The Aisle and Skye (The Skye Series Book 2)

by Fox Brison

  No it wasn’t, but her flash of anger was. “Nat, darling, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she raked her free hand through her hair. “Everything. I feel like a complete failure.”

  “What?” Shocked, I pulled her to a stop. “I think we need a serious chat.” We found a quiet spot at the foot of a large sycamore tree and I sat with my back against the trunk whilst Natalie rested in between my legs. It worked, kind of, even though she was a few inches taller than my five foot six frame, five to be exact. But as my gran would often say, height doesn’t matter when you’re lying down. Or lazing against a tree apparently. “What’s with this crazy failure talk?”

  “Oh come on, Skye, you can hardly call the last few months a success,” she said sarcastically.

  “I know it’s been tough but it’ll only be a matter of time until you get your place back. I mean, not even Jill can ignore the difference you made today.”

  “You wanna bet?” she said, not angrily, but resignedly. I don’t think I’d ever heard her so defeated; it scared me, but I held my tongue because sometimes venting was the only way to sort out your feelings. Allegedly. I wasn’t exactly the poster girl for sharing. “Christ, I was meant to be one of the league superstars building the brand here and overseas, yet all I’m doing is playing second fiddle to a twenty year old whose understanding of the game is limited at best. Coach is adamant about giving Aimee the opportunity to improve and the only in I’m going to get is if she’s injured or on international duty.” She sat straighter readying herself to go into battle, and even though the hostilities were all mental, they were just as ferocious.

  Wow. I didn’t realise she had quite so much pent up frustration.

  “Okay, that’s unfair,” Natalie composed herself and continued somewhat calmer. “Aimee has real potential, but it’s still only potential. She’s a diamond in the rough, where as I, not blowing my own trumpet, am at least polished cubit zirconium. I spoke to my agent yesterday, and Johnny agrees that if I have any hope of getting back in the England set up I have to be playing regularly.”

  “I’m sorry, darling, I honestly didn’t know things were so awful. What can I do to help?” I tightened my arms around her and ran my fingers through her hair. When she did that to me I always found it comforting, so quid pro quo, Dr Donaghie.

  “It’s not that bad,” she whispered. “I still have you by my side.” Swivelling, she kissed me. It was chaste, barely even a suggestive whisper of a kiss, but it still managed to raise a blush and my blood pressure. This happened often and I treasured the feeling, locking it my mind to examine whenever I felt the old version of Skye popping up to say ‘hello, remember me?’

  We watched a guy throwing a bright red Frisbee for his dog. I couldn’t stop the grin of happiness spreading across my face. Doctors should prescribe lying in the sunshine with your girlfriend watching a dog try and catch a Frisbee as therapy for depression.

  It would certainly be healthier than doling out pills, although I couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be just as addictive.

  Chapter 2

  Skye

  “Do you think we’re at the right place?” I turned to Natalie, an expression of ‘shit are we lost?’ on my face. We’d been invited to spend the weekend at Brooke’s family cabin near Douglas, and were sat, staring, at a pair of huge electronic metal gates.

  “These were the directions Abby gave me.” Natalie reached through the open car window and pressed the intercom.

  A few buzzing hums later Brooke’s smiling face appeared on the little screen. “Hey, guys, c’mon up.” Her voice sounded tinny and distorted.

  A loud click preceded the ponderous yet smooth opening of the gates and I mouthed, “Wow,” as Natalie drove through them. “Christ, I knew Brooke came from money, but this is like Bill Gates realm of wealth. They own a freaking mountain!”

  “What’s the next best thing to being rich?” Natalie asked, laughing.

  “Erm, being lucky?” I hazarded a guess.

  “Yep, lucky enough to have rich friends you can mooch holidays off!” She joked impishly, before lowering her favourite aviator sunnies that had been perched on the top of her head. The Beach Boys blared out of the speakers of our rented Jeep Cherokee as we negotiated the deceptively long and winding road leading to the cabin. Large pine trees provided us with an honour guard, their shade offering us relief from the blistering sun; a patchwork canopy of blues and whites interrupted the verdant roof, and the track ahead was bathed in mottled shades of grey and black. It reminded me of one of those roads from a horror flick. It would be dark, wet and the innocent co-ed would come across a broken down car and stop to offer her assistance, only to discover the driver was a crazed serial killer on the loose from the local sanatorium.

