Someone Like You
Okay, so when I finished Garden of Eden, things were all wrapped up for the boys, but Rhian was kind of left, so I decided that I needed to do her justice and give her a chance to remember and reflect and hopefully come to terms with the end of her relationship with Randy. This all takes place about 9months or so after they split.
The story will alternate between present and past (the big chunks of italics) - please note that the flashbacks are not chronological, but hopefully they make some sort of sense.
It's a bloody long story, so I have split it into two parts - feel free to get a cup of tea (or your preferred poison) in between, as long as you come back for the second part lol.
Big thanks to the lovely QueenOfCombat who helped loads with ideas, put up with my endless whining and read through the entire thing in one sitting the other night.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Randy or Cody. Rhian is mine.
DISCLAIMER 2: The parts in bold are the gorgeous lyrics of Someone Like You by the amazing Adele, used without permission. If you haven't heard of Adele, go listen to her. And listen to this song!
Right, enough of me. Hope you like.
I heard that you're settled down,
that you found a girl and you're married now,
I heard that your dreams came true,
Guess she gave you things I didn't give you
I slowly switch the engine off. My heart is thumping. I can feel it in my throat, heavy pound after pound. My breath is short, raspy. My knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. I am frozen.
The past nine months have been hell. Not that anybody would know that. I've worked hard to keep up the façade. I've doubled my defences, kept the shield up. To the outside world, I have moved on. I put on the smile, shrug off the pity looks and tell everyone that I am okay.
But I'm not. Inside, I'm still in turmoil. Still wondering what the hell happened. Looking for a reason, an answer, anything to ease the pain that still clings to me. The pain that is begging for an outlet. The pain that only seeps out at night when I wake up, cold, lonely.
But now, the pain is quickly working it's way to the surface, the façade is fading fast.
I uncurl, or rather, prise, my fingers from the steering wheel. Bend them slowly, watch the colour seep back up to the tips. And then clench them tightly, dig my nails into my palms. And howl.
If only screaming would solve this. I want to scream all day long. I want to shout, hurl things across the room. I want to tear things up. I want to tear myself up. I want to reach inside, pull out my heart and twist it in my hands till it stops hurting. Till I stop feeling anything.
I want to move on. Lord knows I want to. But I'm stuck. No matter what I do, what I try to bend my mind into thinking, I am stuck in that place. As much as I try to move on, I can't. I want the day to come when I don't have to put on my face and force myself to be happy, to be myself. I want to be natural again. I want to be able to get out of bed, walk downstairs, make coffee and let my mind go, without bursting into tears. I want to be able to look in the mirror and believe what I see.
But life is not so kind. You would have thought that I would know that by now. In one moment, things can change. In one moment, all that hard work, the desperate attempt to heal, to move on – it all comes crashing down. Just like that.
I saw...
Them.
Laughing.
Hand in hand.
Not a care in the fucking world.
They looked happy.
I howl again. Throw my head back against the headrest. Close my eyes. Open them again when the image of them flashes up again and again.
They looked so happy.
They looked how we once looked.
Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light
I sit in the car, watching the rain hammering down. It's about twenty metres to the store. Twenty metres of rain to tackle. I can see people huddled under the porch, eyeing up their cars, debating whether to make a break for it or to wait.
I've been waiting for ten minutes. Now or never it seems. I slowly reach for my purse, remove my keys from the ignition, stopping the windscreen wipers mid-wipe. I pull the hood of my sweater up over my head, wiggle my feet in my incredibly unsuitable flip-flops and make a dash for it.
I make it to the porch and look down to survey the damage. I am soaked through. Brilliant. I stop off for a pint of milk, bread and cigarettes and end up with a complimentary shower instead. I shrug my hood off and push open the door to the store.
I hear the door swing half-shut behind me and then the bell tinkles once more as someone comes in behind me. I half-glance over my shoulder, but I don't notice whoever it was. Why? Because the rain has stopped. Typical. I scowl and stomp, or rather, squelch my way down the aisle towards to the small bakery at the back of the store.
On my way to the till, I grab a carton of milk, turn and promptly crash into someone.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"No problem."
Hang on, I've heard that voice before. I glance up slowly, my eyes taking in the tight fitting shirt, the thick neck, the 5 o clock shadow, the piercing blue eyes. Shit.
