by J J Monroe
‘It wasn’t that bad, was it?’ I reply with a shrug.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ says Laura. ‘You were absolutely brilliant!’
‘You were,’ agrees Bradley. ‘But the moment you realised you were live on TV …’ He stops for a moment, savouring the memory. ‘It was just fantastic. I shall cherish the memory for ever.’
‘You need to get out more,’ I insist.
‘That’s bold coming from you, country girl.’
‘I’m not that country,’ I retort.
‘You just keep telling yourself that if it helps,’ teases Bradley.
‘He’s just jealous,’ murmurs Laura. ‘He wishes he had such sparkling screen presence.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’ll remember that,’ and for added effect I poke out my tongue at Bradley. It’s a very classy look, even if I do say so myself.
The change in the girls assembled in the bar is noticeable the moment he enters. It would be comical if I didn’t feel it too. Backs straighten and cleavage is thrust forward. Beer bottles hover mesmerizingly close to lips where lipstick has been hastily reapplied. I wonder if he notices or is he immune to the world around him. He is the bringer of chaos, the destroyer of female hearts, and like all lethal assassins, he does it with a smile on his lips.
‘Evening all,’ he purrs, making his way through the crowd and smiling back at all the pretty girls smiling at him. ‘Is everyone all right for drinks?’
Everyone needs a drink. The ladykiller nods at the barman who starts to line up the drinks order on the bar. Reaching into his wallet, Matt hands over a couple of 20s and starts passing out the drinks. He waves away the barman’s attempt to give him the change with a smile and a slow shake of his head. I watch Laura shift on the couch to leave room for her star baker to sit down, but instead he carries over a fresh bottle of beer, sets it down on the table in front of me, and squeezes in between myself and Bradley.
‘There’s no room here!’ protests Bradley.
‘There would be if you stuck to your diet,’ replies Matt, winking at me.
Bradley’s features take a turn for the cartoonish as he explodes with righteous indignation. Before he can formulate a barbed retort, Matt smiles at him and murmurs, ‘You love it.’
‘I do,’ admits Bradley, nodding. ‘So country girl did well, then?’
‘Is that what he’s calling you?’ asks Matt.
‘That’s the name he seems to have settled on,’ I reply.
‘I can have him fired if you like,’ promises Matt. ‘It’s no trouble, really.’
‘Is that all it takes?’ says Bradley. ‘My loyalty of five years is cast aside and all because of a pair of brown eyes.’
‘Isn’t that a Pogues song?’ asks Matt.
‘It is.’
‘Don’t dodge the issue,’ demands Bradley. ‘Five years of blood, sweat and tears.’
‘You work on a bakery show,’ Laura reminds him. ‘You’re not Spartacus!’
‘I should have known you’d turn on me at the very first opportunity,’ decries Bradley, throwing dagger eyes at his co-worker who responds in kind, but neither can keep up the display and they wind up giggling across the table at each other.
‘Children,’ mutters Matt with a shake of his head and turns his attention back towards me.
I feel a glow inside and it’s not because of the alcohol, though the numerous pairs of female eyes trying to burn me to the ground with the intensity of their staring I find amusing. He is looking at me and it’s not the look of polite, social interest. No, the look he’s giving me is setting off all the right alarms deep inside. This is interesting. I remember this: the frisson of banter, the lingering looks, the promise of more. Yes, I do remember this. It may be time to dust off my low-mileage A-game.
‘So, my appearance didn’t go too badly, then?’ I ask, allowing the beer bottle to linger near my lips. I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before.
‘No, it wasn’t too shoddy,’ admits Matt.
‘Praise indeed.’ Bradley laughs. ‘Don’t overdo it, will you, Matthew!’
Matt glances at Bradley with raised eyebrows.
‘He hates being called Matthew,’ explains Laura.
‘I’m only Matthew when I’m in trouble,’ clarifies the Heavenly Baker.