  “This weekend couldn’t have come at a better time,” Nat said with a small sigh when we reached a straighter section.

  I gently touched her knee and squeezed. “I know.” And I did know. It was for a variety of reasons, some simple others far more complex. “Cellll-er-brate good times, come on!” I sang slightly out of tune. Who am I kidding, it was completely out of tune, definitely more uncool and the gang. The only psychopath killing anything along this road was me, and my weapon of choice was my singing voice!

  “Were you worried?” Natalie asked quietly after I’d finished murdering another song.

  “Hmm?” I watched the trees slowly flashing by as sunlight highlighted the gaps between them.

  “About not getting another contract. Were you worried?” she clarified.

  “Oh not really.” She raised her eyebrows sceptically. “Okay, okay, a little I guess.” I shrugged nonchalantly, even though nonchalant was the last thing I’d been feeling up until two days ago when it appeared Boston College, where I’d spent the last nine months working, no longer needed my services. “I wasn’t looking forward to starting over somewhere else. Let’s face it, sweetie, change is hardly my strong suit.” Thankfully there’d been an influx of students to my class this term, and even though it took to the eleventh hour for the Dean to offer me a contract extension, it was better late than never. Go me for making St Cuthbert more interesting than three day old yoghurt.

  There was a job waiting for me back in Durham if I wanted it but I adored Boston. I adored the architecture, the history, and the ambience of the city; however, the crux was I didn’t care where I taught, as long as Natalie was by my side.

  “Thus staying put means a lot less work and panic!”

  “Aww,” Natalie pouted, “I enjoyed being holed up alone with Stressed Out Skye those first few weeks we lived together. She was a fun kinda gal.”

  “Oh I’m sure something can be arranged.” I looked over the top of my sunglasses and waggled my eyebrows. “I believe Stressed Out Skye has some interesting ways of apologising.”

  “Oh she does. I particularly enjoy the whipped cream apology. But now Sara has sent you some more of your unmentionables there’ll be no repeat of your meltdown,” she continued with a smirk.

  “Unmentionables?” I said quizzically. “I had more than enough underwear to keep me going!”

  “I mean your snow globes, your collection of shells from Bamburgh beach, the serviettes from every restaurant you’ve ever eaten in…”

  “Hey!” I chuckled, but she was half right. In fairness, she was pretty much ninety-nine percent right. After those initial rose coloured halcyon days where we barely left the flat and existed in a state of conjugal bliss, rather like the onset of PMS, I grew snarky. I didn’t have the usual accoutrement of detritus from my past that acted like a life raft, admittedly a leaky life raft surrounded by great whites, but a life raft nevertheless. It was strange because when I was forced from my home at eighteen by my bigoted father, I left with only the bare essentials (in black bin liners) yet now I couldn’t live without the mountain of crap I’d accumulated over the years.

  A psychologist would have a field day with me.

  And yet here I was thousands of
miles away surviving with a couple of boxes of stuff. Oh I knew why I was surviving, it didn’t take a genius to work that one out. Natalie Ann Jeffries. “I’m surmising, from the electronic gates and private road, that this isn’t a rustic little place by the lake à la ‘The Great Outdoors’?” My excitement rose the closer we got to the cabin.

  “Abby said it has a sauna, an eight person hot tub, and a cinema room with a sound system that would grace any club in the world. So no, I don’t think rustic could be used anywhere in its description. I reckon it’s gonna be more like the rich guys cabin from ‘Cheaper by the Dozen Two.’” That was one thing Natalie and I did have in common – we were both film buffs, and our guilty pleasure was cheesy kiddie ones.

  “I really like Brooke and Abby,” I said emphatically and Nat laughed again. “No, idiot. I don’t mean because they’re rich, it’s because they remind me of Sara and Andy. They’re so comfortable and in sync with each other. It’s clichéd, but they even finish each other’s sentences, know each other’s thoughts. Sweet,” I murmured. “It’s sweet.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever be like that?” Natalie asked. Her voice took on a soft and husky timbre, and I shivered.