Randy's mouth twitches into a smile. "It's good to see you again."
"You too."
Although the last time I saw him, he was asleep in that motel bed. On his front, arm hanging over the edge, sheets tangled around his legs... The image has been seared in my mind ever since. I should have stayed. Bloody Lea with her "just leave, don't wake him." Why do I listen to that girl?
"So..." I fumble around for words. Wow, who'd have thought this would be so awkward? "How, erm, how you been?"
He raises his arm, hand reaching to scratch the back of his head. I think I'm going to die. "Good thanks," he drawls slowly.
What has it been? A month? Possibly longer... I told him to call me. Who waits for a month to call? Technically, he still hasn't called-
"Sorry I haven't called. I only got back a few hours ago," he interrupts my thoughts, instantly making me feel guilty for them.
"Oh, no worries." I shrug, desperate to look nonchalant. I can feel a drop of water begin it's slow trickling pace down the back of my neck. Silence overtakes us and I struggle for something intelligent to say. The tension between us is almost unbearable. I want to hit reverse, zoom back to travelling down the highway and instead of pulling over to the store, I would have carried on straight.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again. His mouth twitches. A woman brushes behind him. Her husband follows, glaring at us for blocking the aisle. Randy's mouth opens slightly, his tongue darting across his lips. Wetting them. I force my thoughts back to where they belong: the gutter.
Enough.
"Well it was good to see you again," I say, not as firmly as I had imagined. My voice is strangely forced. "Maybe see you around..."
I turn, grasping my purchases firmly. Walk away. Calm. Ignore the embarrassing squeak from my flip-flops.
"Rhian, wait."
I turn.
"Dinner?" he smiles.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it,
I had hoped you'd see my face,
And that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over
A car slows, it's full beams circling, breaking through the darkness in my bedroom. I listen as the sound of the engine gets louder, louder and then slowly fades away, as does the light. I roll my head to the side and reach out, scrambling for my phone. I click the screen on, the harsh glow dazzling for a second as I blink, just about making out the time of 3am.
I slowly sit up, drawing my knees to my chest. It's been a while since I've struggled to sleep. A while since I've thought about how lonely my bed can be. How lonely any bed can be. How lonely my life has become...
If I close my eyes, I will remember. And I will torture myself with the memories.
I shiver.
Nevermind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you, too,
Don't forget me, I beg
I wrap the soft, fluffy towel around me and make perfect wet footprints on the bathroom floor as I move to the mirror above the sink. Wiping away the steam, I pick up the comb on the vanity stand and start smooth, steady strokes through my hair. Water pitter patters on the floor behind me. I make a mental note to dry the floor before I go to bed. My first night alone here – I don't want to fuck it up.
It was way too generous of Randy. My apartment's hot water was still out of action. And the heating only seems to work in short, sporadic spasms. Not exactly great when the temperature outside was barely above freezing. Randy had come round five days ago in an attempt to fix both the heating and hot water, but had only succeeded in making it worse. Mainly by bursting the pipe under the kitchen sink within five minutes. I decided that I wouldn't mention what the handyman had remarked when he saw the damage. After drying off, Randy had told me to pack my things and stay at his house.
And then early this morning, he'd written me a note on how the incredibly-yet-unnecessary-sophisticated alarm system worked and left me with a set of keys. A long, sultry kiss, his hand sneaking up the back of my top, trailing a finger down my spine, making me shiver... And then he was gone. Off to a show, back the following afternoon.
Hair combed, I pad into the bedroom. I should have gone home earlier today, but laziness had taken over and I spent the day, laid out on the couch, watching mind-numbing TV. Now I was regretting that choice. I had no clean clothes. Chewing my lip, I stared at the closet, wondering if he would mind... It was a big step just staying in his house alone. To start borrowing his clothes at the same time?
Relationships fuck with my head. How's he going to know? I tug open the closet door and step in. It's like stepping into another room. It goes back about a two metres and is possibly even bigger in width. I run my hand along the cuffs of the the neatly pressed and hung plain black, dark blue, deep purple and crisp white shirts. Dress pants, suit jackets and then several choice three pieces suits. My mind conjures up one hell of an image and I catch myself giggling at the thought.
