, marvellous, brilliant, bravura night. Not only the thunderstorm experience, but everything that came after as well. David had been like a man possessed, all over her, touching her constantly, hands and mouth and tongue and teeth. She felt very well used. Superbly used. And she wouldn’t have changed one thing.

  She sat up in bed, frowning as she checked the time, listening for David. But he wasn’t in the bathroom as he usually was at this time of the morning. A quick look around showed Death on the Nile was no longer on his bedside table, even though he wasn’t more than a third of the way through the book. The blind between the bedroom and living room, which had been open when they went to bed last night, was closed.

  No.

  She didn’t believe it.

  Scrambling out of bed, she grabbed the robe she hadn’t used for three weeks and one day, pulled it on, tied it closed. She pushed the button to raise the blind. She heard a noise, a movement beyond the blind as it ascended and sagged against the wall. Thank God. And then the blind was up and there he was. David, sitting on the couch.

  She moved towards him, but stopped as she saw his face—expressionless. On the floor beside the couch was the bag he used to ferry things to and from his apartment, which was usually kept in the car. Her eyes flickered around the space. Death on the Nile was back with the other books. The ice cream maker was gone from the kitchen. There was no trace of any of his things anywhere.

  He was still in the flat … but he wasn’t really in the flat.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said through a sudden constriction in her throat.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that to you, Sarah.’

  Silence. Each of them waiting for the other to speak. But Sarah was too petrified to utter a sound.

  David cleared his throat, and Sarah forced her knees to lock.

  And then came his words. Two of them. ‘Curse broken.’ Said simply, without inflection. Devastating.

  Sarah swallowed. ‘So that’s it. You’re leaving.’

  ‘The agreement was for three weeks and one day, after which—’

  ‘I had to get the hell out of your life. Yes, I remember. I just thought … last night … I thought—’

  ‘Last night was good.’

  ‘Just good?’

  He stood, flicked a finger at the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I mean it was good to have the storm, since it was the one thing you really wanted.’

  She didn’t want to think of the storm as something that was ticked off a list. She didn’t believe it was like that. Knew, deep in her heart, it wasn’t like that.

  And she knew, also, that she had to keep him talking or he’d leave. ‘The portrait,’ she said.

  ‘It’s finished.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Sarah, don’t you think—’

  ‘At the exhibition at least?’ she asked, cutting him off before he could say he didn’t want to see her again. She wasn’t strong enough for that, not yet. Not yet, please, please not yet.

  Pause. And then: ‘It won’t be hung unless it’s a finalist.’

  ‘But if it is?’

  Another pause, pregnant with indecision. And then: ‘Sure, why not? It’s open to the public.’ His voice was that same mix of boredom and amusement that had been there the night they’d met. His infamous ennui was back in place. He could now use it to make himself irresistible to some other woman. Perhaps some other woman he’d take to the exhibition opening, whereas Sarah was now nothing but a painting of a past lover.

  David reached down for his bag. ‘I need to get going. I have to grab some papers from my apartment for a meeting this morning, so I’ve called a cab for you. It’ll pick you up at the normal time. And I—I made you some ice cream. White chocolate mint, your favourite.’

  ‘I don’t want ice cream, I want you.’

  ‘Don’t do this to me, Sarah.’

  ‘I’m not doing anything. You’re doing it. To both of us.’

  ‘The ice cream is a safer bet than I am.’

  ‘I’ll throw it out.’

  ‘That’s your call. Just remember what you said. Three weeks and one day. No demands made at the end, no questions asked.’

  ‘I remember. It’s just not as easy as I thought it would be.’

  ‘Then I’ll make it easier.’ And he was heading for the door.

  Her heart lurched, screamed at her to stop him. What could she say? What, what? She took a step, two, blurted out, ‘Aren’t you at least going to kiss me goodbye?’

  David stopped, went rigid. ‘Please don’t do this.’

  ‘Why can’t you even look at me?’

  ‘It won’t change anything if I look at you, and it sure as hell won’t help matters if I kiss you.’

  ‘Why are you really leaving?’

  ‘Because we had a deal and—’

  ‘Is it because I told you I loved you?’

  He spun to face her then, dropping the bag, and throwing up a hand as though to stop the words. Eyes closed. Eyes open. ‘You didn’t tell me that, Sarah. You asked me to love you, as in … as in love you. And I did. I loved you last night, the same way I’ve loved you every night and every morning for the past three weeks and one day.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about the physical side of love.’

  ‘I can’t give you more than the physical. I thought you understood.’

  ‘I did. I do understand. Been there, done that, one-night stands, short-term flings, hold the romance.’

  ‘I told you—’

  ‘That feelings can be controlled. Is that what leaving me is all about? Controlling yours?’

