by Molloy, Ruby
Ella is the first to notice my lack of appetite. “Everything okay?”
Her question is for my attention alone. Nora and Kayla are talking amongst themselves.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I debate whether to tell her. This takes two, maybe three seconds tops. “Don’t look behind you, but Mason is sitting over there.”
Ella immediately glances over her shoulder and I kick her foot under the table, which is a stupid idea because she’s wearing biker boots and I’m wearing converses. Pain shoots up my foot and I curse out loud. This, of course, gains Kayla and Nora’s attention and suddenly there are three sets of heads turning to stare at Mason’s table.
He is oblivious, seeing as he has his back to us, but his companion quickly becomes aware that she’s on the receiving end of our stares. She looks up and frowns, clearly puzzled by our open staring.
“Stop it!” I hiss to the girls, but the damage is done. It’s like some awful massive chain reaction. Mason turns to see what she’s staring at and I watch in detached horror as he registers my presence. I can feel my face heating and I’m not sure I can control my desire to run. I certainly have no control over the red stain that creeps over my face.
“Shit, he’s coming over,” whispers Nora.
Their heads dip to the table, and suddenly they’re engrossed in their food. Me, I have to watch this nightmare unfold. Mason stands close, his thighs almost touching the table. I have a close up view of his groin, and okay, it’s encased in a pair of black jeans, but still ...
“Kayla, Nora, Ella. How you doing?”
They murmur greetings, talking over each other before fading to silence.
“Frankie? You okay? You look a little ... red.”
Oh God, could this be any more embarrassing? “Mason,” I say by way of a greeting, trying my utmost to play it cool.
“You want to come say hi to Josh? I’m sure he’d love to see you wiggle your ears again.”
A laugh bursts from Ella and the girls are staring at me with stunned gazes. Shit! At this moment I am so far from cool someone may as well crown me Queen Dork!
“Maybe another time. You have company and I don’t want to intrude―”
“You won’t be.” He reaches down for my hand and I don’t have any other option than to rise from my chair and follow. I can see the woman at his table watching me approach, her expression wary. She’s beautiful. It’s not all natural; her lips are painted deep red and her eyebrows have been drawn into a perfect arch, highlighting her deep blue eyes. Every strand of her glossy brown hair has been smoothed back into a long, high ponytail that swishes when she turns her head towards me. Mason stops beside her chair, seemingly oblivious to her splendour.
“Tamsin this is Frankie. Frankie’s a ... friend of mine. Josh, you remember Frankie?”
Tamsin smiles and says hello. Josh smiles too, but I can see he’s preoccupied, drawing a rocket on his serviette with crayons.
“Tamsin’s in the country for a few days. She lives in the States.”
I don’t know what to say to this and thankfully she helps me out of the hole I’m sinking into. “I grew up in Morton. Mason and I have stayed in touch since I left to work in the States.” She glances from me to Mason, her curiosity evident. “How do you know Mason?”
Oh, good question! How do I answer that one?
He came on to one of my best friends?
Or how about, we slept together weeks ago and now I’m just some girl he once fucked?
Yeah, maybe not within Josh’s hearing.
“We, uh, we don’t really ... I mean, we know each other, obviously, but it’s just a casual, it’s, uh, compli―”
“She can wiggle her ears!” Josh says.
Shocked laughter comes from Tamsin. “She can? Wow, that’s very impressive.”
I stand tall, or as tall as I can, hurt by her sarcasm.
“I can bend my thumb back to my wrist, like this.” She gives a quick demonstration and laughs. “Not as impressive as being able to wiggle your ears though.”
It hits me she wasn’t being sarcastic, she was being nice! I offer a weak smile in gratitude and take a small step back. “Well, it was really nice to meet you, but I should go. You’re all having lunch together, and I’m interrupting, so I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get on.”
I’ve forgotten that Mason is holding my hand. I don’t get far before his grip impedes my progress. “Whoa,” he says.
We’ve moved far enough from his table that the noise from other diners prohibits Tamsin or anyone else from hearing what we have to say.