I take my pick and pull out one of the drawers. As if luck would have it, I discover a stash of what look like Randy's workout shirts. I select a light grey one from the top. I pause and then sniff at it – despite the over-powering smell of soap powder, I can smell something beneath it. A hint of him. Maybe it's my imagination, but I swear his scent is imprinted on the material. A faint tang of salt, sweat, sweetness.
Back in the bedroom, I slip it on. It hangs to just above my knees, the sleeves at my elbows. I could cinch the waist in and make a damn dress out of it. I twist my hair around my fingers and tie it loosely at the crown of my head. It's only half ten. There's still a glass' worth of wine in the refrigerator.
Glass in hand, I curl up on the sofa and gaze around. I've never had the chance to take this place in properly. The neatness of it. He must have a cleaner. I can't see Randy wielding a vacuum cleaner and duster once a week. He's never here from week to week anyway. Everything is carefully chosen, precise and exact. There's mess, sure, but even that looks deliberate. Five months in and still there's things about him that I don't quite get.
This house for one. A massive house for one guy. There are six bedrooms. Granted, two are full of gym equipment. That still leaves four. His room, what looks like an office and two spares, both with beds always made up. Downstairs there's the huge lounge, the kitchen off to the side, the dining room the other side. The door down to the basement... French windows in the dining room leading onto the veranda. Another door from the kitchen leading to the same. And I rattle around in my one bedroom apartment. An apartment that feels too small when he's there.
He fills the space instantly. And even here, in his own house, it feels titchy when he's here, moving around, creaking the floorboards, commenting loudly at the TV, over-exaggerated sounds when he's cooking, the bad singing from the shower each morning. The sweet groans from his throat late at night...
I down the dregs from the glass and pick up his note from the coffee table. I read the instructions a few times before I feel brave enough to tackle the combination of codes that protect the house. The alarm beeps at me furiously, before settling down for the night. I creak up the stairs and pull the covers over my head.
In the distance, a door slams. My eyes don't open though. My dream lures me back, pulling me under once more, blotting out the the dawn light. Something creaks, echoes through my subconscious. My mind keeps me under.
A light, feathery touch on my face. Another... A voice, making its way through, pulling me up into the morning.
"Rhian..." Warm breath on my cheek. A soft kiss on my brow, the tip of my nose, cold lips on mine.
I slowly open my eyes. Piercing blue ones shine down at me. His fingers brush strands of hair away from my face. He kisses me again, as I push back the covers to let him in. I roll onto my back and shift over, expecting him to lie beside me. But he crawls over me instead, pulling the covers up over our heads.
"Missed you..." He breathes against my mouth, as he settles over me, easing my legs apart with his thighs.
"It was one night," I murmur sleepily, my brain only half-registering what's happening.
"And?"
"I thought you weren't supposed to be back till later this morning."
"The thought of you all alone in my house," he kisses me softly, "in my bed... and apparently also in my shirt," he cocks his eyebrow and I giggle. "Well that's enough just to drive me fucking crazy." He rolls his hips slowly against mine, his hardness pressing firmly against my crotch.
I bite my lip. His hands seek out mine, pull them up over my head as his mouth finds mine once again. His fingers lock together with mine as his lips start to trail down my neck, teeth grazing the skin softly at first and then hard, making sure that the moan in the back of my throat is released.
He moves down, his teeth nipping at the neck of my (or rather, his) shirt. His hands trail down over my arms, down my sides and slowly pull the shirt up over my head. I close my eyes as his mouth closes over my right breast, his tongue twisting deliciously slowly around the nipple. His other hand grazes between us as he tugs down the zip of his sweatshirt. I am barely aware of my hands moving to push the material away, letting my fingers wander over his back, digging in the grooves of his muscles, as his tongue trails across my stomach.
My back arches involuntarily as he hooks his fingers into my underwear and slowly tugs them down. I can feel his hot breath on me as he pushes my legs further apart and then up onto his shoulders as he settles before me. His tongue gently caresses me, slowly at first, and then steady, delving deeper, as his fingers tease alternate strokes. I can feel my stomach tense, the sharp twinges of desire slowly taking over my insides. My head, still full of sleep is only just starting to catch up with the rest of my body. My senses slowly come alive, realising the predicament and suddenly on full alert. The sound of blood rushing to my head as my back arches off the bed higher this time, the feeling of his muscles beneath my feet and the rustle of bedsheets as Randy shifts to a more comfortable position below me. One arm curls around my waist, forcing me down onto the bed. Fingers push into me, as he twists his tongue around my core as I fall into oblivion.