  ‘It’s not—’

  ‘Or is it
because I haven’t controlled mine? I’m sorry but I just couldn’t. Even though I knew I was making a mistake falling in love with you, I couldn’t control it. I’ve never been in love with anyone before and I wasn’t prepared for how … how it would hit me. And now I’m not prepared for how much it hurts.’

  ‘Sarah—’

  ‘I must have been lulled into a false sense of security, because none of my relationships ever lasted. You were right when you said that was my fault, when you said I was the one who didn’t want a proper relationship, that I was the one running. But that was because I didn’t care about any of those guys and didn’t want to care. And I thought this thing with you was going to be the same, but with a predetermined end, which made it even better because I wouldn’t have to run, I could just relax and enjoy it for what it was and wait for the end.’

  ‘Sarah, please—’

  ‘Except I accidentally relaxed my defences as well, and before I knew it, you were in my head and my heart and my blood, and now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I mean, I knew you weren’t likely to fall in love with me.’

  ‘Sarah, I’m begging you—’

  ‘You had Rebel’s paintings as a constant reminder of who you really loved. They were on your bedroom wall, for God’s sake! How telling was that? And yet I still tumbled, against all the signs, against all hope.’

  ‘Sarah, can you please let me—’

  ‘And I blame her for the … the hopelessness. I hate her for it. I hate her so much, I want to torture her before killing her. That tells you how … how deranged I am. Because I like people. I do, I like them.’

  ‘Yes, my darling one, I know you do, but—’

  ‘Still, if she hadn’t dumped you, I never would have had even three weeks and one day, would I? I guess I can feel lucky about that, can’t I? So why don’t I feel lucky? Why do I feel wretched, instead?’

  ‘Sarah!’ Shouted.

  She stopped.

  ‘For the love of God, will you stop pacing and draw breath?’

  She blinked. ‘Was I pacing?’

  ‘Look where you are.’

  She looked around, saw she was in the kitchen. ‘Oh.’

  ‘You’ve been crisscrossing the floor like you’ve finally snorted some cocaine. Should I be checking the bathroom for a secret stash?’

  She smiled at that—wanly, but a smile was a smile; she could be proud of that, couldn’t she? ‘There isn’t enough room in there for any secrets. Remember, I know now that the stupidly expensive facial moisturiser in your spare bathroom is yours, not Margaret’s—I saw the travel-sized one you brought with you.’

  ‘Margaret got me hooked, I confess. And hey, there’s nothing wrong with a good moisturiser. It’s not the same as having a facial, so don’t go there. And at least there was no hair dye—for my head or my eyelashes!’

  She tried another smile but it didn’t stick. ‘Was I talking too much, David?’

  ‘Yes.’ Pause. ‘No.’ Pause. ‘All right, yes.’ His dimples flashed, and Sarah didn’t know how she was going to bear it if this was the last time she ever saw them. ‘But that’s okay, because I like it.’ Pause. And then, softly: ‘Sarah, you’ll find your forever guy eventually. As for me?’ Shrug. ‘I’m just the practice guy.’

  She gazed at him while that settled into her brain, found herself tapping her top lip with her tongue as she turned over the words. Forever Guy versus Practice Guy. Adam had been the practice guy, too, for Lane. And now he wasn’t. ‘Practice,’ she said, thinking fast. ‘What if I need more practice?’

  ‘Sarah—’

  ‘I still talk too much. And I need more practice in controlling my emotions. And in … in letting go. I need that put in the rulebook. How to let go of someone I love, without any questions, without any demands, the way you do it. If I had that … that ability, maybe … maybe you might have fallen in love with me too. So I need to learn it for next time.’

  ‘Sarah, for God’s sake—’

  ‘What if I say I’ll settle for another week? You don’t have to love me, I promise you don’t have to, but maybe … maybe this time you could … could pretend to love me, just a little, so I’d know how it f-feels for next time. Or … or maybe this time you can teach me how to fall out of love, because I don’t see how I’m going to do that on my own. It doesn’t even have to be a week. What about three days? Or two? Or just one more day? It doesn’t have to be for ever. Just … just so I can get a little more practice.’ She swiped her hand across her eyes. ‘And I’m not crying.’

  And somehow she was in his arms, and he was hugging her hard enough to break them both. ‘The thing is Sarah, I do want for ever.’

  ‘Then I don’t understand,’ she whispered into his chest.

  ‘I want it, but you can’t give it to me.’

  ‘But I c—’

  ‘You can’t give it to me because you’re twenty-four, and you want a white picket fence, and two-point-five kids, and the SUV to cart the kids around in.’

  She looked up then, completely bemused. ‘So, give them to me.’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘No, you won’t!’ she cried, pulling out of his arms. ‘What did she do to you, that you can’t love someone else, that you won’t even try to love someone else, even when you say you want for ever?’

