Bob kruger and patrick s.., p.3
Wish You Weren't Here, page 3
I grit my teeth.
‘No,’ I lie, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
I can see a group of lads in fancy dress approaching me, on their way to their next drinking spot, so I try to step out of their way.
‘I’m so wasted,’ a bloke dressed as a prisoner screams. He stops in his tracks as I catch his eye. ‘Hey, baby, you ever had a convict go down on you?’
He couldn’t have timed that any worse if he tried.
‘I’m watching TV,’ I tell my family, who you can bet heard that, as I wave the drunk man away.
‘You sound like you’re on to a promise there, girl,’ Chester chuckles.
I detest the way Chester talks to women, almost like we’re horses.
‘Anyway,’ Seph continues, clearly done with small talk, ‘we have news. We’re engaged!’
And just like that, the world stops turning again, but not in the fun, romantic way it did with Ethan. No, this is more like the kind of world-stopping where you’re not sure if you want to scream or cry or laugh hysterically.
It’s not that I begrudge my sister getting married, or that I’m jealous, and please don’t think I’m making this all about myself, but I’m terrified of what this means for me. My baby sister is getting married – she’s lapping me – and at this point it goes beyond how I feel about it, it’s more about how other people are going to make me feel about it, like it’s a competition and I’m losing… despite not actually competing. Then again, I might be wrong.
‘She’s speechless,’ Chester points out.
‘She’s jealous,’ Beatrix adds, with that perfect blend of condescension and faux concern that only she – my literal wicked stepmother – can pull off.
‘Yeah, sorry I’m beating you to it, sis,’ Seph says, not sounding the least bit sorry.
‘What? Don’t be daft,’ I say quickly, forcing a laugh that sounds more convincing in my head. ‘Sorry, the line isn’t great, but I think I heard you right. Wow, congratulations, guys!’
‘This is us letting you know we’ve set a date too,’ Seph continues. ‘And it’s going to be a destination wedding, so just keep February free, okay?’
‘This February?’ I ask, feeling like I’ve missed a step.
Beatrix scoffs.
‘You’re such a silly goose,’ Seph tells me, laughing, and it’s a sound that grates on my nerves. I hate it when she calls me a ‘silly goose’ – what is it with some people who think they can insult you so long as they call you ‘silly goose’ instead of a ‘dumb bitch’? Obviously I know what she means. ‘You clearly have no idea how long dream weddings take to plan,’ Seph points out.
I would have thought that would be obvious.
‘Right, okay, next year,’ I say, trying to keep up.
‘Lana, honestly,’ Seph replies, like I’m being an even sillier goose now. ‘February 2025. These things take time to plan – especially if we’re doing it out here.’
‘You’re getting married in Australia?’ I repeat.
‘Yep, Sydney. Keep up,’ Seph says.
‘My rentals live out here now, they’ve got a beaut place,’ Chester adds.
Rentals is posh for parents, in his world, apparently. I don’t think Chester has ever rented a thing in his life.
‘So, February, after my birthday?’ I check.
‘She’s making it about her,’ Beatrix whispers, like she doesn’t know how speakerphone works. Then again, this is Beatrix, so she probably does.
‘To be honest, we hadn’t thought about that,’ Seph says, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. ‘There might be some crossover with dates, but it’s not exactly an awful place to celebrate, is it?’
I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Not only is no one acknowledging that her wedding is probably going to overshadow my thirtieth birthday, but they’re all acting like this isn’t a big deal that one might get in the way of the other. Well, if something (or someone) has to give, you know it will be me.
‘I can’t… you’re… I… can yo—’ I say, then fake some static in my voice to make it seem like the line is bad.
‘She can’t hear us,’ my dad says.
‘Hopefully we stopped whatever poor decision she was about to make,’ Beatrix adds.
‘Oh, we know Lana, she’ll find someone to carry on through the night with,’ Seph adds.
Right, that’s enough of that. I hang up before I hear what else they have to say, because the urge to say something back is overwhelming.