‘So you should be used to being called it by now,’ persists Bradley.
‘How many have you had?’ Laura asks with a shake of her head.
‘Clearly I’m on fire here,’ replies Bradley.
‘Don’t tempt me!’ warns Matt.
‘You can’t,’ says Bradley. ‘This is a crowded bar. There are witnesses.’
‘I assure you no one will see anything,’ replies his tormentor.
‘You’re not that famous!’ goads Bradley and then puts a hand to his mouth. ‘That just slipped out.’
‘Don’t you have to be somewhere, Bradley?’ asks the Heavenly Baker.
‘No,’ he replies, shaking his head. ‘That’s later.’
‘It is later,’ explains Matt.
Bradley looks at his watch then pulls a face. ‘Shit! I’m late!’ Downing his beer, he sets the empty bottle on the table. ‘It’s been a pleasure, country girl. I hope to see you before you depart the mighty metropolis. If not, take it easy. Adiós!’ Like a human tornado, he parts the bar crowd and disappears. Laura shakes her head and then reaches for her bag.
‘Where are you going?’ asks Matt.
‘Is it a hot date?’ I chime in.
‘A lady never tells,’ replies Laura teasingly.
‘You’re going on a date?’ says Matt. ‘Who is it? I’ll get them checked out.’
‘You would.’ Laura doesn’t sound surprised.
‘I totally would.’
‘Which is why I’m not telling you anything,’ she insists.
‘That’s not playing fair.’ Matt pouts.
‘No one said anything about playing fair,’ says Laura. ‘You never play fair.’
‘That’s a terrible slander!’ he retorts. ‘I always play fair.
‘Does he?’ I ask.
‘He does,’ says Laura. ‘But I really am going now. It’s been a pleasure, country girl.’ She stops herself. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to …’
‘It’s fine,’ I say. I kind of like it. ‘I’ve been called a lot worse.’
‘Me too, but that doesn’t make it right.’
‘Really, it’s OK.’
‘Take care and I’ll see you soon and thank you for coming.’
‘Thank you for inviting me.’
She leans over and hugs me and whispers in my ear, ‘I can fix it.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I whisper back.
‘It’s no trouble,’ she whispers. ‘You just say the word and it’s done.’
‘OK,’ I whisper back.
Laura releases her hold on me. ‘Get her back safely and no funny business. I like her.’
‘I like her too,’ says Matt.
I feel those butterflies fluttering in the depths of my soul. This is definitely how it starts. I remember that much. I watch him watching Laura make her way through the crowded bar towards the entrance out of the corner of my eye and try to predict his next move. Will he be in a hurry to ditch the bar now that we’re alone? Will he try to push his luck or act like the perfect gentleman, which would be a shame! He’s hot and now I’m thinking about it, I’m more than a little bothered and it’s all potentially very good – or very bad, if I play my cards right. What is happening to me? I feel like a bitch on heat and now all I can think about is sex.
Cool it down or you’ll blow everything! These are supposed to be calming words but they merely lead to images of compromising situations; me on my knees and the Heavenly Baker floating somewhere up in the clouds with the most blissful expression upon his face. Good grief! This has to stop right now.
‘You look like you’re having fun.’
Earth to Ava! Return from orbit!
‘Excuse me!�
�� He is looking right at me with those blue eyes that could happily send me to paradise. I feel the colour racing into my cheeks and pray he’s not that good a mind reader, though you don’t exactly have to be Einstein to work out where my mind has been wandering. ‘Can I tell you something?’ I say, my voice a husky whisper.
‘If you want to,’ replies Matt with a smile.
‘This is all a little bit surreal.’ I avoid his gaze and look out into the bar. ‘I don’t ever go places like this and I’m struggling to take it all in, really.’
‘Do you regret answering the call and coming up here to the Big City?’ he asks.
‘No, not at all,’ I reply with a shake of my head. ‘But I feel like a passenger.’