  He grabbed her arms, wrenched her back in, blazing down at her. ‘Dammit, Sarah! It’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because I do. I do, get it? How can you not know that I love everything about you? You can see it in my face, hear it in my voice, feel it every time I touch you. I’d do anything, anything, to have you, but I can’t do anything. I can’t, and it’s fucking killing me, so don’t stand there and talk to me about love. Do not!’

  ‘Then why are you leaving me?’ she asked as her eyes overflowed. ‘If you love me, and I love you, why won’t you try?’

  ‘Because I want you to have everything you want.’

  ‘I want you!’

  ‘I’m not enough.’

  ‘Is it the SUV? Because that’s just an expression. I like your BMW. If I had a car, I’d have a BMW, just like it. Well, maybe in a colour, not white, but still a BMW; I promise I would. And I don’t care about picket fences either. I like apartments. City apartments.’

  ‘That’s not it. Not … exactly.’

  ‘Then give me a reason that makes sense.’

  Long moment of rigid silence, and then David let her go, and took a deep breath. ‘All right.’ Simple words, quiet words. Defeated words? ‘All right.’ Taking her hand. ‘All right.’ Another deep breath. ‘Come, Sarah, and sit with me.’

  Her legs were quaking as she went with him to the couch, as he sat, as he tugged her into her regular position on his lap. He tucked her under his chin where she could feel the swallow he took, the rise and fall of his chest as he tried to control his breathing, hear the heavy beat of his heart. ‘It’s about Rebel,’ he said, and gave a harsh half-laugh. ‘As you already know.’ He was stroking her hair, whether to calm her or himself, Sarah didn’t know. ‘Not Rebel herself, although at the time it all happened, in my head she as a person was indistinguishable from her as the wife who wanted to divorce me.’

  ‘I don’t understand about the divorce. The why of it, when she loved you.’

  ‘We had a disagreement. A serious one. Over children.’

  Sarah was remembering the fight she’d had with David over her insistence that he have sex with Lane. His resentment at what she was asking him to do. ‘Rebel wanted a sperm donor and a stud service on the side,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With you as the sperm donor …’ She looked at him, puzzled. ‘But who was the stud? Because you said the baby wasn’t … wasn’t …’

  ‘No, the baby wasn’t mine. And you have it the wrong way around, Sarah. I was supposed to take the role of the stud.’

  ‘But you were her husband, so that doesn’t make sense,’ Sarah said unc
ertainly. ‘Or … or does it? Was it because you were only twenty-five and didn’t want children?’

  The hand in her hair stopped stroking. ‘I did want children, Sarah.’

  ‘Are you saying …? What are you saying?’ But the answer was there. She knew, she knew.

  ‘God, I don’t know if I can do this,’ he said. Next moment, he was moving her off his lap, getting to his feet. He paced away, and back, away, and back, then stopped in front of her, stared down at her. ‘Let me put it this way, Sarah. How many synonyms are there for infertile?’

  A trickle of unbearable cold through her veins, into her bones. ‘You can’t have children.’

  He smiled. A ghastly, remote, lonely smile. ‘I can’t have children.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘So, Sarah,’ he said, when all she did was look at him. ‘Got some words for me?’

  ‘I’m … sorry, I’m too stunned to think of one.’

  ‘And doesn’t that say it all.’ David took a steadying breath. ‘How about I give you a few? Barren—that was Rebel’s choice. Unproductive. Sterile. And then there’s blank-shooter. Useless. Dud. Loser.’

  She slapped her hands over her ears. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘I thought you wanted a reason that made sense, Sarah,’ he said, loud and cruel. ‘I thought you wanted to know.’

  He waited until she lowered her hands.

  ‘So the deal is,’ he went on, ruthless, ‘I carry certain antibodies that make conception highly unlikely.’

  ‘Unlikely is not impossible.’

  ‘Grasping at straws, Sarah?’ Sigh. ‘No, not impossible, but in my case … Look, it’s a percentage thing and I’m not on the good side of the equation. I’m on the very bad side. It would take something close to a miracle.’

  ‘So you’d been trying for a while? You and Rebel?’

  ‘Two and a half years. During which time I learned everything there was to know about conception and childbirth. I could write the man’s guide to pregnancy. I’d just need a fully functioning guy to write the final chapter.’

  ‘I’m not laughing, David.’

  ‘Rebel certainly wasn’t when we found out why things weren’t “connecting”.’ He paused, waiting for what Sarah would say, but when she said nothing, he made some weird sound between a sniff and a laugh, and went to pick up the bag he’d dropped. ‘Anyway, now you know. So I guess it’s goodbye, hey, Sarah?’