by Daws, Amy
Vi nods thoughtfully. “How are you with Rey now?” Her blue eyes watch me with a deep sympathy that I feel in my heart.
“Doc labels Rey as a trigger for me. He says it’s best not to engage with her any more than casual acquaintances.” I pause for a moment before I admit, “I have actually revealed more personal information to you in one week than I ever did in three years of friendship with Rey.”
Vi inhales sharply. “How is that possible, Hayden?”
I shake my head. “Rey was a huge part of my life for so many years, but it was mostly our grief that maintained our friendship. Not our true selves.”
“I’m so sorry, Hayden.”
“That’s why I have to protect myself, Vi. From alcohol, from pills, from depression—”
“From me?” she finishes my sentence.
I shake my head earnestly as I take her hand in mine, twining our fingers together. I note the difference in skin tones, from her creamy complexion to my olive tone, and silently marvel at this simple gesture. Feeling her soft hand in mine is a sense of life I might never have experienced.
“I don’t want to protect myself from you,” I whisper in answer to her question. “But caring for someone more than myself terrifies me. I can’t slip back into the darkness, Vi. There are too many people here that I want to live for. Marisa, my family…you.”
She looks up through her low, dark lashes. “But we’ve just met.”
“I know, but I feel something when I’m around you that I have never felt in all my life, Vi. I want to dive in with you and figure it out. I want us to be something. But I don’t want to fall into another Reyna situation where I use you as a crutch. You’ve heard my countdown. I’ve completed my challenge. I don’t want to be seen as damaged anymore.”
“I don’t see you that way!” she exclaims and stands up. She moves over to me and pushes me back in my chair, straddling me so I can look straight into her ocean blue eyes. “I don’t think you’re damaged. I think you’re beautiful.”
I smile—genuinely smile—for what feels like the first time in years. “I think that’s my new favourite thing about you. Mostly because it’s about me.”
She laughs and swats me across the chest while mumbling something about me being a narcissist.
I grab her hand before she can move off of me and stare deeply into her eyes. “My list of favourite things about you grows every time I’m with you.”
Her head tilts to the side as she looks at me thoughtfully. “But what about your plant? And your dog?” Anxiety fleets over her face.
“Maybe I can just help you with yours.”
She smiles. A soft, sexy, secretive smile. The kind of smile where she’s not celebrating a win, but encouraging the removal of a loss. Her cheeks flush a rose hue that makes her look like she’s just returned from a jog. I can’t contain myself another second. I pull her lips to mine and push all of my feelings into this one simple act. All the feelings I’ve been hiding from the world. All the secrets. All the pain. All the loss…
…and I let it go.
And I realise with delirious happiness, that kissing Vi is different. Every. Single. Time.
As I walk Hayden to my lift, there’s a small part of me that fears he’ll change his mind about us as soon as he walks out the door. He’ll decide I’m not worth the risk and that he doesn’t want to pursue a relationship with me, if that’s even what he’d call it. He sees himself as damaged, and I see him as beautiful. His soul speaks to mine on some deep, unnerving level and I crave him. I crave his presence, his mood, his smirk. Everything.
Instead of pushing the down arrow button, Hayden turns on his heel and pulls me into him, resting his back against the wall and holding me close.
“Are you close to your brothers?” he asks, his eyes scanning my neck as he begins dropping soft kisses on my shoulder.
My body tenses a bit, and I pull back to eye him warily. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugs halfheartedly. “Just curious. You said you go to your dad’s with all of them for a Sunday dinner every week, and that seems like something a close family would do.”
The curious look in his eyes makes me feel more comfortable about opening up about my family. I don’t get the impression he’s curious about my brothers. More so, he’s curious about what our family dynamic is like to compare to his own.
“Well, it’s best you know now that I am annoyingly close to my brothers. Like I said, I still see them every Sunday. Not to mention they like to pop over here whenever they feel like being little sods and want to torment me or need a mediator for one of their stupid fights.”
He chuckles softly. “Do you have a favourite?”
I squint as I consider his question. “Not really a favourite. Rather, I appreciate them all for different reasons. I like Booker when I need someone to confide in; I like Cam and Tanner when I need a laugh; and I like Gareth when I need help.”
“What do you mean by help?”
I shrug my shoulders. “He’s my big brother. He’s protective, and I know he will do anything for me at any time. Last year, I was in a crap situation with my ex, and Gareth nearly went to jail defending me. He could have ruined his career reacting the way he did. It was dangerous and scary, but it’s touching to know he’d risk anything for me.”
Hayden’s eyes harden and he tightens his grip around me. “What happened?”
“Oh, God, nothing all that original. Pierce was this guy I had been dating for a while and he started cheating on me. The affair was all over Chigwell because the woman was the wife of a famous footballer. And, no, I will not tell you which one.”
“Wasn’t even going to ask,” he replies, his eyes trained on me, silently urging me to continue.
His reaction gives me a secret thrill, knowing that what he cared about most in the story had everything to do with me and nothing to do with football.
“It was one of those ‘everyone in town knew but me’ situations, which made me feel like the biggest loser.”
