Moved

by K. M. Liss

  “Maybe you can tell me how you two happened?” His mouth is a grim line.

  “How we met up or how many times we did it?” I know I'm fuelling the fire.

  His face is stony.

  “A summary will do. Spare me the details.”

  I imagine he's thinking I'm a real slapper right now. He's precious girl buddy sleeping with his friend and then shagging him as well. But he did exactly the same with me and Sandy. Although being drunk and having no memory of it excuses him in his mind, I'm sure.

  I put him straight. I don't want him to think that way about me.

  “We met in the bar. Honestly, I didn't sleep with him. I was too upset about you. I came home to go to bed. But the spider got there first.”

  Bloody spider, it was his fault. The whole fucking thing.

  “You really didn't sleep with him?”

  “No. Ask him if you don't believe me. He walked me to the door and left.”

  “Now I'm feeling so fucking bad.”

  “Good.”

  It's nice to get my own back a little.

  We're driving to Tesco when I pluck up the courage to read my texts.

  There's the one from him, Mason.

  -where r ya cute ass

  I snigger...

  I do love his to the point text lingo. Like I love everything about him, apparently.

  I tell myself to shut up.

  A couple of texts from other people, one from my mum, all unimportant, and two from her.

  - M on his way. Make yourselves scarce.

  I guess that was my warning.

  And...

  - woooo... got him cornered ;)

  Nothing since.

  I text her back

  - How was it? Hot enough?

  No reply. She should be at work. Maybe she's busy. I put my phone back in my bag and it bleeps.

  - Doing a colour job. Speak later OK.

  We wander around the supermarket aisles doing the shopping. This is another one of his good points. He loves getting the shopping in, choosing the food he'll cook, and finding little bargains that make his face light up in victory. I'm the designated trolley pusher and he's the goodies grabber. I wheel along mindlessly in his wake until he declares the shopping complete. We arrive at the checkout and he starts loading the stuff on the counter. I sneak a Cadbury's Chocolate Flake underneath the veg and hope he doesn't notice.

  He does. And gives me one of his looks. The disapproving type.

  “It's only one little bar of choccy, for fuck's sake,” I mutter.

  “Yeah, maybe it is, but they all add up... and I have to lift it.”

  I huff noisily.

  Ooh.

  “You know, you're a real nasty bastard at times.”

  “No... Just practical.”

  “Well, if we're being 'practical' all of a sudden, perhaps you can pack the cigarettes up. It's expensive, unhealthy, and it stinks. Maybe you'd feel fitter and stronger and more able to lift my extra flake if you quit, hmm?”

  “I'm fit and strong enough. My few smokes don't make any difference.”

  “Maybe you should ask Jackson for some tips. Get some muscles. You could do with some more bulk,” I suggest, unpleasantly...

  “I'm a dancer, not Arnold fucking Schwarzenegger. My muscle mass is fine.”

  “Want me to help you pack?” The checkout girl says, eyeing us up warily with a little smile on her lips. She's obviously listening to our conversation and loving it. It's probably going to be the highlight of her day.

  “S'OK... I'm on it...” Mason replies quickly, walking to the end to start packing.

  I follow him with the trolley, pushing him out of the way.

  “So what you're really saying is I'm bordering on the chubby size? One little bit of chocolate, that's all... Well fuck you.”

  “Kaydee, you're so defensive at times. Chill. Out. Yu're beautiful. The perfect size woman and dancer. Oh, have the fucking choccy bar for God's sake...” He starts packing with a vengeance. My head swims...

  He's said it again. That I'm beautiful. And he's sober this time.

  Suddenly, I don't want it anymore. The fattening bar of chocolate. I want to stay beautiful and perfect. Because that's what I am, apparently. In his eyes, anyway.

  I turn around and return to the conveyor end of the checkout and put the chocolate back on the display shelf.

  The checkout girl tuts at me noisily and rolls her eyes. I glare back at her. So what if I'm a pushover. She looks like she could do with giving up chocolate herself.