I finally let out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding as Ethan joins me again.
He gives me a look, like he’s concerned, and somehow it only makes him hotter.
‘Seemed like a long call, so I held off on your taxi,’ he says. ‘How are things down under?’
He says this in a spot-on Aussie accent that makes me laugh despite everything.
‘Wow, you’re great at the accent,’ I tell him. ‘Are you actually Australian?’
That might be the only thing that could make him even sexier still.
‘My dad’s from New Zealand,’ he says. ‘And I know, that doesn’t explain it, but my mum was from here and they talked about living somewhere between the two places. Anyway my dad won and we lived in Australia – or over the ditch as he called it – for a few years when I was a kid. It made me cool, over there when I went, and over here when I came back.’
I smile as his easy conversation melts away some of the tension that has built up in my shoulders. Being around him is like being on something. Whatever he’s putting out, I’m breathing it in, and it’s giving me a high.
‘Oh, I bet,’ I reply. ‘You would be too powerful if you had that going for you now. An Aussie accent and I might’ve said yes to going back to your hotel…’
‘Oh, really?’ he replies.
I don’t want to say that interacting with my family has egged me on – like, if they think I’m out having fun then I may as well be – but it did give me a moment to pause and rethink my decision. When something worth grabbing is on offer do I want to be the kind of person who plays it safe, or do I want to be the kind of person who says yes?
‘Yes.’
‘Fair dinkum,’ he says with a grin, as he slips back into the accent. ‘Let’s stop carrying on like a couple of pork chops and head off.’
I should probably find this ridiculous, but I don’t. I’m way into it. In fact, his silly, jokey accent is the reason I practically throw myself at him, our lips meeting again with a force that leaves me breathless.
‘The Calls, you say?’ I check between kisses, my heart racing.
‘Yeah,’ he replies, taking my hand.
‘That’s not far,’ I say, dragging him in the right direction. ‘This way.’
It’s only supposed to be a short walk, but it feels like a marathon when we keep stopping to kiss every few steps – under the train arches, in the courtyard outside the Marriott. At one point, a group of friendly drag queens even cheers us on as Ethan presses me against the wall of Viaduct Showbar, the heat between us building with every touch.
With the hotel almost in our sights, we manage to tear ourselves apart for long enough to make it there, and I’m even more relieved when he leads me to his ground-floor room, because the thought of being inside a small lift (even for less than a minute) with him feels like it might be too much to take.
Ethan unlocks his room and leads me inside. Bizarrely, now that we’re in here together with the door locked and no audience, there’s a bit of distance between us. I’m almost enjoying it, the anticipation, the wondering about what’s going to happen next…
Ethan approaches me slowly and drops to his knees in front of me. Wondering what he’s going to do makes my knees feel weak – like, literally weak, like I need to sit down, and with his face being just inches from my body there are no prizes for guessing what I have in mind.
He doesn’t touch me though, he reaches behind me, into the minibar. Eventually he returns to eye level with a bottle of champagne in his hand.
‘Drink?’ he suggests.
‘Sounds great,’ I reply.
I watch him as he fusses with the bottle for a second. Yes, I want a drink, but I want him even more.
I throw myself at him again, the two of us snapping together magnetically, knocking the (thankfully unopened) bottle from his hand. We kiss, only for a few seconds, before parting again.
Ethan picks up the bottle and goes to remove the cork. I want to tell him to stop but my drunken reflexes aren’t up to it. The words don’t come out in time and as he pulls the cork away the champagne erupts from the bottle, spraying us both.
‘Bathroom,’ I tell him quickly, noticing the open door behind him.
Ethan runs into the bathroom and steps into the large shower. The champagne is showing no signs of stopping so Ethan just holds it helplessly, laughing wildly at the ridiculousness of it all.
I’m soaking wet so I step into the shower with him. I lean over the bottle and drink from it, like it’s a garden hose on a hot day.