“Why would that make you feel like a loser? He’s the prat in this scenario.”
I shrug, feeling a tad too transparent. “It’s nothing.”
Hayden frowns and his eyes grow scarily serious. “Tell me, Vi.”
Sighing, I look down at his chest and play with the buttons on his shirt as I reply, “It’s a daft fear I have. My dad and brothers have always been great at showing me how much they love me…They didn’t give me a complex or anything.”
“But…”
“But growing up, I always felt a bit invisible.”
“How is that even possible?” Hayden’s eyes pierce me with an intensity I feel everywhere, but I can’t look back at him as I continue my explanation. He sees me too well. I’m too exposed and this admission is too mortifying. But for some reason, I still want to share it. I need to share it. He’s shared so much with me. This is something I need to give him.
“My brothers’ friends would barely even look at me, let alone acknowledge my presence in a room. I sort of got it in my head that I was uninteresting. Generic, perhaps. I was content to live in their shadows and take care of things at home, so I just never felt it’d be easy for me to find someone to care about me. And the blokes I did date never had that special spark. I can’t help but think, ‘What is life if you don’t have anyone extraordinary to share your wine gums with?’” I laugh to lighten the tone a bit, but my brain refuses to slow down. “That’s why I was kind of happy to be lumped with Bruce. The little sod has become my best friend, and he notices everything I do. He’s around to test my latest food experiment or pounce on me when I’ve tripped. Bruce Hugs are quite good, really.”
I look up to see Hayden’s severe expression and immediately wish I could gobble up all the words and stuff them back in my mouth. An annoying sting of tears pricks in my eyes. Christ, I need to pull myself together. I sink my teeth into my lower lip and do my best to stave off my emotions.
“Oh, God, I make myself sound like a s
ad, desperate cow. I’m sorry. I was just rambling away with the fairies or something. Ignore me. You better get going anyway because I’m going to be late—”
My words are snuffed out by Hayden’s hard and urgent lips. He twirls us around so I’m up against the wall as he presses every determined inch of his body to mine with a force that he wants me to feel everywhere. His tongue tastes like man, and goodness, and desire all wrapped into the most perfect Hayden flavour.
The kiss is broken all too suddenly when Hayden pulls back and murmurs against my lips, “Remind me to send a thank you card to your brothers.”
“What on earth do you mean?” I ask, out of breath from his assault on my blabbing mouth.
“Vi,” Hayden replies seriously as he pulls back enough so I can see his whole face, “you are any man’s fucking fantasy. The only reason you felt invisible is because your brothers probably threatened bodily harm to anyone who dared to look at you.”
I scoff and roll my eyes. “They are certainly overprotective, but I promise you that even they can’t scare away every man in existence.”
Hayden purses his lips skeptically. “Tell me, did that Pierce prat know your brothers? Was he a mate of theirs?”
“Not at all! He was a slimy DJ who worked at a club in Chigwell. He ran in a completely different circle.” I blanch at my embarrassingly poor choice in a man, especially when I’m staring into the eyes of Hayden.
He chuckles. “I bet your brothers were big fans of him.”
“Oh yeah, they’re proper mates now. They go paintballing together every Tuesday,” I giggle.
Hayden begins kissing me like it’s a reflex. Like the sound of my laughter forces him to attack. But the attack is most welcome and quickly turning into a kiss that’s going to end with clothing shed.
I lift my leg to wrap around his hip, but he pulls away. He swallows and punches the button to the lift. It opens instantly and he steps inside with a tortured, heated look on his face.
“I’ll call you,” he states, his voice gruff with arousal.
I nod stupidly. What else can I do with this mysterious, dark, sexy man of mine?
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS FLY by with Hayden Clarke. At first I thought he was going to change his mind and pull away. But every day he calls and every evening we spend doing normal, ordinary things together.
Our first evening, I make dinner for us. He comes over in his adorable button-down and jeans and perches on the stool while I busy myself in the kitchen. If I was worried he’d be bored, I was wrong. He’s surprisingly content watching me work. I think he even likes it when I slap his hand every time he tries to sneak some food. I like it all, too. I didn’t realise how much I missed cooking with a warm body around. It’s like Sunday dinners with my family but with flirting.
God, I missed flirting.
Bruce helps keep the mood light, doing his duty of lapping up all of my spills that seem more frequent when I have a hot guy in the room. I swear his ears are hardwired to register the sound of the smallest crumb hitting the floor. Never mind the fact that he trips my feet up at least once every evening as an assurance for an ooey-gooey mess.
Hayden seems to love watching me and Bruce argue because he keeps coming back. Sometimes with takeaway. Sometimes with groceries. Always with a sexy smile.
Our conversation flows effortlessly, too. It’s lighthearted, getting-to-know-each-other stuff. But one evening, he turns it more serious.
“Don’t you ever cook and drink?” Hayden asks from his seat at the kitchen island stool.
“What do you mean?” I ask curiously, pausing the chopping of stir-fry veggies.
He looks down at my work and says, “Most proper chefs I know enjoy a glass of wine while they cook.”
My brows arch. “Well, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” I look back at him, feeling almost guilty for admitting that.