  He smiles widely at me, his eyes crinkling. My stomach flips 360 degrees. Twice.

  “You can have a nice healthy banana on the way home instead,” he says. “Then I'm going to make you your favourite chicken Caesar salad.”

  “Mmmm...I do love that. Am I allowed to have some crunchy croutons on top?”

  “Yep... I've got baked ones... fat free, and low calorie dressing,” he announces with a self satisfied grin.

  I stare, transfixed. My beating heart trying to escape my chest.

  He's so lovely at times, I really could eat him. Stuff the salad. Just fill my mouth with Mason. There's one part I'd particularly like to nibble at.

  Then I remember. He's not mine to eat.

  I just can't bear the thought of him being with her. Doing those kinds of things. Hopefully Jackson will distract me enough to cope with it, while it lasts. Maybe things will change when I see my gorgeous guy again. They'd better, or else I'm up emotional shit street; well and truly.

  As if thinking about her has pressed a magic Sandy button, my phone rings, Big Ben clanging loud and clear in my bag. Mason gives me an evil look as I answer it, abandoning the grocery packing.

  “It's Sandy... keen to reveal all the gooey details, I guess,” I taunt.

  He grimaces and I snigger to myself.

  I wander over to the seats, further along, out of his earshot, before answering her.

  “Hi...”

  “Sorry I took a while, I had a queue...”

  “So, you scored I hear.”

  “What's he been saying?” There was a strange tone to her voice.

  “Nothing, his lips are sealed tighter than Scrooge's safe. He did suggest it was more than once. That was all I could drag out of him.”

  She laughed. A brittle kind of laugh.

  “What's up? Didn't he set you on fire after all?” I ask, confused, but at the same time growing hopeful it might already be the end, before it really started.

  “It's not that he didn't... but the whole thing wasn't how I imagined it would be. I took him upstairs with a bottle of scotch. He was kinda down. Talking about you two, and really pissed off. We sat on the bed and talked and drank, just a couple of sips each. Then I pushed it, I sat on his lap and kissed him. He wasn't responding wildly until I took my top off, and that finally got him going. I seduced him,” she snorts down the phone...

  “Well, never mind how it happened. You've had your wicked way now, haven't you?”

  I'm going past tense... suggestively.

  “I know I have, but it went downhill after that. I wanted a second helping... but again... I did the leg work... and he was kinda morose... thoughtful, swigging from that bottle of scotch like it was water. I took it off him in the end and shoved it under the bed.”

  “Oh, so not so memorable an occasion then?” I'm trying to feel sympathy for her, but I'm also feeling happy for me. My voice doesn't know where to pitch its tone.

  “It wasn't all that... but the worse thing was, he called me by your name. I know he lives with you and dances with you, and it's natural to make a mistake like that, but I found it more than upsetting, to be honest.” Her voice breaks, and she snivels down the phone.

  “Oh Sand, I'm sorry. Look, he was obviously a little trashed. See how it goes later. When are you seeing him again?”

  “I don't know, he hasn't suggested anything yet. In fact he hasn't even called.”

  “Well you know what he's l
ike. I've warned you enough times. He's not into relationships.”

  “I guess. But I thought, you know...that he might just like me a little bit more than the others.” Her voice cracks with emotion.

  “I'm sure he does,” I console her. I look at him packing, tight-mouthed and flicking his eyes up to where I'm sitting questioningly. I turn my back. “I'll let you go now, I'm out shopping. Call you later, okay?”

  “Sure, after four, it gets quieter then.”

  “Bye...” I tap off and bag my phone.

  He's finishing up, paying with his card, and that done, we leave and wheel our stuff out to the car, silently.

  The car loaded, we get in and he turns to face me.

  “Well? Had a laugh at my expense, did you?” he scowls.

  “Not at all. Should we have?”

  I don't remember laughing much, no...

  “I can't remember all the details, but I don't think it was all that great,” he admits.

  “Mase, don't worry. She's fine. But a little bit put out you weren't more enthusiastic, that's all, and you didn't even call her today. Doesn't she deserve a call? This is Sandy were talking about here, not a complete stranger.”

