He heard a soft smack that told him she’d slapped her own forehead. “Fireman,” she gasped. “I mean fireman, sorry, I feel weird.”
“Ritalin does that to you?” Ty asked, unable to help himself.
“No, I had a couple of vodka raspberries, it’s been a while since I’ve been drunk.”
“I didn’t see you drink anything.”
There was a short pause. “How do you know? Were you watching me?”
Ty clenched his jaw and vowed not to speak again.
“Anyway, back to my original point about you hating me.” Middleton’s voice was as bright as if they were discussing newborn puppies. “I kind of get why we never talk. I mean, we don’t have anything in common. I’m a girl, and you’re all ‘I’m Tyler Henderson. I’m from Regional Queensland! I never smile!’”
She said all this in a gruff attempt at a man’s voice, her body stiff as though she was flexing her muscles. “Or maybe you’re just like all the other guys on the crew, and you hate having a girl around because you can’t rearrange your testicles in front of everyone anymore.”
Ty was so surprised she said ‘testicles’, he almost dropped her. “That’s not true,” he told her. “No one resents you being there.”
Though they did tend to adjust themselves more freely when she wasn’t.
Middleton made a soft clucking noise with her tongue. “You still hate me. Admit it!”
I do, Ty thought. I hate working with you. I’d love for you to get another job. Just take your long hair and jiggly tits and sweet smile and get the fuck away from me. I had enough problems before I started panting after your ass like a stray dog, and after tonight I’m only gonna have more.
Silence fell between them as Ty cursed the distance between the pub and the hotel; it hadn’t seemed this fucking far when he walked over. Middleton’s fingertips traced his back once more, making the hairs on Ty’s neck stand on end. “This is a beautiful coat. Where did you get it?”
Distracted by her touch, he said, “Ireland, my ex picked it out for me.”
“Is that your ex-fiancée that no one is allowed to talk about?”
Ty said nothing.
“Hmm, well, either way, it suits you. It makes you look like, I don’t know…”
A stranger you fall in love with on the train, Veronica’s voice whispered in his ear. My perfect gentleman, Tyler.
“Sherlock Holmes,” Middleton concluded. “Like the Benedict Cumberbatch version of Sherlock Holmes. Only you don’t have a sly badger face.”
“Right.”
They were silent after that. Ty walked as fast as he could and after a few minutes spotted the lights that marked the main street hotel. He congratulated himself on a job well done and patted Middleton’s foot. “We’re close to the hotel now. I’m gonna put you down, okay?”
There was no reply.
Ty shook her a little. “Middleton?”
No response.
“Shit.” He slid her off his shoulder and held her in front of him. Her eyelids were closed, her breathing was even. He groaned. “You can’t do this to me, you just can’t.”
But she had, she’d passed out less than ten meters from her hotel room, and she didn’t have a handbag on her. He couldn’t rummage through her clothes for a keycard. He couldn’t call anyone to take her off his hands. He recalled that quote about how saving a man’s life made you responsible for him. He’d already saved Middleton from becoming an involuntary pornstar, he couldn’t abandon her to the freezing cold. As far as he could see, he had only one option.
He raised a palm to his forehead and hit himself a couple of times, then he hoisted Middleton back over his shoulder and walked toward the hotel. His room was as cold and bland as he’d left it, the bed made, his leather overnight bag on the side table. He dumped Middleton on the hard navy couch and studied her for a moment. Her dark hair was spread around her like a mourner’s veil and her eyelids were flickering with the telltale signs of REM. She had very long, dark lashes. Ty stared at her for a beat too long, then walked away shaking his head. Hopefully, she’d wake up after a couple of hours, realise what she’d done and sneak back to her room to avoid embarrassment. If not? Well, maybe waking up in his hotel room after blacking out would finally motivate her to seek employment elsewhere.