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead,"
Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead, yeah
I push the drawer closed, but it resists and rocks back into my hand. I push again, this time pinning the clothes folded in it down with my other hand. It bounces back again. I frown and pull the drawer out as far it will go. Kneeling down, I squint into the shadows. Nothing.
Chewing my lip, I slowly slide my hand over the back edge of the drawer and grope around. My fingers brush something. I grasp at it desperately and tug it free. I throw it over my shoulder without looking and try to close the drawer again. Again, I don't succeed.
"For fuck's sake..."
I reach in again, but can't feel anything. I slowly push the drawer to, allowing my arm to move further in. I make a grab and pull. The drawer closes as I pull my arm and the item of discarded clothing free.
I glance down at my lap. Black lace crumples before me. A Valentine's day gift. Worn once. Torn once. And then shoved to the back of my underwear drawer. With a slight pang, I remember how Randy was never one for sexy underwear. Unless it was a simple bra and panties combination – anything more took too long to take off. His frustration would take over and...
Stop it.
I throw the lace corset in the direction of the trashcan. I rock back on my heels and stand. I look around and my heart leaps to my throat.
His t-shirt. The one I would always sleep in when he was away. It lies in a heap next to the bed where I had tossed it aside. I lean down and pick it up. It still soft. I curl my fists around it and slowly raise it to my face. I take a deep breath. His scent floods my senses. Seeps into my pores once again.
It takes all my strength to stop. With shaking hands, I slowly fold the t-shirt and lay it on the bed. I turn and look at my closet door with a sense of dread.
It's time.
You know how time flies,
Only yesterday was the time of our lives
I half gaze out of the window, half watch Randy out of the corner of my eye, as we speed along the highway. I lean back against the headrest and let my head roll to the side – my sunglasses shielding my eyes from the low sun.
One year. One year ago, Lea and I were halfway through a road trip, struggling to get cash together to pay for cash. And now? Lea is still travelling around the world (currently partying in Thailand) and I'm embarking on a rather shorter road trip to the unknown with Randy. A rare chance to spend 48 uninterrupted hours together. I try to remember the last time we spent that much together – just us, not in a hotel, fighting to get a room that wasn't already occupied by one of his colleagues. Not another night spent apart surviving on only phone calls, webcams or x-rated photos. Not a frantic evening together, trying to get as much out of each other as possible. And no long, extended goodbyes till Sunday night.
Randy shifts in his seat, and I let my head roll to the other side and gaze at him. He glances over at me and gives me a small smile. One hand rests on the steering wheel, elbow propped up against the window, the other resting on his thigh. As his gaze returns to the road ahead, his free hand moves over and rests on my hand, his fingers running over mine, squeezing softly.
"Another hour, baby," he says.
I smile. "You still not going to tell me where we're going?"
"Hell no."
I pout and he chuckles. "Such a kid." He gives my hand another squeeze and then lets go as we take the next exit.
Randy edges the car slowly down the mud-track. The trees are so dense around us that without the car lights on full beam, we'd be in complete darkness. We turned off the main road about 2 miles back and from what I can see (which is pretty much nothing) we've probably still got a while to go before we reach anywhere.
The track turns sharply to the left and suddenly, to my surprise, we enter a clearing and the headlights glance off a building. Randy swings the car around and pulls up next to a wood cabin. Shutting off the engine, we sit for a second in complete silence.
"What do you think?" he murmurs.
"You really did pick the most isolated place ever. I didn't think you'd take me quite so literally."
"I thought," he says, leaning over towards me, pushing his seatbelt aside, "that you wanted to get away from everything."
"I did."
"So a good surprise?" He's about an inch away, his hand un-clicking my seatbelt as his arm circles me and pulls me closer.
"Definitely," I whisper into his mouth.
He kisses me softly and then pulls back, reaches into his pocket and chucks me the key. "Well let yourself in. I'll get the bags."
