She nods, and I step away before she slides off the stool.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” she tells me from over her shoulder.
“You do that. Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
I stare at her arse as she moves to her bedroom, and I don’t feel even a little bit bad about it.
“Sorry, bug,” I tell Layla as I hold her out in front of me. She throws her head about and gives an angry cry resembling a lion cub’s tiny roar, and I laugh at the attitude she’s already attempting to give me. “Fuck me, that was intense,” I say to the room as I pull the bottle from the jug of hot water and go back to the sofa. I get Layla fed, her nappy changed, give her a once over with a couple of baby wipes, and then into a clean babygro.
Once again propping her in the corner of the sofa surrounded by pillows, I stack the parts of the cot, lying on the floor, against the wall, and take the plastic off the new mattress and lay it down flat. Layla is having one of her wide awake sessions, so I spend the time chatting to her about how I need her to be a good girl tonight while daddy sorts his shit out with Billie.
When I look up, the woman herself is leaning against the doorframe that leads to her bedroom. I lay Layla down on the mattress and put her blankets over her.
“You need a coffee?” I ask, taking in her pink Penelope Pitstop flannel pyjama bottoms and the grey slash-necked sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder.
She has no bra on underneath.
She. Has. No. Fucking. Bra. On.
Suddenly, I’m twelve again, fighting a boner and the urge to look at her tits. I lose and stare right at them. Billie has great tits.
I need to stop thinking about Billie’s tits.
“I’ve no pods left. There are only six in a box. We drank the ones I brought over from yours when your mum was here Thursday, and I’m not drinking that instant shit.”
“Tea then?” She shakes her head but remains in the doorway.
“I’m good.” Her voice sounds raspier than normal, probably because of her tears. I kinda like it.
“Come over here.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you close, I’ve missed you . . . and we need to talk.”
I watch her throat move as she licks her lips and swallows.
“I won’t bite . . . much,” I tell her and wink.
Her shoulders rise up to her ears as she slides her hands into the pockets of her PJ’s and moves towards me. On her feet, she wears pink-and-grey fluffy socks, and for some reason, they make me smile.
“Your hair looks nice,” I tell her as she tucks herself into the corner of the sofa opposite of me.
“I thought you were gonna come over last night or let me know you were home so I could come here.”
“Yeah, well, I heard some things that made me not wanna bother.” She’s apparently sobered up enough not to slur her words, but enough alcohol remains in her system to bolster her bravado. “When I was a kid, what did you think of me?”
“What?” I’m confused by her question.
“When I was a kid and we used to hang out, what did you think of me?”
I feel hot, and a little bit sick. “Bamm, you were a kid. I never, not until you stepped out of Mel’s car last Sunday, did I ever think anything inappropriate—”
“No.” She tuts and shakes her head. “I don’t mean like that. You’re not . . . that’s not what I mean.”
“Then what?”
“Did you think I was an ugly, fat little ginger kid with a face full of freckles and a mouth full of metal?”
“What the fuck, Bamm?” I question loudly, quickly looking down in case my voice has startled Layla, which it didn’t. “No, I never thought that. Who’s been putting that shit in your head? Where is this coming from?”
“Tell me what you thought of me first?”
“I thought you were a cute little kid with gorgeous red hair and the tiniest turned-up nose I’d ever seen. It’s because of you I’ve always wanted a red-headed daughter of my own.”
Her mouth drops open, but I’m pissed off and keep going, my voice a little louder than it probably needs to be. “Who told you that’s what I thought of you?” I ask her quietly.
“I overheard Whitney and her sister talking about me, and then I bumped into Whitney, and she said some stuff, including how you’d once described me.”
“Whitney’s chatting shit. I don’t think I’ve ever even discussed you with her, except to maybe explain who you are when I first met her … but I’m not even sure of that.”
We lock eyes, and I hope she can read the truth of what I’m telling her in mine, and that I’m well and truly pissed off.
“Was it Whitney who told you I fucked her last night?”
She traps her top lip between her teeth and shakes her head. “No.”
“Then who?”
“Deana.”
“Deana? When? The fuck …” I trail off. I don’t need to know when, Deana told me herself she’d spoken to Billie.
“I had a few drinks at the salon last night, then when I got home, I decided I wanted another drink—”
“Two nights running,” I interrupt. “I see a pattern developing here. I’m the rock star, I’m the one supposed to be out getting drunk.”
She rolls her eyes . . . Rolls her fucking eyes at me! “Whatever. Anyway, I came over to yours and pinched a bottle of prosecco out of the bar fridge in the laundry, I was still pissed off with you because, yes, I know, I stupidly believed Whitney, but I was also hoping you’d catch me … and whatever might happen would happen.”
“It would’ve happened, believe me. If you’d wanted it to happen last night, I would’ve made it happen.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I’m not sure what might be running through her mind right now. She gives me something that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a huff.
“Anyway, I was about to leave with the Prosecco, but planned on texting you to come over, when I heard you and Whitney talking in her room.”
