Millie

Maybe my sister’s right. Maybe I need more backbone. I’ve been at Justin’s house for several hours now. There’s been plenty of social lubrication (i.e. alcohol). The going is as good as it’ll ever be. This would be the time to follow through and do what I came here to do. The trouble is I feel stupid. That in itself is stupid. It’s the twenty first century. I am a successful woman who should have no problem initiating a conversation. The guy won’t bite. It’s not that big a deal.

I’m an over-thinker; that’s my weakness. I’m one of those people who don’t like doing things unless sure it’s going to go the right way. That’s all well and good but how many things in life come with that kind of guarantee? Sometimes you have to have some guts and take the risk. She’s right on that score.

My inner fusspot is raising several objections. It’s giving a monologue about why I’m doing it and how embarrassing it’ll be if it goes wrong. It’s telling me that I’m vulnerable after my professional knockback. I’m still discombobulated after the cutesy photo Felicity sent to reassure me she’s keeping an eye on Lizzie. They’re both curled up on a big white couch together in the brownstone, glasses of wine in hand, looking like the real siblings. Relaxed and snuggled in together. Being pals again hasn’t assuaged my jealousy on that score.

Who am I kidding? It’s not about Felicity. My problem is my inability to build relationships. For so long it’s been me against the world and all of a sudden I’m two. I have someone to let back in and no clue how to start. I never expected it would be easy or overnight, but who would think someone you love could be such a stranger?

So yes, I suppose an armchair psychologist could question my motives. They could make some comment about scrambling for assurances and not acting with forethought. But hell, didn’t Justin himself tell me to find another way? He has investments and contacts. He likes business ventures. I don’t want him to put his face on mine but he’s got to know somebody…

Or maybe I’m being dishonest with myself. Maybe I’m not saying anything because that’s not why I came. I’ve been overwrought lately and I’m boring myself as much as anybody else with it. Maybe I’m here for a plain old uncomplicated diversion.

And anyway, it’d be a shame to kill the mood. Justin invited me over for what he calls a ‘fuck the world’ day. Strictly casual wear, strictly beer and pretzels (lucky I have no more jobs this week – this guy is terrible for my health regime). We’ve made use of every childish rich boy toy he has in his house. He has a lot. He has a pool table and a putting green and quad bikes and all sorts. He ordered pizza, which we ate out on the deck, and now we’re drinking more beer in his home cinema. The chairs are really squishy; I’m curled up in a ball. My clothing is for once an unrestrictive t-shirt and pair of jean shorts.

Honestly, I haven’t been this comfortable in weeks. Business would only spoil the vibe.

“You know what I still don’t understand…” He pauses to munch on M&Ms. “If you were going to all that trouble to hide the kid, why the hell wouldn’t you change his name? Or was Skywalker their version of Smith or something?”

I give him a sideways glance and a mock scowl. “Don’t pick plot holes in my childhood.”

“Hey, there’s no hate here.”

It was sweet that he put it on for me. We were talking about the movies he’s done, which turned into movies we love. I mentioned that the Star Wars trilogy was my mother’s favourite and she used to show them to me when I was little. It was an odd choice for an aristocratic woman of her generation, but she was offbeat. It’s comical that she birthed such a straight laced daughter.

I take the final swig of my beer and shake my head. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“So now the galaxy’s saved and all, what do you want to do?”

I can’t believe he asked. It’s much too late to start anything else. I ought to go home - if only I wanted to. Here’s more fun.

“Well if we do much else I’ll have to intrude on your hospitality overnight,” I say.

“Does it look like I’m short on guest rooms?”

“Fair point well made.”

“So then,” he says, slouching back into his seat and giving me a lazy smile. “What do you want to do?”

Guess that’s settled. Hope he’s got some spare toiletries. I can do without my moisturising routine for one night but a good cleanser and a toothbrush are non-negotiable.

“Can we hide in here for a week or so?”

Justin chuckles, white teeth flashing at me. “What’s in the week you want to avoid?”

“Nothing in particular but seems a good length of time. If I could hide here and switch off my phone, maybe order in a massage therapist. That would suit me fine.”

“You could do that in your own house, ya know.”

“But people know where I live. Nobody’s looking for me here.”

“Ah, I get you.” Justin reaches over my armrest and makes a playful tweak of my toes. The magenta polish is starting to chip. “You’re an outlaw.”

“Busted.”

“If I turn you in is there a reward?”