Inside, everything is open plan – the front door opens onto the large lounge, which leads onto the kitchen at the left and at the back, I can see the soft glow of patio lights through the french windows. Floating stairs on the right lead up to the open expanse of the bedroom, the bathroom the only room with a door.
Randy comes through the front door as I'm investigating the contents of the refrigerator, discovering it rammed with enough food to last us for more than a weekend, along with a bottle of champagne. I remove it and set about trying to find glasses. Just as I'm reaching up to open one of the cupboards, Randy's hands graze my hips.
"Let me," he breathes in my ear, his teeth nipping ever so slightly at my neck, before he reaches above me and retrieves two glasses. Setting them to one side, he flips me around and lifts me onto the counter. Pushing my legs apart, he settles between them, my face now level with his. I run my fingers over his shorn head, digging my nails in slightly when I reach the base of his neck, the muscles tensing beneath the skin. His mouth presses against mine, his hands running through my hair, down my back, pulling me firmly against him.
"Happy anniversary," he murmurs, as he pulls away.
"You too," I smile.
"Champagne?"
"Please."
Leaving me on the counter, he gets the bottle, opens it and pours.
"Thanks," I say as he hands me the glass. "For all of this. You didn't have to. I would have been happy just to spend a weekend with you at your house."
"Why? We spend most of our time together there," he takes my hand and pulls me off the counter and back into the lounge. "Sit," he nods to the couch.
I curl my legs underneath me and take a sip of champagne, watching as he sets his glass on the table and then heads to his bag. He turns, one hand behind his back.
"I, erm, got you something else too."
"Yeah? Funny cos I got you something too."
"Really?" He sits on the couch opposite me, stretching out invitingly, still hiding whatever it is he's holding.
"Sure." I get up and go to fumble around in my own bag, drawing out the flat package that I had carefully packed. As I settle back on the couch, he finally reveals what he's been hiding.
He pushes a small square box towards me. "You go first."
I carefully pull open the ribbon and tug the lid from the box. Wrapped in tissue paper is a thin silver chain, with the outline of a heart hanging delicately from the end.
"Randy... God, it's beautiful." I lift the chain from the box. "Thank you."
"Here," he reaches out and takes the necklace from my fingers, opens the clasp and leans forward. Sliding his arms over my shoulders, he fastens the necklace, his thumb grazing the side of my neck as he adjusts the position of the chain.
I run my own finger over the heart that rests an inch below the hollow in throat, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Your turn," I murmur, pushing the present towards him.
My stomach twists into tight knots as he carefully started to unwrap it. I had debated on what the hell to give him for the past two months. My first thought had been a watch. But when I realised one night before we went out for dinner that he owned about ten already, I decided against it. My next thought had been some sort of clothing. But what would be the point? He seemed to live in jeans and sweatpants, another pair would just add to the pile in his closet. What to get the man who has quite literally anything. Why add to the DVD collection that only I watched? Why buy books that would never get read, CDs that would never get played.
"Jesus, Rhian..." Randy threw the wrapping paper to one side. "How long did that take?" He stares at the frame.
"Too many lonely nights." I pause. "Do you like it?"
"Definitely..."
"Thought I'd appeal to your narcissistic side," I giggle.
He glances up, eyebrow cocked, smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth.
I had taken the picture at one of the first shows I had ever been to. Hiding out backstage, I had taken the original shot just as he was preparing to out onto the ramp. Unknowingly, he'd glanced straight at me when I hit the shutter. But instead of just framing it and giving it to him, I used it as a guide and made up a mosaic of the photo, using photos I had taken of him, us, his friends, over the past year. It had taken about month to complete, but the look on his face was telling me it had been worth it.
"It's just... amazing." He sets the frame to one side and shifts closer to me. "Thank you."
"I've got another present for you too..." I murmur as I slide my arms around his neck. "It needs unwrapping too..."
He groans as he slides over me, his fingers already plucking at the hem of my shirt. His mouth works it way up my neck slowly, drawing low moans from my throat. He eases my legs apart easily with his knee and as I adjust to accommodate him, something falls to the floor. But instead of the soft thud of box on wood, something clangs shrilly.