“I took Layla in to see her before I took her to bed. I was in there all of five minutes.”
She closes her eyes, tilts her face to the ceiling, and lets out a long breath.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Deana caught me.”
Fucking Deana.
“She told me you, Layla, and Whit had spent most of the afternoon and evening together. She said she felt like a spare part because of all the flirting going on—”
“She’s a fucking liar.”
I shake my head in disbelief, although, I shouldn’t really be surprised. This whole situation is on me. What the fuck was I thinking, inviting her to stay here?
Anger ignites inside me at what those conniving bitches have tried to pull, the fact they’ve upset Billie so much.
“She asked if she could come over to my place so you two could crack on, so I may have told a little fib.”
“You lied?” I question.
“I lied. I told her I was going to a friend’s. That’s why I needed the drink.”
“She told me you told her you had a hot date.”
Billie pulls a face, and if I weren’t so angry right now, I’d laugh at the way it screws up.
“What the fuck?”
“She’s a liar,” we both say together.
“They’re both liars, Bamm. I think Deana’s doing nothing but cause trouble. She keeps trying to convince me she’s on my side, not Whitney’s, and I think she’s full of shit.”
“She’s done the same to me, basically told me Whitney deserves everything she’s got.”
“They’re playing games. Games they won’t win, but while they’re playing them, they have the potential to cause nothing but grief between us. I don’t want that. I’ve missed you these past few days. You’ve kept away when you should’ve talked to me.”
I want to lean in and touch her, her hand, her face, her hair. Any part of her, I’m just desperate for some contact. But I
hold back. I need the first move to come from her.
She nods. “I should’ve, but please try and remember, I’m twenty-two. I’m not yet all of the things you’re used to in a woman.”
That reminder of her age should pour cold water all over my thoughts, and what I’m feeling, but I obviously have no soul because I don’t feel a thing.
“You’re plenty of the things Bamm, more than enough.”
I watch her swallow, enjoying that she’s affected by my words.
“But next time, and since this is Whit we’re dealing with, there will be a next time, you need to talk to me. Once she’s served with those divorce papers, once she finds out about us, she’ll up her game playing and things are gonna get a lot worse. You know that, right?”
Her eyes scan my face, but she remains silent.
“You know, this conversation would be so much better if you were sitting closer.”
I finally get my first real smile from her in days. It causes a tingle in my balls, which, I won’t lie, makes me smile.
“Tell me about the us bit and then I’ll decide if I wanna move closer,” she finally says.
I let out a long slow breath, my eyes darting all over her face as I debate how much I want to tell her, how much I want to admit about the way she makes me feel.
“These last few days have been shit,” I start. “You came back into my life less than a week ago, and already, I don’t think I want you to ever leave it.”
I watch as she tucks her legs to the side, pulls a cushion onto her lap, and holds it against her.
“A week, Bamm, that’s all it’s taken. I can’t even explain it to myself, but you described it best when you called it a crackle. I don’t know for sure what that means or how long it will last, but it’s there. And I don’t wanna ignore it.”
She nods, keeping her eyes focused on my face, occasionally shifting them down to dart across my chest, but mostly, her eyes are on mine.
“I want to explore what we have, what this crackle is all about, but it couldn’t have happened at a worse possible time in my life.” I shrug and give her a small smile. “But fuck that. Fuck all of that. I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to, and I need you to know how I feel.”
“And how is that? How do you feel?”
“How I feel is almost an album’s worth of songs written in less than a week. It’s lying in bed every night, hating that you’re over here and I’m over there. It’s watching you with my baby and wanting more babies. Red-headed girls, dark-headed boys.”
I watch as she smiles shyly, her eyes shifting from my face to stare down at the cushion on her lap as she tries to fight it. She loses the battle and looks back up at me almost grinning, which only makes my own smile grow bigger.
Now for the hard part, the part that terrifies me . . .
“It won’t be fun to start with. In fact, I think it’ll be absolute shit.”
Billie
My heart, which had been dancing the tango in my chest, stops. Dead. The absolute pure joy I felt at his words and the smile I’d been fighting to contain evaporates.
“What’ll be shit about it?”
“I’m scared that it’ll all be shit for a while, that no matter how much crackle we have, it might not be enough.”
“That crackle, it’s going nowhere. It’s there, and for me, it’s only growing stronger. The current that flows between us, the shock I get from it, becomes more powerful every day, I hate being away from you,” I tell him.
“You know that they’re gonna come at us from all sides, though, Bamm, you know that, right?” Max’s voice takes on a pleading tone.
“I know. I get that. I’ve been living on the sidelines of your kind of life for most of mine. It’s not like I’m going into us blind.”
“We don’t even know what we’ve got yet, we don’t even understand what the us means.” He lets out a breath as I study him. His words, this conversation, the shower I took earlier and the water I chugged from the tap in my bathroom have sobered me considerably, and I’m now fully focused on him, and what this all means.
“I’m not sure whether I should be running far, far away from you, or scooping you up in my arms and taking you somewhere with Layla where you’ll never be able to leave my side.”