“I’m sure my agent would arrange something.” I try not to scowl. My agent is a perfectly nice, competent man. It’s not his fault I’m fed up of travelling.

“Nah. I always liked me a bad girl.”

Justin winks a lascivious eye and I burst out laughing. The line’s not funny but me as a bad girl is. As evidenced by how easily scandalised I am, I’m a bit of a fuddy-duddy.

“Oh yeah. I’m a veritable Mata Hari.”

“Yeah yeah, play innocent.” The lighting is dim in here, so his eyes appear more of an inky blue than their usual cerulean. Even so you can’t miss the mischievous gleam. “You can pretend you’re all proper and shit but you respectable types are the biggest freaks.”

I will never totally understand why he and Liss were together, but occasionally I see glimmers. That was such a Felicity comment. If only he knew she holds the same opinion and told me to exercise said urges on his person. Then again, he’s kind of a pervert. He’d probably get a kick out of it.

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“True.” Ugh, he’s put on that mock accent again. “You’re about as bad as tea and crumpets.”

For that he gets a jab to the ribs. “Excuse you, I may be a nice young lady but that doesn’t mean I’m not a bad ass when the occasion calls.”

“Please – I ain’t seen you do one bad thing since we met. Not even with a ton of tequila shots down your throat.”

“Ten seconds ago weren’t you saying it was always the respectable ones who were freaks?”

He shrugs. “Like you said – pulling your leg. Assuming that’s weird Brit talk for yanking your chain.”

There’s something about his smug face that makes me want to show him up. I stretch my legs out, get up from my seat and move to stand in front of him.

“You sure about that?”

“Pretty confident, yep.”

He even looks confident. He’s slouched down in his chair with his legs splayed out in that way men do (why do they?). His hands are settled in a relaxed pose in his lap. No doubt my behaviour is a bit beer fuelled, but whatever. I stare him down, stepping slowly forward until my knees hit the edge of his seat.

“Then it might surprise you to know…”

Jutting my leg out I reach for the hem of my t-shirt and start to inch it up, hips swivelling slowly. Hah, got him now. His eyes are bugging out and his expression is pure gormless shock. The shirt comes over my head and I nonchalantly allow it to drop before coming in to kneel on the small bit of chair left free. Picking up his hands, I put them on my hips and lean in to whisper in his ear.

“I used to be a stripper.”

If I thought his eyes were bugged out before, that was nothing. They’re open wide and his pupils are dilated. This was the last thing he’d expect from me and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. That’s exactly why I did it. My bra’s conservative anyway.

“Now it’s you yanking my chain,” Justin says. He’s trying to keep cool but bewilderment in his voice gives him away.

“Nope.”

Because I’m evil and want to make him sweat I lean in further, exaggerating for effect. Justin mumbles so quietly it’s difficult to hear, but I think he said ‘holy shit.’ Then he clears his throat and puts on a more normal voice.

“Are you actually serious or is this pay back for the tea and crumpets joke?”

The laugh I let out is low and throaty. That piece of my past isn’t particularly funny to me, but the way I’ve shocked him is. It’d shock anybody because it’s so antithetical to my image. I wind my fingers into the back of his hair (which isn’t as gel covered as I thought) and slide a foot around his ankle. I’m labouring the point now, but only because I’m enjoying his disquiet. May as well get some mileage out of a good joke.

“Both.”

His mouth gapes open. “You’re shitting me.”

I shake my head and shift forward so that I’m practically lying over him. His face is about diaphragm height. He’s steadfastly keeping his eyes locked on my belly button rather than dare to look up.

“It was a long few months between getting kicked out and getting paid a living wage. And by the way, if you tell anybody you’re a dead man.”

The bombshell effect seems to be wearing off. Maybe he’s thinking it through and realising how predictable it is, a young woman with no money and no prospects? His upper lip twitches in an ironic smirk.

“Huh. I stand corrected. Going from stripper to millionaire business woman without it making the tabloids is pretty bad ass.”

My eyebrow arches. “Thank you.”

“Hey, when I’m wrong I’m wrong.”

It takes a few moments before I realise two things. The first is that I’ve never been this close to him before (even during the massage). The second is neither of us has moved. His hands are a warm presence on my hips and his gaze steady on my navel. My own fingers are still in his hair, not encouraging him forward but not tugging his head back either. His face is so near that his nose brushes me. It’s impossible to assess what thoughts are going through his head. If not for his previous comment I’d worry they were judgmental (many people would judge me for that).