Hayden strides over to my wine fridge and grabs a bottle of white that I was cooking with earlier. He pours a glass for me and then pops the cork back into the bottle with a huff.
“I’m not fragile, Vi. I’m not going to crumble.”
Well, okay then.
I hadn’t realised that I was behaving differently around him until he made that comment. I feel a little silly about my assumption. Hayden shouldn’t have to remind me he’s okay. Just looking at him the past couple of weeks we’ve been together, I know he is doing wonderfully. However, I think he is definitely in the small percentage of recovering addicts who don’t fear relapsing every day.
He explains to me that his alcoholism is a bit different than most as it didn’t take shape until Marisa died. “I struggled with survivor’s guilt after Marisa’s death. That was the start of my problems. It wasn’t a brain chemistry issue or heredity inheritance. It was an environmental event that affected me deeply. As a result, I turned to drinking and other dangerous behaviours. But alcohol is a depressant. It stoked my guilt and caused me to drown in my own self-pity. Continuing to drink could essentially lead me back to that dark place in my mind. That means avoidance of all alcohol is paramount if I don’t want to slide down that slope again.”
I have no clue why, but I stop what I’m doing in the kitchen, walk over to him, and kiss him with a fierce pride that I’ve never felt before.
He seems taken off guard, but his arms wrap around me instinctually and he gives as good as he gets.
The more I learn about Hayden, the more I want him. Every day, he surprises me with all he is willing to share. Even his lighthearted family stories are showing me what kind of man I have in my grasp.
One evening, we take Bruce for a walk, and he tells me a hilarious story about his mum catching Theo and Leslie butt-naked in the hallway of their family home last year. I laugh so hard at the image that we have to stop walking so I can catch my breath. Then I proceed to peg him with tons of questions about his mum. The way he describes her sounds so delightful.
Following his story, I tell Hayden all about how when I was growing up, I always paid close attention to other people’s mums. My friends at school would invite me over and, instead of going up to their rooms to talk about boys, I would ask if I could help their mum make tea. It’s probably a large reason why I didn’t have many friends.
I admit to Hayden that even to this day, I watch mothers at supermarkets and fantasise about what they’re preparing their family for supper. I dream about what it would have been like growing up with someone like that to care for me. I find myself so envious of the behaviours of mothers that I have completely turned into a weirdo who stalks middle-aged women in the supermarkets.
Hayden never once judges me. In fact, he says it’s his new favourite thing about me.
Each simple moment with him feels like nothing and everything at the same time. I am completely smitten.
And I think he is, too.
His warm grey eyes seem like they get brighter the more we see each other. It’s a beautiful sight. And I can feel myself reflecting that same inner happiness that makes my insides swirl with anticipation. All of it is an aphrodisiac, and the sexual tension between us is far more potent than my cooking.
Hayden fits into my home and my life so perfectly that I find myself growing more and more desperate to take things to the next level…physically. He seems like he’s trying to be a gentleman and I am trying to respect that about him. But deep down, I want him to be bad. Very, very bad.
It’s been two weeks of this nightly routine. It’s time! I decide to make us oysters in hopes of setting the mood and making my intentions known. I think Hayden can tell I’m up to something when he shows up. I watch his eyes take in my tight white tank with no bra.
But all through dinner, his eyes seem glued to either my face or his food. They never drop below my damn chin, and I worked so hard to put on something that made him think of sex! This man has the control of a saint. While I stand at the sink washing dishes, I begin contemplating what might happen if I throw myself at him.
In the spli
t second that it takes to place the pan onto the drying rack, I feel Hayden step up behind me. His body is warm and firm, and somehow soothing and erotic, like I conjured him right to me to fulfill all the needs I’ve been mulling over while scrubbing that stubborn pan.
“Dinner was delicious,” he purrs into my ear as he wraps his hands around my waist and then slides them down my bubble-covered arms into the water. “But I told you I was going to do the dishes.”
My breath inhales slowly because, while many kisses have been stolen between us the past two weeks, he’s never done full-body contact quite like this.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I reply, my voice a bit trembly as I twine my wet fingers with his under the water. It feels naughty and makes my nipples harden from the erotic contact. “But you were in the loo, and I had time on my hands.”
“What if I told you I have a surprise for you in the bathroom?” he asks, moving his wet hands up my forearms and back to my waist, dampening the bottom of my tank top.
My head drops back onto his chest, and I pray like hell my prayers have been answered. “What kind of surprise?” I croak, sounding so obvious I should probably be embarrassed.
He steels his hands under my shirt and slides his wet palms up my sides. My breath inhales sharply when he greedily cups my breasts. “You’ve been tormenting me all night, Bunny.”
I swallow slowly. “Have I?”
He hums a low tone of warning and runs his lips along my neck, nibbling in a way that drives me completely wild. “Walking around in this see-through tank top and looking at me with those sexy eyes of yours. I’ve been going completely mental trying to keep my hands off of you.”
“Then stop resisting,” I husk, needing to hear his voice again because I swear I could spontaneously combust if he says the right words right now.
“Is this resisting?” he asks, pinching my nipples and rolling them gently between his fingers.