“I choose option two.”
“My heart does too, but my head’s all over the place. I’m thirty-eight, my life’s a mess—”
“Then let’s do this together, let’s get it all straight, your life, your head, your heart … unless you don’t really want to?”
“Of course I want to. I can handle whatever they throw at me, it’s what they’re gonna throw at you that’ll piss me off.”
“Well if I can deal with it, you’re just gonna have to. Stop looking for excuses, Max.”
His head tilts to the side as he takes me in, a smile lifts the corner of his mouth.
“What?” I ask, curious as to what he’s thinking.
“You’ve got your shit together so much better than I’ve got mine.”
“I really haven’t, I’ve just been in situations that’ve made me learn to go for what I want. I want you, so I’m going for it.”
“So what was that all about earlier, all the tears and telling me to go?”
“That was alcohol and me being an immature twenty-two-year-old. I should’ve just come to you and asked you outright if you’d said those things about me, instead of sulking and just being sad about it the last few days.”
“You should.”
“I’m working on it, I’m twenty-two remember, I’m still dealing with my teenage angst and insecurities.”
“Please stop reminding me how young you are, you make me feel like I’m taking advantage of a poor defenceless—”
“Oh please. I came to your house last night, Prosecco drunk, and looking to rip your clothes off. I might be immature at times, but I’m still female, hence the insecurities.”
His head pulls back, and he stares at me wide-eyed for a few seconds.
“I don’t know why you’d believe I’d say something like that about you anyway. I’m more than a little disappointed that you would.”
I stroke my fingers across the velvet cushion cover and consider my answer.
“Can I tell you something without you getting mad?” I question.
He moves his head from side to side weighing up what I’ve asked.
“Go for it.”
“There was a girl you were with years ago; she had an H name. I can’t remember what it was, but it began with H, we were in Ibiza . . .”
He leans back into the corner of the sofa, listening with a frown.
“Go on.”
“You remember?”
“I remember Ibiza.”
“Do you remember what she said about me?”
He shakes his head; his brows pull tighter.
“The H name … Heidi? Hannah, it was Hannah …” He confirms.
He trails off and I know the instant the memory hits him. His shoulders slump, and his mouth opens and closes a couple of times.
“Bamm …” he says my name so softly, it’s almost a sigh. I like the way it sounds, and goosebumps rush across my skin.
“She said it was unfortunate that not only was I ginger, but that I’d also been hit with the ugly stick.”
“Fuck! She was a bitch. I put her straight on a plane and sent her home. I’m sorry, Bamm, so fucking sorry you heard that. I can’t believe you’ve carried that with you all these years. I’m gutted. I fucking hate it.”
He moves to the edge of the sofa, rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together between them. I have a lump in my throat. Caused in part by the memory of how hearing those spiteful words made an eleven-year-old girl feel, and by watching Max’s visceral reaction to me telling him that I did.
He turns his head to face me.
“I honestly don’t know what to say.”
“I never went on another holiday with you again,” I admit. “I aske
d to go to my aunt Deb’s in America instead.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I told her she was talking shit. Didn’t you hear that?”
I shake my head. “No, I didn’t hang around to hear any more. I was scared I’d hear worse.”
His head continues to shake as he scratches at his jaw and rakes his fingers through his hair.
“My heart and stomach ache with how fucking shitty I feel, at how shitty that must’ve made you feel. If someone ever said that shit about Layla …”
“I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, this is me trying to be a grown-up and talking things through with you. Because of what I overheard that day, I jumped to the automatic conclusion that what Whitney said was the truth instead of coming and talking to you. I’ve been full of self-doubt and miserable for days because of it.”
“I understand why you’re telling me, it just sucks to hear it. I don’t want you full of self-doubt, I want you to be up front and honest with me. If we’re gonna stand any chance of making this work, then we’re gonna need that from each other.”
He’s relaxed a little and has moved back to the corner of the sofa, his knee bent, and foot pushed into the cushion as he sits angled towards me.
“Okay, well while we’re being honest, I need you to know that although I’m not insecure about my body, I’m not a supermodel, I’m not built like the women you’re used to fucking.”
He flinches when I say the word fucking, and rapidly shakes his head a couple of times.
“Please don’t say the word fucking, because it’s exactly what I’d like to be doing right now, fucking you … but we’ll get to that. We need to have this conversation first.”
We’ll get to that? Oh, my fucking God this man! My pelvic floor is getting the workout of its life, I might possibly be able to come just by sitting here and listening to him.
“Listen to me. Yeah, you are different from most of the women I’ve had in my life, the women I’ve fucked, but that doesn’t mean you’re not my type. I think you’re fucking gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off you when you’ve got your clothes on, and I can’t wait to see you with them off. My dicks hard right now just thinking about being inside you. I feel like it has been since you stepped out of that car and walked up my drive. Please, please don’t ever think otherwise. Are we clear on all of that?”
All the Forbidden Things Page 27