  “Possibly,” I hedged. “But I think we’ll simply end up being us. Plus I’m not sure I’d wish my thoughts on my worst enemy let alone the love of my life.”

  “Love of your life?” She said it like I’d taken her by surprise, which in turn shocked me.

  Surely by now she knew how I felt?

  “Yes, the love of my life. And no matter what happens in the future, you always will be.” My finger traced the inside seam of her linen shorts. They were baggy enough to… I grinned mischievously. My finger left the seam and made its way under the hem and the muscles in her thigh contracted.

  “Skye,” she moaned.

  “Pull over,” I whispered.

  “Babe?” Natalie’s voice was filled with desire which sent frissons of lust arcing though my body.

  “Pull over, this won’t take a minute,” I insisted. She swallowed hard a couple of times as she considered my request. My hand resumed its journey which did a better job of convincing her than mere words ever could.

  She veered as far as she could onto the verge under the trees, just in case another vehicle passed.

  I wasted no time.

  I popped the button on her shorts and lowered the zip. My finger slid inside her pants and when my thumb found her clit, Natalie threw her head back against the head rest. My tongue traced her lips before forcefully entering her mouth. “Lower your…” I began but she was miles ahead of me and quickly flattened the seat. Whimpering, she lifted her hips. I felt like a goddess, she was so completely lost in my touch. Her breathing shifted from steady to shallow and closing her eyes, she moved back and forth meeting my hand whilst I curled my finger to find her sweet spot.

  My hand, hurried in it’s actions, raced to get Natalie to the finish line, yet as I lowered my head to kiss her again, my tongue grew far more measured, leisurely driving her wild with desire. Finally, there was a short explosion (a bang from a Derringer rather than a cannon, but every bit as much of a turn on) as a different set of muscles contracted and she held my arm in place until finally, “Jesus,” she gasped.

  “Nope, it was all us, baby.” The flare in her eyes shifted from sated to hungry in a heartbeat and she started to sit up. “Ah, ah,” I waggled my finger, “later, I promise.” I gently pushed her away and she slumped back, groaning in frustration.

  “Well I have to say that was an improvement on the last time. Perhaps practise does make perfect,” she said, zipping up her shorts.

  “Possibly because I was using my right hand. When we move back to England, we’re buying a left hand drive car.” I declared it quite seriously and Nat laughed.

  “You’re ambidextrous, you don’t need a left hand drive car, you just need a bigger one. Your smart car gave us no room to manoeuvre and we couldn’t get in the right position.”

  “And when we did I got cramp!”

  Natalie’s eyes were heavy with desire, yet at the same time somnolent. “If you don’t want Brooke and Abby to know exactly what we’ve been up to, you’d better crack open the wet wipes,” she said with a wink.

  Yes we’d be ourselves; as romantic as a box of wet wipes after a tryst in a car.

  Chapter 3

  Skye

  “Wow,” I mimicked my earlier reaction. Boy did Nat ever call it right. This ‘cabin’ could never be referred to as charming, bijou, or rustic. Set back from the lake shore, the lower deck wrapped around the building, and a long promenade jutted out from one side stretching languidly out over the water. Several large picture windows reflected the bright sunlight, but despite it being mammoth it didn’t feel ostentatious, only welcoming.

  “Wow is an understatement,” Natalie agreed as we climbed out of the car. Bean, Brooke and Abby’s large Golden Retriever, came bounding down the front steps followed by his moms. Abby and Brooke were a delightful contradiction, more so than even Natalie and I. Brooke was in her early forties, but had fantastic genes because she didn’t look a day over thirty, apart from a slight hint of grey in her sandy hair which was tied back in a ponytail today.

  “Bean! Down, down, Bean!” she shouted as Bean eagerly welcomed us. Abby was a few years younger than Natalie’s twenty-seven and had short hair, although her brunette locks were much finer than Nat’s lustrously thick ones.

  They were a May to December romance that proved love didn’t care two hoots about anything apart from the depth of one’s feelings.