Ty flicked on the light, took a piss and brushed his teeth. He made as much noise as possible, hoping to wake Middleton up, but she dozed on. Unable to sleep naked the way he normally did, he pulled a fresh t-shirt and underwear from his bag and changed in the bathroom. His cock was heavy against his thigh, throbbing with an unwelcome eagerness. Bad thoughts swooped through his head like the fruit bats he could hear chattering outside. He ignored them, dressing and climbing into bed, pulling the cold sheets over his chest. When he closed his eyes it occurred to him that a gentleman would have let Middleton have the bed. He sat up, prepared to change places, then grimaced and fell back against the mattress. No matter what Veronica said, he wasn’t a gentleman. Not anymore.
Chapter 2
Kate had no idea where she was. Most women would be distressed by that, but for her, it was as familiar as donning her old school uniform. When she was a teenager, drinking and smoking sticky lumps of weed was the only thing that numbed her boiling hyperactivity. She had been a fifty-five-kilogram girl with the drug tolerance of a Keebler elf, so she passed out a lot. Once, at a house party, she’d climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom and fallen asleep on the carpet. Brent’s mother had found her the next day and they’d both screamed fit to bring the house down. Another time she’d blacked out in the bathroom at a Chinese restaurant and had to be carried out by one of the cooks. Ritalin had proved itself a much better mood-modifier than vodka UDL’s or home-grown cannabis, but it lowered her alcohol tolerance even more.
She couldn’t quite remember why she’d decided to drink tonight, but it was clear her inner lightweight had decided to re-emerge. She prodded her face and body for injuries and found none. That was good. She was fully dressed. Also good. Her back ached. She felt around herself. She appeared to be lying on a ridiculously hard couch. But where? And for what reason? Had she gone out and crashed at some stranger’s place? As her eyes adjusted to the dark she realised the room seemed familiar, familiar and yet somehow new as well…
“Hotel room!” She sat bolt upright. “Bendigo! Hotel room! I was nervous because it’s my first work trip! That’s why I was drinking!”
She smiled into the darkness, quite proud she’d managed to remember where she was and that she’d found her way back to her hotel suite, safe and sound. But that didn’t quite add up. If she made it back to her hotel room, why was she on the couch?
A low grunting moan came from across the room. She looked over and gasped, a little theatrical gasp that sounded like it was for show. There was a man in her hotel bed, or an enormous woman. Or a really big dog.
The thing emitted another grumbling noise, a man, definitely a man. How had he gotten here? Kate patted herself on the head, willing the thoughts to return. Had she broken her years-long dry spell and hooked up? If so, why was she on the couch with all her clothes on? She tried to retrace her steps, think back to whether or not she’d met anyone, but she could only picture the pub; old and dingy with a faded burgundy carpet. She had arrived with the other GGS employees, sitting at the edge of the group listening to the men discuss what was better—chicken schnitzel or chicken parmigiana. Tyler Henderson had been at the head of the group, his face set and his hair gleaming gold. He said very little and drank a lot. He glanced away whenever she spoke .
That he didn’t like her always would have hurt. That he didn’t like her and she was so hopelessly attracted to him burned. In the kind of all-encompassing obsession she’d only ever read about in books, but unlike books, her obsession never went anywhere or did anything. She just got sweaty palms whenever she saw him and it made her work-life very awkward.
Her obsession wasn’t even or
iginal. Everyone had a crush on Tyler Henderson. Women, gay men, straight men, more perceptive animals. It was like having a crush on a Hemsworth brother—it made you basic as hell.
Charisma, Kate had once written in an email to herself, means people are attracted to you no matter what their type normally is. It means being so compelling you transcend what people think they want and have them want you anyway. Tyler Henderson has that more than anyone I’ve ever met. Consequently, my crush on Tyler Henderson is lame and I need to get over it right now.
She’d signed the email and sent it to herself. But despite what she learned in self-development audiobooks, writing it down did not help her achieve that particular goal. If she closed her eyes she could picture him perfectly—tall and handsome as a captain in a military movie. Authority emanated from him like radiation. When he spoke, his words appeared to carry more weight than anyone else’s, as though they were made of gold. Everyone looked up to him, everyone wanted his approval. That Kate didn’t have it was a huge X beside her name when it came to her GGS status. Ty’s dislike of her seemed to predate anything she’d said or done. Her first week with GGS, they were approaching one another from opposite sides of a hallway and she’d tried to make conversation the only way she knew how. She whipped the lid of her baking tin off and smiled. “Hello, Mr Henderson, would you like a lemon-curd meringue?”