‘You’re really not a passenger,’ says the Heavenly Baker.
I lean a little closer to him. ‘You read about people having out-of-body experiences and that’s a little bit like how I feel right now. I want to capture the moment, just take a picture and frame it for posterity, because I think this is a good moment.’
‘So take a picture,’ replies Matt softly.
‘I can’t do that,’ I say, shaking my head again.
‘Of course you can,’ he insists.
‘No, I really can’t because then I’d be a super-fan and I’m really trying to keep some kind of composure here so you’ll think I have at least a degree of cool, despite the debacle of my one and only live television appearance.’
Matt shakes his head.
‘It was,’ I say. ‘It was awful, I’m sure.’
‘Would you like another drink?’ he asks.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea. Nicely avoided with the whole changing the subject; you know what you’re doing, don’t you?’
‘Can I get you another beer?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Promise me that you’ll stay here,’ he says, and now there is an edge to his voice, an edge that wasn’t there before, which is odd.
‘OK,’ I say.
‘Good, because we need to talk.’ He rises from the couch.
‘You can let me down gently,’ I tell him. ‘It’s OK. I’m a big girl.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he says, looking back.
‘I meant age not weight,’ I clarify.
‘Good. Because if you give me any rubbish about being overweight or unhappy with your body then I’m going to get angry, so don’t go anywhere!’
I see the flash of anger in his eyes and now I really don’t know what to think. He’s annoyed and that must be my doing. That’s just brilliant, Ava! You’ve just ruined a perfect scenario and you don’t even know what you’ve done. I sit and stew and await the Heavenly Baker’s return. I play with my empty beer bottle. I peel the label off and watch the other drinkers who are trying not to watch me except we are all failing dismally. I pray he lets me down gently. I don’t like public scenes.
He places the beer down in front of me but this time sits down opposite me which I don’t like. Already he’s putting distance between us.
‘I’ve annoyed you, haven’t I?’ I say, chewing on my lip.
‘You have.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’
‘Why do you think Laura invited you up this weekend?’
‘To check my suitability for the new Heavenly Baker baking contest, I presume?’
‘Yes. And do you know how we decided on the criteria for inviting potential contestants?’
‘No, but by the look in your eye you’re about to tell me.’
‘I am.’
‘OK.’
‘We researched bakeries all over the country. We did a lot of background research, then we contacted people to ask for their opinions about the products their local bakers were providing and the service, and do you know what your customers said about you?’
‘You’ve been looking into me?’
‘We looked into hundreds of bakeries. How else were we going to compile a list of contestants?’
‘I suppose that makes sense,’ I muse. When I look back he has his phone in his hand and is surfing the net. It’s really not a good sign.
‘A fantastic service coupled with truly exquisite cakes. Her cupcakes are the finest I have ever tasted. That quote is direct from a Mrs Ethel Baines.’
‘You spoke to Ethel?’
‘I did, and she was happy to talk all day about how a visit to Little Angels Bakery is the highlight of her week. And there are a lot more to go with that, so you can imagine I wanted to check out the competition.’
‘I’m not your competition,’ I say, shaking my head vigorously.
‘How can you say that? You have no competition in your area. Didn’t the local supermarket try to headhunt you to head up their bakery division?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not once.’
‘That’s true.’
‘How many times have they asked?’
‘A few times, I think.’
‘Does the number seven sound familiar?’
‘It might.’ I cringe. I really, truly don’t want to talk about this stuff.
‘Why can’t you see how amazing you are?’
‘You don’t know anything about me!’ I retort. ‘You’re not qualified to say that.’
‘I’m not. But I have it on good authority that you are and I’d really like to find out for myself.’
‘Oh!’
‘So yes, you annoy me when you put yourself down. Your screen test today was amazing. You weren’t expecting to go in front of a live television audience and you really didn’t have to.’
‘It would have been rude to say no. You did invite me, after all.’