“What’s the rush?” he asks.
I frown, trying to figure out his game. Three weeks ago he walked away, leaving me standing in the rain. And, okay, I was outside my house at the time and I had kind of dumped him earlier that same night. But still! And last week he gave me a lift, and okay he kissed me, but he didn’t ask to see me again. Damn, he’s got me so confused I can’t think straight. “I’m not rushing, Mason. You have company, I have company. And we didn’t exactly finish on the best of terms. You ...” I twist my arm, but he won’t let me go and I don’t want to pull any harder because knowing my luck he’ll release me and I’ll go flying into someone’s lasagne. “Will you please let me go?”
“You back with your boyfriend?”
“What? No! Why would you think that?”
He shrugs. “Just a question, Frankie. Your decision to dump him seemed a little impulsive, being as it was right after we f―”
“Do not say that word! Do not say that, here, in this restaurant, in front of all these people. And for your information, not that it’s any of your business, Sid and I are definitely over. Now if you would let―”
“Been thinking about you.”
Damn it, I was doing great. Why’d he have to go and say that?! “Really?!” I shift my weight to one side, placing my free hand on the hip that’s jutting out. “That’s weird. Coz not two minutes ago I saw you holding hands with Tamsin!”
“Yeah, well, I can explain that, but not here. You want to meet up for dinner? I think we need to talk.”
“No. I mean, thanks for the offer and everything but, no, I don’t want to have dinner with you.”
“Come on, Frankie. Please?”
We’re blocking the aisle and the purple haired girl, who seems to working her arse off, is politely waiting to get through.
“Mason, you have to let go. You’re blocking the aisle.”
He smiles at the purple haired girl and she looks like she could wait all day if it means checking out his smile some more.
“Dinner, Monday. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Jeez! Fine! Call me,” I say, pulling away and returning to my table.
Silence greets me. I pick up my fork and start eating my carbonara, without even knowing what I’m doing. I could be eating rabbit droppings for all I know. It slowly dawns on me that no-one else is eating. I stop chewing and glance round the table. They’re staring at me and I wonder if I have a carbonara moustache or something. “What?!”
Ella’s hands are gripping her knife and fork and she rests them on the table with exaggerated care. “If you don’t tell us what happened within the next five seconds I’m going to walk over to their table and ask them myself,” she says.
“Yeah,” says Nora.
“Absolutely,” adds Kayla.
I roll my eyes and lower my fork into my pasta bowl. “Her name is Tamsin ...”
♣ NINE ♣
Nice
Mason
I roll my white shirt sleeves to show off my tatts, knot my tie, and button up my dark grey waistcoat, checking my hair and beard in the mirror. I’m nervous. At least I think that’s what I’m feeling. I’m not familiar with the sensation so I wouldn’t know, but there’s a tight ball in my stomach that won’t ease up.
I look good, no sense in denying what’s staring back at me! I tug at the crotch of my trousers, rearra
nging the semi that’s forming. This has nothing to do with self-love and everything to do with the thought of being with Frankie.
She’s staying the night.
Not that it’s been decided. I mean, we haven’t even talked about it, but she’s driving to my place, we’re going out for dinner, and after we’re coming back to my place.
At least that’s my plan. Gotta have a plan!
I pocket my keys and wallet and wait for William’s call to tell me Frankie’s arrived. I offered to go pick her up, but she scoffed at me down the phone.
“Where’s the sense in you driving an hour to come get me and then driving another hour just to go on a date? I’ll bring Myrtle.”
Turns out that’s her car. Had me worried for second, thinking she was going to bring her elderly aunt or something. I sit on the sofa, my knee bouncing up and down. I think of Frankie’s nervous energy and wonder if it’s contagious. Checking my watch every few minutes, I get a little stressed when it reaches ten minutes past eight and still there’s no call. We agreed eight o’clock. The table’s booked for half eight. It’s only five minutes’ walk, a bonus of living in the middle of the West End, but still, a place like Carmichael’s won’t hold the table for long. I think about calling her, but that’s not cool, so I pace and check my appearance one more time.
