Detachment

by Shae Banks

  Her husband was as delightful as mine, hell-bent on procreating and prepared to go to any length to do so. Sadly, for Betty, that meant nailing a well-known banker’s youngest daughter in a bathroom at a cocaine fuelled party, and after a little back and forth, it was decided he was going to follow his ejaculate.

  We’d become close. Well, as close as our kind got. After yet another miscarriage, I was surprised to receive a sympathy card with an invitation to lunch. Lunch with Betty was always an all-day event, starting with gin cocktails and ending in Francis giving me the silent treatment when I arrived home.

  I called her as I was making my way to Lloyd’s out of desperation to hear a friendly voice. Honestly, I hadn’t expected her to give a shit, but she’d told me to stay safe and made me promise to check in regularly.

  Promise kept.

  Me: Yes, alive and kicking. There were unexpected developments, but I’m okay.

  Within seconds, the phone rang in my hand. I couldn’t very well ignore it after replying to her message.

  “Hello, Betty, how are you?”

  “Pissed off,” she announced with a sniff. “You’ve buggered off and left me in this cesspit! What developments?”

  “Nothing horrifying,” I assured her, regretting having mentioned it.

  “Lloyd is away,” she declared. “Nothing could be happening in an empty house, So what’s wrong? Are you dying of boredom hiding there alone?”

  “Not—” I stopped talking quickly.

  “Not alone?” she finished, a saucy lilt to her voice. “Do tell.”

  Bollocks.

  “Lloyd has housemates,” I admitted, albeit cautiously. “I’m staying in his room, they have their own rooms, and we’ve had dinner a few times.”

  “A few times?” she queried, with a hint of amusement in her tone. “What constitutes a few times?”

  I groaned inwardly. “Okay, so we’ve eaten together most nights and tomorrow is my turn to cook. At least, that’s what the rota says. I wasn’t there for dinner last night and planned to be out all day today.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to outstay my welcome,” was my feeble response. I didn’t want to get into the whys and wherefores.

  She began to laugh. “Oh, I’m sure. And what delicacy are you planning? Go on… hit me with the cliché.”

  She may call herself my friend, but the woman was a witch. “I planned to cook steak and all the trimmings and then take myself off to bed early.”

  “Uh-huh.” She chuckled, not bothering to hide her mirth. “That’s precisely what you should be doing with a house full of soldiers. Especially after going through the trouble of cooking them all steak. Bed is definitely the best place to be. Why not tonight?”

  “I’m…” The truth was, I wasn’t ready. If I was going to meet Ryan head-on and play him at his own game, I’d need to psych myself up so to speak. “Not today. Aunt Flo is visiting,” I offered as an excuse. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth either. I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the phone through another of Betty’s rants though.

  “They aren’t soldiers,” I added in a feeble attempt at turning the attention away from bedroom exploits. “Ryan is a chef and Thom is a physical—”

  Her rich, saucy laugh cut my explanation short. “Fuck me, Lyla. Well, since you can’t join me for lunch today, I’ll have to settle for long distance tea. I want photos or at least social media links. I want to see who you’ve replaced that spineless weasel with!”

  Tea. I never had gossip. It was Betty with the inside scoop on the private lives of the landed gentry. “You’re terrible,” I replied with a small laugh.

  “You’re a fucking minx,” she retorted with a hint of awe. “I’d never have imagined you had the balls for this. You bloody legend.”

  I hadn’t admitted to anything yet and already she suspected. “I’m just trying to get myself sorted,” I explained. “I won’t be here long, it’s just a stop gap.”

  “Of course it is, love. You get your gap stopped while you can,” she urged.

  I shook my head in dismay. “I can’t…”

  “Why?” she demanded. “If they’re eating with you most evenings then there’s interest. Men don’t entertain women for no reason.”

  “They’re Lloyd’s friends,” I argued feebly.

  “Lloyd isn’t there,” she countered.