I pull away from his tempting mouth and struggle to look down. To my surprise, Randy shifts back, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Is that embarrassment? Nervousness? Or just irritation at being interrupted just as the going gets good?
I lean over the edge of the couch and with my free hand, pull the empty jewellery box and the tissue paper that it once held towards me. The paper slides over easily, revealing a flash of silver beneath it.
"Randy, what the..." And then words stumble to a halt in my mouth and I struggle to swallow.
The key glistens in the light. I pick it up slowly, my now hot and sweaty hands heating the cool metal instantly.
I pull myself up on the couch, my mind working fast. I look at Randy questioningly. He's chewing his lip nervously.
"What's this?" I say, even though I already know what it is.
He runs his hand over his head. "I... I was thinking. I mean, you already... You spend..."
It's almost painful to watch him get the words out. For a man who's in front of the camera every week, it's amazing how much he can struggle to express himself in private.
He coughs. "Fuck, Rhi... It's a key. What do you think it is?"
I can feel my mouth twitching into a grin. Don't crack, don't laugh. "A key to what?"
He narrows his eyes. "You're doing this on purpose aren't you?"
"Well, if you spat the words out..."
"Fine." He reaches out and pulls me across the couch into his arms. "Will you... move in with me?"
I chew my lip thoughtfully and then smile. "If I say no-"
He frowns, but his eyes don't match up with his mouth. I lean forward and capture his lips with mine.
"Of course I will," I whisper against his cheek.
His arms squeeze me tightly. "Good. Now, where were we?"
I let him push me onto my back, the key still gripped tightly in my fist.
We were born and raised in a summer haze,
Bound by the surprise of our glory days
Opening the fridge, I pull out a bottle of wine. I pour myself a glass, a big one at that, and then go back into the lounge. The cardboard box is sitting on the coffee table. Randy's t-shirt beside it. I sit myself down on the couch and take a gulp of wine.
This is what I have been avoiding for the last nine months. I have refused to come face to face with what our relationship once was. I need to look it straight in the eye, reassess everything and then... Well, who knows. Bury myself deeper in the memories? Drift into the unknown of depression? Or, maybe, move on?
Fucking hell, Rhian. Pull yourself together. Open the damn box.
I stuffed everything I could into this box when I moved out. Once upon a time, this box just contained the good stuff. Like a lovesick teenager, I stashed away everything from our first few dates – the cinema stubs, the tickets to see a game, the rare gig. And then came the photos, the cards, the dried petals from one of the roses he gave me on our first Valentine's together.
And now? As I shift through the mementos of our relationship, I can see things from the good and the bad. I find the notes we scribbled to each other at the bitter end. The last kisses we ever exchanged via pen and paper. I don't even know why I took it. Beneath them, the twisted silver chain, broken in two after I snapped it from my neck in anger when I drove away from Cody's... I pick it up, hold it delicately between my fingers and gaze at the heart that hangs from it. I run a finger over the smooth metal and then lay it to one side on top of the shirt.
I sift deeper into the past. Gaze at the photos, arms around each other, kisses on the cheek, the mouth, the neck, my face cracked in two with a ridiculous grin. His smile toothy, charming, sexy. I run a finger over his captured cheek. Deeper still...
A receipt, the print faded, but my own scrawl in blue ink at the bottom: a date that sends my mind into over-drive.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it,
The buzzer goes just I'm fighting with the zip of my dress. Cursing, I run through my apartment barefoot, still trying to tug the zip up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's Randy." Jesus, his voice feels like it's in my head, wrapping it's way around my mind.
"Sure, come up."
I press the button and hear the door below click open. I unlock my apartment door and desperately fiddle with the zip. Shit.
The door swings open. I swallow hard. He's all in black – perfectly sized dress pants, black shirt, the top button casually undone, his black suit jacket curled over the crook of his arm, his fingers lightly toying with his pants' pocket.
"Hi, sorry, I'm not ready yet." I stop with the zip. Seriously not worth it. I'll change. "I'll be five minutes. Make yourself at home," I gesture to the left, to the lounge.
"Thanks."
I turn and scurry back to the bedroom.
"Hey, your dress..."
His footsteps echo towards me. Jesus Christ, he's right behind me. I can't look around; I'm frozen to the spot.