The call comes at eight twenty two. I snatch up my keys and make my way downstairs, jumping the steps in my hurry to see her. I realise this is not cool either, and slow to a less desperate pace.
Opening the door to the marble foyer, I have an opportunity to observe her unnoticed. She’s chatting with William, giggling at something he’s said. She’s wearing a two tone silver and black outfit, one of those all-in-one things with flimsy shorts that end high on the thigh. There’s not much to her top and, far as I can tell, there’s not much to the back either. Fuck! How am I supposed to sit with her through dinner and not touch her?
The soft-close door behind me finally hits the timber frame and Frankie’s gaze shifts my way. Walking over, I lean down to kiss her, my hand reaching round to her back, finding skin that’s smooth and hot. I instantly want to feel more. “You look amazing,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t notice me checking out the shallow V between her tits. I needn’t have worried. Her eyes are taking in my appearance, lingering on my crotch a heartbeat too long. I can’t help grinning, especially when she looks a little flustered and her cheeks heat. Taking her hand, I say goodbye to William and lead her out onto the street.
“You find it okay? No problem with the parking?”
“I got a little lost and took a mini tour of the West End, but the parking was okay. I took the bay next to yours, just as you said.”
“Good.”
I turn right and she’s still heading straight so I gently tug her in the correct direction. I grin down at her, but she’s not even looking my way. Conversation, Zannuto. Don’t forget the conversation!
“I, uh, booked a table at Carmichael’s. It’s close and the food is good.”
“Okay.”
She’s wearing strappy heels, and I can see her feet are as slender and dainty as the rest of her body. Her stride is shorter than mine, plus her heels slow her down some. I realise I’m almost towing her along and adjust my stride, slowing to a speed that’s hopefully more comfortable for her, even though it feels foreign to me. Tamsin is tall for a girl, only a few inches shorter than me with her heels on, and those other girls, they were all kinds of shapes and sizes, but they didn’t get to hold my hand, and they sure as hell didn’t get to go on a date with me. They were hook-ups, pure and simple. So, this date ... let’s just say it’s been a while.
I grapple for a conversation opener. Anything to break the silence. Come on asshole, you can do better than this! Get your act together! “You hungry?”
“A little.”
“Anything you can’t eat, pass my way. I’m starving.”
I get nothing.
“Though not sprouts. Can’t stand sprouts.” Shut the fuck-up, dickhead! Sprouts?! What the fuck?!
Again, nothing, though I can hardly blame her on that score. Carmichael’s is within sight, it’s understated cream exterior belying the vibe within. It’s trendy and a little up market without being up its own arse. Tables are spaced a decent distance apart. This means I don’t have to listen to the fat guy on the next table boasting to his girl. Telling her how much money he earns while she eyes me up, wishing she was with me, instead of him. I should be used to that kind of attention. Been happening since I hit puberty. Thank Christ I started young, got some experience in before I went down for two years.
The Maître d’ shows us to our table and I’m not prepared for the attention Frankie receives. Guys are openly staring at her legs and hips as she walks to our table. Dirty fuckers! A couple of them are old enough to be her father.
We’re seated at one of the best tables. Away from the kitchen and bathroom, it’s a private corner with no foot traffic. Once we’re seated, I get a chance to read her expression. She’s withdrawn, scarcely making eye contact, her gaze bouncing away whenever it catches mine. The waiter takes our drink orders and when Frankie requests water I realise my plans for tonight are going up in flames. “Sure you don’t want something a little stronger?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m driving, remember?”
Fuck! I want to suggest she stay at mine, but I think she might just get up and walk out if I do. Instead, I tell her about my day and how I plan on seeing my sister and Josh at the weekend. “If you’re around on Saturday maybe we could meet up?”
“I have to finish my dissertation.” She doesn’t sound regretful and I get the impression her answer would have been no, dissertation or no dissertation.