‘And that, I think, might be the essence of you right there. You’ll go to any lengths to help people but you don’t help yourself. You had to rely on your friend to send your application in but it should have been you. You’re a natural in the kitchen.’
‘I feel safe there.’
‘Then promise me that you’ll enter the competition and you will believe you are good enough to win.’
‘I can’t promise that,’ I say.
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Because it’s too much pressure, but I will promise you that if you ask me to enter then I will do the job to the best of my ability and that’s all you can really ask of me.’
‘It’s a deal,’ says the Heavenly Baker and I see that smile return and it really is a heart breaker. How many girls have succumbed to that smile – and do I really want to know?
‘Now, about that photo?’ he enquires.
‘I can’t ask.’
‘No, silly. I’m asking you.’ Holding out his phone, he snaps me sitting across the table holding up my beer. It feels like a moment in time that could be the start of something, like the tiny snowball that starts rolling in the snow and little by little momentum builds until you’re looking at an avalanche. I have to wonder whether being here now is the beginning of my own avalanche. He comes round the table and puts his arm around me as he snaps another picture and the heat coming off him is just like molten lava. I feel the butterflies and the smile slips easily onto my face.
Chapter Five – Breathless
This tension between us builds like a wave but eventually a wave breaks and the same must be true of us. I will it to happen. Every fibre of my being wants to know him in the most carnal of ways. I have never felt such an aching need as I feel right now here with this man. I am possessed. I can see these events unfolding between us, the way this evening must end, and yet I am powerless to change the course of events or even speed them up to their inevitable conclusion. Just breathe, Ava, and enjoy the ride!
He is wonderfully handsome and self-assured as he sets the Martini down in front of me and settles on the stool directly opposite me in the hotel bar. It is late and my hotel room is just a short elevator ride away yet, seemingly, he is in no hurry to allow the evening to reach its inevitable conclusion. It is inevitable. The way his eyes linger on mine and the way my heart speeds
up whenever he touches me. He is understated and clearly not one for public displays of affection yet there have been moments already: sitting close in the bar surrounded by his people; the closeness of our bodies when he snapped us later in the bar; brushing a strand of rogue hair from my face as we watched the world pass us by from the confines of the speeding taxi. Yes, there have been moments and I know there will be more to follow. I feel it in my heart. It races just thinking about what must happen next.
‘Why can’t you see what everyone else can see?’ he asks, reaching for his bottle of beer.
‘I don’t follow.’
My eyes drift to those lips and I can’t help but wonder how they will feel kissing my neck, parting my thighs and kissing my most hidden secret.
‘You don’t think you’re good enough to take part in the contest but you are.’
‘That’s your opinion.’
‘It is, but it’s my show so I should know, shouldn’t I?’
‘One would hope so,’ I accept.
‘And yet you don’t. Why is that?’
‘I’m not very good with compliments, I guess?’ That is true and so is the burning in my crotch. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol that’s got me feeling so twitchy or just him. Wrap me around your body. Bend me until I break. Fuck me until I melt! This is bad. I can’t see a way out of this situation which doesn’t end up with me naked and panting. If truth be told, I don’t want to see another way out. But what if he leaves me here hanging in the hotel bar? It is a bolt from the blue and it sends a shiver emanating the length of my body. What if he does that? I don’t think I can bear it. This yearning is like an addiction, and he is the cure or is he the antidote? Oh, I don’t know any more. I can’t focus and I can’t think straight. Let’s just get naked and see where that leads us.
‘I noticed. Let me guess, was it a childhood trauma or …?’
‘Let’s not get into it, Sigmund!’ I warn.
‘OK.’ Matt raises his hands in defeat.
Why is he waiting? Why doesn’t he take control the way I’m longing for him to? I’m here and I’m wanton and desperate. Yes, desperate to spread my legs and feel him drive deep inside me. Who is this filthy wench who has invaded my brain, I want to ask, and where have you been all my life?