  I sucked in a breath. “That doesn’t matter.”

  She really had no shame.

  “Have there been any advances?” she pressed, desperate for information of any kind.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I kissed Ryan. Twice.”

  Her cracking laugh forced me to move the phone from my ear. “So why not jump in the sack and get yourself some? It’s the least you deserve.”

  “It isn’t that simple,” I admitted. “I think they’re… you know.”

  She went silent and the sound of her gulping a drink came through the line. I took the few seconds of reprieve to check the clock on the dash. Eleven. Gin o’clock.

  The glass clinked, and I could easily picture her sitting in her living room and placing the tumbler on her glass coffee table. “And? Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”

  “Did yours?” I countered, as my face heated. I was relieved she couldn’t see me. She would have guessed every sordid image that had come creeping into my mind over the last few days if she had.

  “Fuck no,” was her retort. “She couldn’t be arsed. Father, however, taught me how to make sure I took whatever I wanted, when I wanted it. Hence my very lucrative divorce.”

  It was the typical approach the elite took, but I’d made sure not to be like them, even if I had married into it. “I can’t just make a pass—”

  “What are they like?” she interrupted.

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Thom is quiet. Friendly. Kind. Athletic, tan, and disgustingly handsome. Ryan is… fun, almost wild. He teases me. I don’t know if he really is interested or if he’s just playing around.”

  “Oh, they’re the best ones,” she exclaimed. “I bet he’s a really dirty fuck. You should get in his pants and see what he’s really made of.”

  Mortified by her vulgarity, I gasped.

  Betty laughed even harder. “You must! And don’t allow him to shock you. Sass him back—his type likes a girl with a bit of bite. Trust me. Listen, I made other lunch arrangements since you’re not here, so I have to dash. Promise me you will take full advantage of those studs. Let me know when the deed is done, and I’ll come to you for a celebratory lunch date. Perhaps you could pass one of your hotties over to me for a test drive.”

  “For God’s sake, Bet—”

  She couldn’t hear me over her own laughter. “Keep me posted, darling.”

  The call ended abruptly, and I just stared at the screen for a second. She was absolutely bonkers—and clearly psychic.

  Okay, so I hadn’t acted on my desires, yet, but I could tell by her tone that she knew I’d at least thought about it. But thinking and doing are two entirely different things.

  Did I really have the confidence to give Ryan as good as he gave?

  He wasn’t Francis, he wouldn’t pull the disappointed husband shit I was used to, but would inviting him closer be a mistake?

  I got out of the car and opened the back door to retrieve my handbag before heading towards the first in a long line of clothes shops in the retail park.

  Maybe it would be a mistake, but Betty had a point. It was just a bit of fun.

  Ryan had made that first move, not me.

  Okay, messing around with my brother’s friends could get messy, but it might not. Whatever happened, it could be fun finding out if I could pluck up the courage.

  7

  Ryan

  I knew kissing her like that in front of Thom had its consequences, but I couldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for it. Even when she scampered out of the kitchen, I thought it was absolutely worth it just to get close to her again
.

  Unfortunately, the first consequence was that just after she’d started to open up and relax around us a bit, the kiss made her lock back up.

  It had been three days since our moment in the bedroom and I’d barely seen her since. I’d woke Saturday morning to the sound of her getting up and out the house before either Thom or I could get up to make breakfast. Neither of us saw her for the rest of the day until just after eight, when she arrived home. We only knew that because we heard the front door quietly close before she dashed upstairs.

  Sunday, she came down the stairs and went directly out the front door. She didn’t even come into the kitchen, so had no idea I was already up. When I came home from a late session at the gym, Thom confirmed she had come home and had already locked herself in Lloyd’s room for the evening. Both of us were left disappointed when we didn’t hear a peep from her all night.

  That led directly to the second consequence.

  Thom was beyond pissed at me for pushing her.

  “She said hello and that was it,” he grumbled, after he spat his toothpaste into the sink.