  Our hosts wore matching grins and shorts and vest ensembles. Mid July and the weather was hotter than a scotch bonnet chilli dipped in hot sauce and to be fair I basked in the heat. Turns out I’m a sun worshipper. Who knew? I certainly didn’t until this year. You don’t get to experience much in the way of a summer in the North East of England, my home port, a few hours of sunshine was generally interspersed with a few months of cloud and rain.

  “Must be the lesbian uniform in these parts,” Nat muttered, casting a glance down at her own clothes, navy vest and white shorts, whereas I wore a smug smile and my yellow sun dress, a deliberate ploy because I knew it floated Nat’s boat. To be fair, me in any dress seemed to have that general effect on Natalie and I enabled her addiction at every opportunity.

  I was shy not stupid.

  Abby threw a ball for Bean to distract him before he drowned us in slobber. He raced to the undergrowth and immediately found something far more interesting to sniff than my crotch. Maybe that quickie wasn’t such a good idea.

  “I was about to call search and rescue. We thought you’d been snatched by Bigfoot!” Brooke snorted.

  “Bigfoot?” Nat asked.

  “Yep,” Brooke said drolly, “I can’t think why else it would take you twenty minutes to make a five minute journey.”

  “Oh… oh… erm no… no,” I blushed. And stuttered. And definitely wished I’d held my lust in check for a few hours. “Sorry. We stopped to look at the view. It’s amazing.” Fifty shades of red later and I ended up at boiled beetroot.

  “I’m sure it was, eh, Nat?” Brooke nudged Nat’s shoulder and they burst out laughing.

  Mortifying? Yes. Worth it? Unquestionably!

  ***

  Brooke showed us to our room, which was to die for. A Juliet balcony looked out over the water and the en suite bathroom was bigger than our flat, possibly even our entire floor.

  And as for the bed… well, it would have slept a family of twelve with space left over for their cats and dogs!

  After the long and sweaty… erm… drive… we took a quick shower before joining Brooke on the veranda. “Sometimes the only way I can get Abby to bed if there’s soccer on the tv is to wear one of her jerseys, and not much else,” Brooke confessed as we watched our other halves having a kick about, Bean gamely striving to intercept the leather ball. She lifted her tall glass of Long Island iced tea which met my own with a satisfying cli
nk.

  “Cheers,” I took a sip and almost choked. Blimey it was strong. “Nat’s not quite that bad,” I hesitated. “Okay, I lie, Nat’s twice as bad. I wake up black and blue sometimes,” I laughed. “And I just heard how bad that sounded. She’s a midnight kicker, not into whips and chains.”

  “Here’s me thinking it’s always the quiet ones.” Brooke smirked. “Congratulations on the new contract by the way. I’ve got a nice bottle of champers on ice.”

  “It’s not that-” I began.

  “It is. Skye, jeez you and that English modesty.”

  “Okay it is amazing, but I’m downplaying it slightly. Nat’s had such a run of rotten luck lately. First the injury, then losing the England captaincy and being dropped from the Euro squad…. All because Jill Stark has her own agenda. She’s destroying Nat’s confidence. If only Gary was still in charge.” Gary Martin was the Boston Breakers coach before he left to manage a men’s team in the Bundesliga second division.

  “Abby’s pissed too because her goals have dried up. Nat would always pass if Abbs was in a better position, whereas Aimee is selfish and thinks she can score from the corner flag.”

  “That’s the most frustrating part. If Nat wasn’t playing well she’d be the first to say ‘drop me coach.’ I don’t know, Brooke, maybe we’re being cynical about Jill’s motives.” Brooke raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, I don’t think so either.” The ball flew in our direction and when it seemed like my Long Island iced tea was about to become an Atlantic Ocean puddle on the floor, I channelled my inner Hope Solo and plucked it out of the air.

  “I thought you were soccer players not rugby players,” I catcalled. I’d had enough talking shop, it was time for some fun.

  And maybe the iced tea was a tad stronger than I was used to!

  “Yeah, yeah,” Natalie said. “Enough gossiping. Get your arse down here, woman and be the goalie.”

  “I’m always the goalie,” I pouted.