First, he had looked at her like she was a penguin that had learned how to talk, then his lip curled with the mild distaste she would come to know well. “No thanks,” he said, but his eyes delivered another message. You are stupid. Lemon-curd is stupid. Meringues are stupid. Stop talking to me and never do it again in your life.
Kate tried to oblige as much as possible.
It didn’t seem fair. Of all the men to instantly hate her, why did it have to be one who dressed like a French billionaire and smelled the way her first orgasm felt? Who had a voice like hot gravel and was so well travelled he made David Attenborough look like her mum? She’d have thought his dislike was garden variety sexism but Ty was famous (in an industry where referring to your wife as ‘the old ball and chain’ was still considered hilarious) for his progressive views. He frequently shut down regressive conversations with a curt, “if you feel that way, go join ISIS.” He was even, it was whispered in the darkest of office corners, a socialist.
Why would a socialist hate her so much? She loved sharing. That was what the lemon-curd meringues were all about. Kate exhaled, bringing her attention back to the mystery man in her bed. She needed to focus on something other than Tyler Henderson. She tried to replay her time at the pub. She’d sat there for hours while the men around her drank steadily and she’d been so bored she’d secretly ordered a vodka raspberry. No one noticed so she’d ordered another one, then another one. Once she was pleasantly buzzed, she’d gotten up and started playing the pinball machine. It had a dragon on it. She’d been feeding the slot another dollar when…
The image of young guy burst into her mind—a nice smile, curly hair and massive shoulders. “Aha! Rugby Boy!”
The man in her bed let out a groan.
“Ooh, sorry!”
Rugby Boy groaned again, and Kate clapped her hands over her mouth. She remembered now. Rugby Boy had reminded her of the guys from home, sweet and countrified but without the surfer’s tan and sea-salt hair. He offered her a drink with such puppy dog eagerness, she’d said yes without even thinking about it.
As the night wore on and she became tinglier with alcohol, Kate had decided it was time to try again and that if Rugby Boy tried to kiss her, she would let him. He tried. His kisses had been toothy and a little too wet, but he was confident and attractive, and his body was as hard as stone. She decided she wanted to go home with him. That was where her memory reel ended, but Kate could pretty much piece the story together from there. She and Rugby Boy had come back to her room, one or both of them had decided she was too drunk for sex, and then she’d offered him her bed as a consolation prize. It was kind of unchivalrous of Rugby Boy to have taken it, but hell, this was meant to be a one-night stand. What could you expect?
Kate studied the man-bulge in her bed. It was a shame they hadn’t consummated their encounter, they might have had fun together. She had been thinking about sex all day. She’d have loved to blame that on ovulation, but the truth was being in such close confines with Tyler Henderson made it hard not to think about sex. There was something strangely intimate about seeing him in jeans and a plaid shirt, socialising with other men and nursing straight liquor in a pub like a cowboy. As she kissed Rugby Boy, she’d thought she’d felt his gaze on her. The mere idea had gotten her ridiculously excited. She knew how weird that was, she had hoped sleeping with Rugby Boy might go some way toward helping her with her dumb crush.
It still might. Maybe you just need to get into that bed and show him you’re sober and up for it?
It would be so unlike her, but that made the idea more appealing, not less. Why couldn’t she get into bed with Rugby Boy and see if he was still keen? Previous experience with any and all males said he would be.
Careful not to make too much noise, she stripped off her shoes, tights and skirt and crept toward the bathroom. There, she rubbed a little hotel toothpaste on her tongue and wiped away the black mascara smudges under her eyes. She wished she’d unpacked her bag so she could reapply concealer but she didn’t want Rugby Boy to wake up and find her rummaging through her bags like a possum in a compost bin.