This just makes Ethan laugh even harder.
‘No point wasting it,’ I point out.
‘Fair enough,’ he replies, but as he goes to drink from the fountain it quickly dies down to nothing.
‘Ah, tough luck,’ I say with a pout. ‘It really does taste better, from anything but a glass.’
Ethan licks his lips. I would imagine they’re like mine – and the rest of my body – which is seriously sticky.
‘Oh, well, I can think of a way to test that,’ he says.
He leans forward and starts kissing my neck, slowly working his way down until he’s practically licking the champagne from my chest.
‘Mmm, you might be right,’ he tells me.
‘We should probably get this off, before we go back through there,’ I point out. ‘We don’t want to make a mess.’
‘Fair enough,’ he replies.
In one swift movement, Ethan reaches out and turns on the large shower head that hovers above us. As the initially freezing cold water crashes down over us I squeal.
Of course, the second Ethan peels off his shirt and drops his trousers, revealing his muscular, underwear-model-type body, I forget how cold I am. He reaches forward to help me remove my dress so I turn around, so he can undo my zip.
He lets my dress fall away before pressing his body up against my back, pinning me to the cool tiles.
I know, I know, I’m rushing into things, but I just keep thinking about Jennifer’s motivational Post-it that Ethan wrote his number on.
Your intuition knows her shit.
Tonight I’m going with my intuition, not my common sense, and maybe it’s a recipe for disaster but tonight… maybe I don’t care?
4
The shrill sound of my alarm practically punches me awake, dragging me out of a dream that I’ve already forgotten. Ugh. It feels way too early for this, and my head is pounding.
I fumble around for my phone, to silence the alarm, to try to stop the high-pitched tone vibrating through my skull. When it finally stops I let out a groan, because if my alarm is going off, that means it’s a workday.
I rub my eyes, trying to get them to accept the fact that they have to open, and that’s when it hits me. Oh my God. My eyes snap open as I suddenly realise where I am and what I’ve done. I’m in a hotel room – Ethan’s hotel room. And not just in his room. I’m in his bed.
I stare up at the wall in front of me, given that I’m lying on my side, and it’s like there is a projector showing scenes from last night on the blank space as the flashbacks come in thick and fast, in all their horny glory. Bloody hell, no wonder I feel like I barely slept – I don’t recall spending much time on my back. I feel exhausted, but… in a good way?
Just as I’m wondering how to navigate things this morning, there’s a soft knock at the door. I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Ethan shifts beside me, and I feel the bed dip as he gets up to answer it.
There’s a murmur of voices, Ethan’s low and soothing, the other person’s too soft to make out. I take a deep breath and slowly roll over, the throbbing in my head intensifying with the movement.
When I open my eyes again, Ethan is walking back toward the bed, pushing a large room-service trolley loaded with all sorts of things. He looks unfairly good for this hour – hair tousled in that sexy, effortless way and a grin that’s just too charming for my poor sleep-deprived brain to handle.
‘Breakfast,’ he says. ‘I thought you might appreciate something to eat, before work.’
‘How are you perfect in the morning too?’ I blurt.
‘Thanks,’ he says with a smile as he pours two cups of coffee.
‘It’s definitely a compliment but I think I need an answer,’ I reply, laughing softly to myself.
Is he real? This godlike man standing in front of me, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, pouring me a cup of coffee.
He sits down on the bed next to me, handing me my cup. I take a sip and, ugh, it’s heaven.
‘That’s so good, thank you,’ I tell him, setting it down on the bedside table. ‘This place is… wow, it’s really nice. So fancy.’
‘Yeah, it’s all right, isn’t it?’ he replies. ‘It’s so hi-tech though. Look.’
Ethan dumps no less than four remote controls down on the bed.
‘Beyond the TV one, I have no idea,’ he admits.
‘I wonder if one makes the bed do something,’ I say, picking one up to examine it. ‘The only thing I’m missing is a massage.’