  “I know. You sure she's fine about me?”

  “Absolutely. The situation needs some TLC. A quick phone call. Why don't you offer to take her out for lunch? It's her day off tomorrow.”

  Why I'm suggesting this I don't know. To appear comfortable with them? To force them forward to their natural conclusion faster, or perhaps I'm simply masochistic and want to rub my own face in it?

  “I'll call her after lunch.”

  He brightens, starts the car engine up, and we set off home, through the noisy, busy world that's inner London, back to Clapham.

  Chapter Five

  We've finished our amazing salad, which damn near sets my taste buds alight, and I'm in the process of tidying up the kitchen.

  “Fancy going to the studio for a couple of hours?” he suggests as he stands watching me from the doorway.

  “But we're doing heavy rehearsals tomorrow. Do we really need to?”

  I was hoping I could flop all afternoon. Snooze and chill. Just in case I don't get much shut eye later.

  “I want to focus on our solo parts, no distractions. You know what it's like when the others are around.”

  “Well okay, let's make it a quick session though. I want to be back in time to get a bath in before I go out,” I agree reluctantly. I'm not sure I want to be lying all over him when we're on our own. Just in case I lose it.

  “You're going out with Jackson tonight?” He sounds very disappointed at this news. But then again, of course he would.

  “Yeah... for dinner, somewhere nice I hope.”

  “So tonight's the big night of passion is it?”

  I take a couple of steps forward and look at him, full eye contact.

  “It could be... I don't know yet. Why?”

  “I really don't want to see you get involved with him and hurt.”

  “I don't want to be hurt either. But Jackson seems nice enough. Genuine, kind and honest.”

  “He isn't in it for the long run Kay. Admittedly he's more invested than I am in his women, but I know him. He's a top class player. He'll tell you exactly what you want to hear while he's looking over your shoulder for the next conquest. That's why I've kept you apart.”

  “Well maybe I won't listen to what he tells me, huh? Look, I need something... someone? You must understand that? I haven't had a boyfriend for a year. But I promise I won’t hold my breath, okay?”

  He holds his arms out. He doesn't do this type of thing normally. This'll be two hugs in one day.

  I step into his arms and he hugs me tight and drops a kiss on my head.

  “When it all goes pear shaped, which it will, I'm here...'K?”

  “Oh cheer me up, why don't you?” I snort, pushing him away, my palms against his chest. I'm kind of smiling as I go back to my tidying and wiping up the dishes.

  “We'll go by car for a change shall we? Will 30 mins be okay?”

  “Yep, fine. You go chat to Sand.”

  I stand at the sink, looking outside, but not really seeing anything out there. I'm deep in thought. In two minds about Jackson. I need the distraction, but obviously, now I'm wary.

  Why can't life be simple? Meet nice guy... Live happily ever after... blah...blah... blah?

  I stand in the musty smelling, windowless dressing room and open my bag to choose my dance gear. Normally we wear full dress for our rehearsals. You've got to be able to move properly in the stage clothes, so it's essential to rehearse in them.

  But today, I'm not.

  I don't know what possesses me to do it, but I put on my high leg Lycra black leotard. No leggings, no knickers, no bra. It's very revealing. My ass hangs out of this a little too much. I'm feeling almost naked in my jazz pumps and brief ensemble. On a whim I decide to leave my hair down, flowing around my shoulders. I feel even more naked with it tied up.

  As I leave the changing room, I know I'm doing this to push him. It's a test, to see what happens.

  He's scrolling through my iPod, with his back to me, and finally finding the track, he puts it in the dock and turns the volume up. The Temptations, My Girl, blares out.

  I'm standing in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, when he turns and catches sight of me.

  “Fuck Kaydee, did you forget to wear something?” he asks with wide eyes, having a very thorough sweep up and down me.