"Let me," he murmurs. I urge myself not to flinch – I can feel the heat off his fingers as they edge closer to the zip, my skin. In a way, I'm glad my hair is curled up in a bun, if he had to move it out of the way, I would be a puddle on the floor.
All afternoon, I have been having flashbacks to that night in the motel. Remembering the way my body reacted to his touch; the feel of his mouth on mine, on my skin, between my legs. The feeling of him against me, inside me. The grip of his hands around my wrists as he fucked me against that bathroom wall. The way voice ripped through my mind, his teeth on my ear lobe, his tongue tracing the curve of my ear. In the shower, I had to flick the temperature to cold.
And now? His fingers brush against my back, as he edges the zip up into place. His warm breath ripples against the back of my neck; I can't help but shiver. I force myself to stay still until he moves away.
"Thank you," I murmur. "I'll be two seconds..."
I close the door to my room, stare at myself in the full length mirror. Do I stick to the rules? Last time, it wasn't a date. It was a random occurrence. This time, there are rules. No putting out on the first date – forget that we've already got pretty damn intimate. Put that aside for tonight. Polite conversation. Small, gentle touches across the table, a formal kiss on the cheek goodnight. Close the door, go to bed and fantasize like crazy, but do not sleep with him on the first date.
Stick to the rules.
As we pull up in front of my apartment building, I'm beginning to think that rules were definitely made for breaking. Polite conversation is over-rated. Small, almost insignificant touches are not.
The restaurant sat us in a back corner, a small table wedged in so firmly, I was amazed Randy managed to get in and out. Even I had to ungracefully twist my leg through the small gap between the chair and table legs – the seat being pushed back as far as it would ago against the wall. My knee kept brushing his all night, ensuring that a pretty steady aching yearning kept creeping its way up my thighs. We were barely a foot apart; my fingers brushed against his so many times, it was amazing that we didn't start a small fire from the friction. So close, that it was all I could do to keep my eyes on his face and not let them slip down to the undone button of his shirt, which somehow turned into two undone buttons when he came back from the restroom before dessert. The tantalizing bronzed skin drawing me in...
Randy shuts off the engine and pauses for a second. Like he's waiting for me to make the first move. I bite my lip as he glances over.
"Thank you for a lovely evening," I eventually say. My own politeness is embarrassing.
"No problem."
I can hear the engine ticking as it cools. The silence between us is deafening – no background noise to drown out a lack of words now. An awkward silence builds. I wrack my brains for something decent to say. Either say good night or invite him up.
"Well," Randy starts.
My mouth opens before I can stop it.
"Do you want to come up?" I say quietly, looking away so I don't have to meet his eyes. Yet I can feel his gaze on my face, assessing my tone, my face, trying to gauge if I'm just being polite or not.
"Sure... I mean," he corrects himself quickly. "If you want me to."
His own hesitancy relaxes me. Both of us clamouring for guidance from the other – both of us wondering what's going to happen when we get past that door.
I fish my keys out of my bag as he gets out and hurries round to open the passenger door for me. His manners are impeccable and almost unexpected. It almost contradicts with – no. Forget last time. He wasn't exactly rude, just... No. Forget it.
His hand slips into the small of my back, gently guiding me across the road. In another life, I would have given him a look of distain, walked on faster, let him follow me rather than steer me. I would have taunted, teased him up the stairs. Curled him around my little finger, pulled him to the bedroom, crawled over him, sucked, fucked... In my head, I still want to. But something tells me I would be relinquishing control all to soon. That I would have him crawling over me, teasing... Like before.
This is different, I decide, as we climb the stairs. He's following me, a step or so behind. I chew my lip, turn at the top of the stairs, making him stop, one step down. He stares up at me, the steely blue eyes slicing through me. It's like he can see all of me – inside and out, all my thoughts, dreams, fantasies... My soul. A knot tightens in my chest. Stripped bare like this, in almost an instance, makes me feel...
I turn again and open my apartment door, his hands trace the curve of my hips, his nose buried in the soft hair at the base of my neck. A hand slides up my side, as his mouth works wonders on my neck. A finger pulls at the hair pin holding my bun in place, eases it out, letting my hair cascade down, as I twist around and capture his mouth with mine.
We tear up the rule book in the hall... On the couch... In my bed.