  “You haven’t bothered her, have you?” I queried while I rubbed the shampoo into my hair.

  “No,” he stated flatly. “I didn’t want to rock the boat any further.”

  Annoyed with him—or myself, I wasn’t sure—I argued, “I told you, I only suggested—”

  “What you did was fucking stupid, Ry. She implied she’s suffered some form of abuse and you turn around and fuck with her like that.”

  He was leaning against the sink, watching me shower. The usual admiration on his face when he watched me was gone and replaced with a look of annoyance.

  Forgetting the shampoo in my hair, I stuck my head out and explained, “All I did was suggest she get herself something to celebrate and kiss her.”

  “And then you launched yourself at her in the kitchen,” he added, full of sarcasm.

  Irritated, I didn’t respond immediately, taking the time to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I didn’t want to fight with him, but I wanted him to understand what transpired.

  “You make me sound like some sort of pest,” I complained, while I reached for the body wash. “She wanted it. She’d have gotten it too while we were in her room, if you hadn’t shouted…” I was growing defensive and lost my train of thought. When it came back to me, I remembered he was the one who encouraged me to make a move in the first place. “Hey, you said—”

  “I didn’t say behave entirely inappropriately and scare her half to death,” he countered.

  My hands paused in their scrubbing of my stomach. “She isn’t scared,” I insisted firmly.

  “Embarrassed then,” he snapped, as he pushed away from the sink. “You know she came here because it’s a safe place for her.” With an exasperated sigh, he rubbed the back of his head. “Or it was.”

  Was? Fuck, I wasn’t that bad. “It still is. He knows better than to show his face here. If he doesn’t, he’ll soon learn how big a mistake that is when he meets the rest of us.”

  “You’re a prick,” he grumbled, and left the room, the closing door stopped anything else from coming out of my mouth and making the situation worse. After all, what more could I have said?

  There was no point in trying to defend myself. I hadn’t meant to be an asshole, but he was right, and it left a sour taste in my mouth. Yeah, I’d almost got my dick inside her, but her not showing her face for the entire weekend taught me something surprising. For the first time in a couple of years, I was interested in more than a quick fuck.

  I actually wanted to get to know her.

  If that was going to happen, I’d have to work twice as hard now to prove she wasn’t just another notch on my bedpost.

  In the time it took me to finish my shower, Thom had gotten dressed and had already gone downstairs, so I went into my room and took my time getting ready. With no plans, I wasn’t in a rush to start my day.

  That was the problem with working in the catering corps, I worked every other weekend when everyone else was off, and I was off when everyone else was at work.

  I’d slept the last two nights in my own room, which had begun to irritate me. Friday was okay, but Saturday night Thom had questioned me over Lyla after she’d avoided us entirely, and I wasn’t in the mood. The same had happened last night.

  Standing in front of my mirror, I’d just pushed some styling putty through my hair when I caught sight of Lyla’s reflection as she came out of her room. I turned and stepped out of my room with the intention to try and make things right, and lesson the tension in the house, but she ducked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her before I’d had a chance to say anything.

  Feeling like even more of an asshole, I went downstairs and made us both a mug of tea in the hope she’d take it and let me apologise. I made sure to pick her favourite cup. It wouldn’t fix anything, but maybe it would show her I paid attention.

  With the tea made and nothing more to do, I brought in and fed Gunner before Lyla finally showed her face. Gunner ran straight to her when she came into the room, and she paused in the doorway to say hello before she noticed me.

  “Made you one,” I announced, tilting my head towards her cup before I leaned against the sink with my mug in one hand.

  Her uneasy smile spoke volumes. I really had fucked up.

  “I didn’t slip any Rohypnol in there,” I added, in a shit attempt at humour, but cringed when her eyebrows almost touched her hairline in surprise. Shit, I suck at this.

  Looking right at me, she picked up the mug and took a sip. Her warm brown eyes remained on mine as she swallowed and tilted her head. “Why would you say that?”