  “Ah well, as it's only me and you here, just us old buddies.” I challenge, walking to his side and taking his hand. I twirl round, wrapping myself in his arm, pressing my back to his front. I look upwards, over my shoulder, and our faces are close, just inches apart. “So, shall we begin?” I ask, bracing my feet against his, and staring at his mouth. I'm remembering how it felt, the touch of his tongue on mine. I feel a flush of heat inside me.

  I'm struggling already.

  Not good.

  He takes a deep breath, his professional mask in place, and we're off. I roll out and stand facing him in second position. We begin our rehearsed steps. It's basically a slow dance with some wraps, half lifts, and floor drops. Lots of contact and sweeping side to side. This is the first part of the Bonnie & Clyde couple get together, after the full cast piece depicting the robbery at the bank.

  I'm thinking it's going pretty well, considering my current state of arousal, when he stops, pulls away, and runs his fingers though his hair.

  “I don't know. It's just not right.. There's too much contra-lateral opposition ― one arm, the other leg ― it's repetitive. Let’s take it back to basics. Slow dance and I'll work out from that. Start the track again, and put it on loop.”

  “I like it as it is, Mase,” I offer up my humble opinion, walking over to the iPod, situated on the floor in the corner. I bend down and flick back and on repeat.

  “Mm mm, what a beautiful naked view.”

  I stand up, turn and grin at him as I return.

  “I've seen your naked butt often enough,” I joke.

  “I don't think my ass is in the same league as yours, honey.”

  “Oh, I don't know... It kinda does it for me.” My heart is fluttering, at this flirty 'ass' talk.

  He grabs me by the forearm and pulls me in and slaps my almost bare cheek playfully.

  “Oh yeah.... I'm all ears. So it does it for you, does it?”

  I slap his ass back, grabbing a toned handful.

  “Mm mm, it's damn grabbable...”

  And suddenly he's pulling me down on the floor and tickling me.

  “I'll give you grabbable. Yours is edible.”

  “Oh no, get off me..! You beast... I hate you... please don't,” I beg.

  Now one thing I hate is being tickled. And he knows it. It's the worst form of punishment. I go into one. A shrieking, swearing, wild writhing spasm. Then he flips me across his knees and bites my backside, rubbing me with his bristly chin in between m
outhfuls, and tickling my sides incessantly.

  “Don't... Oh hell! Stop it... Fuck off, you bastard,” I squeal, desperately trying to wriggle away.

  He finally stops, sensing I've had enough, and I'm reaching that unpleasant stage where I begin to get upset ― about to really blast him. He gets up and offers me his hand and pulls me up. And what happens next almost blows my mind.

  He slips his hands under my leotard and holds my bare ass in his palms.

  I gasp and hold my breath as he pulls me close. His hands rub gently up and down, and round and round and he whispers in my ear.

  “You wore this deliberately, to get me going, didn't you?”

  “What do you mean? It's just my old leotard,” I reply innocently. “By the way, would you mind getting your hands out of it?” It's pure heaven to be held in his hands, but feel I ought to make some kind of protest.

  “Not yet, I'm enjoying it.”

  “Yeah, and I can feel just how much as well.”

  I brush his erection with my hand as I pull away and walk off, to pick up my Lucozade lemon drink. I keep my back to him so he can't see my chest heaving up and down and the bright flush I feel I'm sporting all over my face and neck.

  After a quick sip, I take a deep breath and turn back.

  “Right, lets do the dance again, shall we?” I pull myself together and get on with the dancing.

  I get into the starting position and move into his arms.

  “Relax into me and let's see what else we can do with this,” he suggests.

  I know what I want to do, and it's not dancing slowly. But ever the professional, I resist the urge to rip his clothes off.

  I nestle against him, our legs and arms positioned around each other, he holds one hand tight, and I rest my head on his chest. This is a normal state of affairs for us, but at this moment it feels very different. I'm floating in his arms. Blissfully safe and warm, and so in tune with him, we're almost one.

  I don't know how many times the track played on loop, but it was at least three, before we moved from that shuffling, tightly wrapped position.

  “We don't seem to be doing much work here, Mase.”