Studying herself in the mirror, she pushed her shoulders back and tried to strike a sexy pose. She looked like a kid in her mum’s high heels, like she was pretending to be the woman she actually was. All her life she’d been, in the words of her friend Maria, very cute. There were infinitely worse things to be, but sometimes she longed for obvious signs of womanhood—big boobs, round hips, a butt of any kind. Still, there was nothing she could do about that, aside from spending all her money injecting loads of foreign materials into her body, but screw that. Robbed of big tits, Kate tousled her hair (her favourite attribute) and pouted her lips (second favourite). Then she removed her bra and shot her mirror-self her sultriest look. With some nipple action happening under her t -shirt, she looked kind of slutty, which she supposed was as good as it was going to get.
The main room was dim, the only light source moonlight filtering through the curtains. Rugby Boy was sleeping on his side facing away from her. She slipped into the bed and wrapped an arm around his cotton-covered middle (he’d gone to sleep in his t-shirt, how adorable). Rugby Boy smelled amazing, hot and manly in a way that made her light-headed with horniness. Was that from his scent alone, or some kind of muscle memory from all the kissing they’d done at the pub?
The guy tensed, shifting against her. “Unhh?”
“Hi,” she whispered. “It’s just me. Sorry for being such a mess before. I don’t normally get that way.”
The Guy let out a grunt of what was clearly resentment, mingled with please-fuck-offness. He probably hadn’t been jazzed about going to bed horny while she laid on the couch like a log. Well, she knew just how to make this situation right. Kate slid her hands down his chest and had barely passed his navel when she felt his semi-hard cock. She ran her hand up and down it, gently squeezing the springy flesh. Weird how nothing in the world felt like penises except penises. Rugby Boy let out a muffled groan. His shaft stiffened, forcing her curled palm to expand. Erect, his penis was approximately the width of a baseball bat, properly and ridiculously huge. “What the heck…?”
Rugby Boy made a sound of protest and Kate realised she’d let go. She re-gripped his swollen shaft, slowly beginning to tug. He gave a contented moan and then tensed. “No,” he mumbled. “You’re…blacked out.”
“That was before,” Kate said, pleased he remembered. “I promise I’m excellent now. Just let me make it up to you.”
A hard-skinned hand closed over hers, pulling her away from his erection. “You dunnoweme ‘nything.”
It was a little mortifying to be told to let go of someone’s dick. Ordinarily, Kate would have stopped. She’d have rolled over and tried to go to sleep, but she didn’t want to. She felt uncharacteristically bold. After all, Rugby Boy didn’t know her. He didn’t know she’d spent her whole life being called a wallflower and a prick-tease. For all he knew, she was Maria, the kind of woman who could seduce a man with her eyebrows and knew exactly what to do with an arm-penis. Her heart racing, she pressed her lips into the back of his neck, where his scent was especially sweet. “Maybe I want to owe you something,” she said in a voice so sexy she could hardly believe it was hers.
Rugby Boy’s body stiffened against hers. “Like what?”
Before Kate could psych herself out, she slid down the bed, climbing over his hard thighs so that she was face-to-penis with his penis. It was even more intimidating up close, not to mention stretching the hell out of his expensive-looking briefs. Why would anyone have a cock this big? Like, genetically? Surely it was more of a burden than anything else?
Never mind that. Concentrate on befriending it.
She inhaled the warm sweat-and-salt smell, amazed that something that should have been so nasty made her body buzz with excitement. “Can I use my mouth on you?”
“Yeah, but—oh fuuuck.”
If Kate’s lips weren’t occupied, she’d have smiled. For his token protesting, Rugby Boy was silent as she nuzzled him through his underwear. Then he rolled onto his back to give her better access, spreading his arms wide across the mattress. Kate crouched between his legs, kissing and rubbing everything until Rugby Boy pulled up his t-shirt. The head of his cock extended beyond his briefs, lying heavily on his ridged stomach.
Kate was glad they were working up to revealing his whole dick slowly. If Rugby Boy had just whipped out his massive dong, she’d have run away. Now it was kind of familiar to her, it was easier to deal with. She placed her lips around the swollen head and applied a tight sucking pressure.
Act Your Age Page 3