  “What?” I was stunned. She’d fucking called me out. Where was the coy little thing I’d been berated for upsetting?

  When she didn’t immediately answer, I thought she was going to ignore me, but she shocked me further when she sat at the table, put her phone down in front of her, and gave me her full attention once more.

  With a cat that ate the canary smirk, she clarified, “Why, after getting to know one another so much better on Friday, would you imagine it would take such a drastic measure to experience that again?”

  My mouth dropped open, shut, and opened again, but when I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say in response, I slammed it closed. She’d thrown me for a loop and I didn’t have a response for her. Nothing at all.

  Gunner, the damn traitor, had taken up residence at her feet, which meant I couldn’t use him as a distraction, so I peered at her with what I hoped passed for mild amusement for a few seconds before reaching for the chair in front of me.

  Her quick comeback made me feel a bizarre combination of hope and arousal, hence me sitting down before my aching cock was evident through my jeans and made her think of me as an even bigger asshole.

  She’d been so quiet over the weekend, to the point Thom believed I’d offended her with that kiss, and I was beginning to think I’d blown it. But today she was confident. Challenging. Her new self-assurance suggested there was a chance for another opportunity for us to get to know one another—as she put it, possibly without interruption. Judging by her smile, and the way it reached her eyes, I’d go so far as to say she’d given it as much thought as I had. Possibly more.

  I hadn’t responded, and she tilted her head in question, her wild curls swaying with the motion. “Well?”

  My dick was on the verge of bursting through my zipper, but I didn’t dare reach down to adjust. Did she know what she was doing? Had she thought this through? I really couldn’t tell, and while my aching dick was telling me to get over there and take what she was offering, I seemed unable to muster a response.

  Swallowing hard, I licked my lips and was about to give her an answer when her phone started to ring.

  Not bothering to look away from me, she picked it up and pressed the accept icon.

  “What is it?” she asked, an ambivalent edge to her tone she was obviously trying to h
ide.

  She paused, waiting for whoever was on the other end to explain, and she still kept her eyes fixed on me.

  “Yes, you said that yesterday. And Saturday. But it’s irrelevant, Francis. It doesn’t matter what you say, or think, or threaten, the fact is I’ve left you and I won’t be coming back.”

  Her tone changed with that statement. There was a hint of triumph. Not much, but it was there.

  Then her brows pulled in at whatever it was he’d said back.

  “Absolutely not. No. If you darken his door, I have every reason to believe that Lloyd will put you through it. Yes, yes, vulgar, bottom feeding squaddies, I’ve heard them all before, Francis, and I guarantee I know more since I’m cut from the same lowly cloth. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m afraid I have to—”

  She didn’t even finish her sentence before he interrupted, and instead of firing something back at him, she ended the call and returned the phone to the kitchen table.

  Whatever her confidence was running on suddenly depleted. I watched it happen, the spark in her eyes dying with the call.

  I switched from being turned on by her to bloody angry for her. But that fizzled out almost immediately, replaced by concern when her shoulders hunched as she stared down into her cup as if it could somehow give her the answers she desperately needed.

  The flip-flop in emotions caught me off guard. I hadn’t felt anything like that for a long time, because I’d stopped giving a shit when my marriage ended. Since then, I’d spent my time making damn sure not to get in that position again and hadn’t been involved with anyone emotionally for three years. I was happy with that.

  Until Lyla showed up.

  She filled the silence by taking another drink from her mug, all enthusiasm for our flirtatious back and forth gone, but I wasn’t ready to give it up. Not yet. I wanted to keep her there, talking for a while longer, before she decided to hide out in the bedroom again.

  My knee bounced in a nervous habit as I wondered how I was going to handle this now that the mood had been ruined because of her asshole husband. “I said it,” I divulged, trying not to mumble, “because I usually turn to saying stupid shit to cut the tension.”