“Another time, maybe,” I say. She doesn’t respond, doesn’t smile encouragingly, or offer an alternative date. I lean back in my seat, trying to gauge her mood, but I get nothing. When our drinks arrive, she sips from her water, distant and cool, as if she’d rather be somewhere else. Or with someone else. It strikes me that she’s like those women with the fat boyfriends. She doesn’t want to be here, at least not with me. I’m not accustomed to this kind of behaviour. I’m used to women tripping over themselves to be with me.
Since Tam and I split, I haven’t needed to make an effort. If a woman makes it clear she wants me, and I want her, we go back to mine, or hers, and we fuck. That’s been the full extent of my efforts. So this here – whatever it is that’s happening – I have no idea how to respond. Frustration builds as we scan our menus in silence and by the time our starters arrive, all conversation has died. Our date is a fucking fiasco. Taking a sip from my beer, I watch her bite into the prawn she’s skewered on her fork. I imagine those teeth on me, marking me. My gaze falls to her shoulders. They’re almost fully exposed, her top being held up by skinny bits of fabric I know I could tear with my fingers if I wanted. And I do want.
Laying down my knife and fork, I say, “You don’t want to be here.”
She looks uncomfortable. And guilty. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, Mason. I only agreed to be here because you were about to make a scene in Harry’s.”
That kind of hurts. Pisses me off too. “You could have cancelled.”
She emits a soft sigh. “I tried that already remember? You waited outside my home for hours in the pouring rain.”
She makes me sound like a sad fucker chasing a girl who’s not interested. “You don’t want to be here, then go.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You shouldn’t be here if you don’t want to be. That’s not what this is about.”
“Mason, I’m not going to get up and leave you sitting alone in a restaurant!”
“Why the fuck not? Anyone looking can see you’re miserable as fuck. Go!”
She glances over her shoulder at the other diners.
“What are you waiting for? Fucking leave!”
That makes her mind up for her. She reaches for her purse and rises t
o her feet. I’m so fucking angry and, shit, I don’t want her to leave, but I also don’t want her staying when she clearly doesn’t want to be here. I can’t watch her walk away. I haven’t got it in me. I hunch in my chair and stare at my plate, fighting the need to get up and stop her.
What a fucking disaster!
Christ, I wanted to see her tonight. First girl since Tamsin and it has to be someone who makes me feel too much. Why can’t it be lukewarm? Why does it have to be this burning need, this feeling that I have to have her?
I sit there morosely, struggling to squash down emotions I don’t understand. Fuck this! I’m about to get up and leave when I realise she’s still standing there, watching me. I shift back in my seat, soaking up her small waist, the slight curve of her hips, and the cling of fabric at her breasts. She braces her hands on the table and leans towards me. It’s all I can do not to stare at what’s revealed beneath the now draping fabric.
“You want me go,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows, questioning her logic. “Pretty sure it’s the other way round, Frankie. I’m not the one sat here giving one word answers.”
“You said, ‘you think I want to have feelings for you?’”
“What?”
“The night I cancelled our date, you said that.”
Watching her through narrowed eyes I take a sip of beer, wondering where she’s going with this, because I’m not doing the whole opening-up scene. I can’t. I fucking won’t. “So?”
She sits back down in her chair and now we’re facing each other like adversaries.
“So you don’t want to like me,” she says, sounding it out as she says it, as if I’m some puzzle she’s about to solve. “You don’t want to lay yourself open, but you can’t help yourself. You want me.”
I smirk, my eyes falling to her tits. “Thought we’d already established that.”
She pays no heed to my deliberate provocation. “You want me,” she repeats.
The waiter arrives and he’s heard Frankie’s words but it takes several seconds for them to register. He’s younger than me, not so self-assured. Realising he’s interrupting an intimate conversation, he tries to back away, but it’s too late. He’s in our space and the damage is done. “Is everything okay with your meal?” His smile acknowledges his bad timing. Any other circumstances, I’d feel sorry for him, but tonight’s not that night. I give him a sharp nod, but Frankie smiles and requests a bottle of dry white wine. “Your most expensive,” she says, watching me.