‘Is that a hint?’ he asks.
‘It wasn’t, but…’
Ethan moves over, so that he’s sitting behind me, with one leg on either side of me. He starts working on my shoulders with his thumbs and, wow, that’s incredible.
‘Oh my God, you angel,’ I practically groan. ‘Mmm.’
‘Don’t make noises like that, you’re giving me flashbacks,’ he jokes.
‘Would a little memory refresh be such a bad thing?’ I reply.
Taking the hint, Ethan leans forward and starts kissing my neck. I lean back into it, letting him wrap his arms around my body, holding me close.
‘Your breakfast will go cold,’ he whispers into my ear.
‘I’ll get over it,’ I reply.
I drop forwards, onto my elbows, as Ethan takes my hips in his hands.
Obviously I’m a little distracted, but I am vaguely aware of a quiet but strange noise coming from somewhere in the room. It’s only when I open my eyes that I realise the room is suddenly much lighter, and the blinds are open, and we’re on the ground floor and, oh God, we’re starting to catch the attention of people walking by on their way to work.
‘Oh my God,’ I blurt.
‘The blinds!’ Ethan says.
He grabs the duvet from under us and quickly pulls it down over us, leaving us hiding in a sort of bed den.
‘What happened?’ I ask him. ‘And what are we going to do? People are looking – how do we close them?’
Ethan just laughs.
‘I think you leaned on a remote,’ he tells me. ‘I think this one might be for the blinds.’
He pushes a button and sure enough we hear that sound again.
I dare to peep out from under the covers and sure enough the room is in near darkness again.
‘I wonder if everything we do will be chaotic,’ I say, seeing the funny side. Well, you have to see the funny side, don’t you, when you accidentally commit an indecent act in front of an audience?
‘I hope so,’ he replies. ‘I’d really like to see you again. Tonight, maybe? While I’m still in Leeds?’
‘I’d really like that,’ I say, trying to keep my cool, even though I can feel a smile yanking at my lips.
‘Great,’ he says. ‘I’ll message you the details later.’
I nod, already thinking about what I’m going to wear, wondering where we’ll go, wishing that I didn’t have to go to work – shit, work!
‘I should probably get ready for work,’ I say reluctantly, grabbing my coffee for another sip. ‘Actually, I really need to get a move on if I’m going to have time to apply the emergency make-up I keep in my desk.’
Ethan chuckles, shaking his head slightly.
‘You look beautiful as you are,’ he says, and I almost believe him, but a quick glance in the mirror tells me otherwise. Bed hair and smudged mascara from the champagne-explosion-shower combination will definitely get people at work talking. I keep a simple white blouse in my drawer too, just in case I ever end up pulling an all-nighter, and don’t have time to go home. A plain white shirt over any dress makes it look instantly businesslike.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, blushing just a little. ‘But you know what Jennifer is like.’
I slide out of bed, gather my clothes, and head toward the bathroom with a smile that almost makes my face ache.
‘Looking forward to later,’ Ethan calls after me, and there’s something in his tone that makes me think he actually means it.
‘Me too,’ I call back, before shutting the bathroom door behind me. Yep, privacy, for the girl who showered champagne from her boobs in front of him.
As I turn on the tap and splash my face with cold water, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There’s a sparkle in my eyes, one that I haven’t seen in a long time, and a lightness in my chest that makes everything feel… possible? Oh my God, what am I saying? That’s so cringe but… I don’t know, I guess it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this happy, and hopeful and, for the first time in ages, I’m actually going on a second date. I know, it’s hardly wedding bells like my sister, but it’s a start, right?
5
I’m sitting at my desk, I’m tapping away on my keyboard, and I am working but everything I’m doing today is very much on autopilot because all I can think about is last night – and when I’m not thinking about what happened last night, I’m thinking about what might happen tonight.
I keep smiling to myself, like a crazy person, but it’s that image of him – the last thing I saw before I left him this morning – the look on his face, like I was the only person in the world.