What’s funny is the way my limbs loosen. Before this I was doing the whole faux sexy thing as a joke, sticking out my arse and arching my back. Now as I kneel here it’s like my mind has dissolved and we’re just chilling. The only thing holding my attention is the light touch of his breath on my skin. It’s as though there was a snake in my stomach that’s slowly uncoiled itself and slithered away, leaving my body lighter. I’m at ease – I could flop down into his lap and we could keep chatting, sitting here like this. It’s strange that I don’t find it awkward.

Of all people, Felicity flashes through my brain again. There’s that evil wink of hers in my mind’s eye, the memory of her telling me to jump him. I’m half undressed and he near got a lap dance - does this qualify? Either way she’ll love this story.

“Hmm.” It’s a gruff, deep pitched sound with humour in the tone. “You planning to let me up any time soon?”

“I don’t know. I could keep you trapped as punishment for doubting me.”

This time he laughs loud. “If this little peep show of yours is punishment, you could single-handedly raise the crime rate.”

It’s remarkable how quickly he’s recovered and reverted to his usual cool self. Yes I got the way his eyes shot out like he was a cartoon. Yes, I got the stutter. But all in all he’s not scrambling to get out of here or going red. Hmm. Thought I’d won this round but maybe it was a draw.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You do that.”

He squeezes my hips, a prompt to let him go. I relent, standing up so that he can push himself out of the seat. I didn’t step back far enough, because when he gets to his feet he’s still close to me. That’s the tipping point.

When I put my hands to his shoulders and press my lips to his I feel a fleeting run of shock through him. Saying I had no intention doesn’t sound credible – not after I was shedding clothes - but I truly didn’t until I went ahead. Not even when I was pulling my shirt off. Now I understand what people mean when they say the devil got into them. There’s no rhyme or reason, only a feeling of blood surging in a hot wave through my veins. It’s an unstoppable force that sprung itself on me.

His torso stiffens for a second before relaxing again, like an exhalation of breath. His hands move to my back and flatten themselves, pressing me further into him. He’s going with it and it emboldens me. The light feeling is back in my body, pushing all else away. In this moment all I want is to keep feeding it.

“Take me upstairs,” I whisper into his mouth. He’s close enough that I can feel the movement of his face as it stretches into a filthy grin.

“If this is punishment I don’t know why the hell I’m such a nice guy.”

Doing as he’s told, he grasps my hand and leads me out of the room. Any idea that this is hasty or might compromise our friendship has no hope of breaking through the hum in my skin. Little zips of electricity run down the back of my neck.

Rather than acting as caution the knowledge that it’s reckless is fuelling the fire. I don’t do this. I don’t go around seducing men. I tend to be the seduced (or more like the acquiescing). Tonight it doesn’t matter. The only thing I can concentrate on is the way this new proximity banishes everything else.

Things pass me by in a blur until we’re in Justin’s bedroom and he’s shut the door behind us. I realise I left my t-shirt in the cinema, but I suppose that doesn’t matter. He still holds my hand, staring at me. His eyes are heavy lidded and glazed with lust but he’s not making any moves. Maybe this is his way of leaving it to me? He’s giving me my opportunity to back out if I want it?

I don’t, so I grab his t-shirt and yank it over his head.

It all happens from there in a dizzy frenzy of impatience. We hit the mattress fast. His hands are much like I remember them from the massage. More insistent this time, but warm and the pads of his fingers just rough enough. They go everywhere I’d previously fantasised. The weight of him on top of me feels like I’m being enveloped whole, his hips pinning down mine, and the strange thing is I don’t mind.

Normally I get self-conscious being naked with a man (work is different, everybody’s used to changing in front of each other). This time I’ve barely noticed. It feels too good. Not so much the sex, though that’s pretty damn decent for a first time. The good part is the blissful clarity in my head. Something’s been un-tethered and I’m floating away from myself. You could probably set the house on fire and so long as he was still pushing into me this way I’d be none the wiser. The oblivion is heaven.

“Oh, sorry…” Justin mutters.

“What?” I ask in a breathless rush, almost winded from being brought back to Earth. Why the hell did he stop? I know my fingers dug into him but it was good clenching, not the ‘stop’ kind.

“Your neck, right?”

“What...” Wow. His face was in my neck, lips attacking it, and far from being bothered I was thoroughly enjoying myself. That’s a turn up. It’s nice that he remembered. “I don’t care, shut up and keep doing what you were doing.”

I’ve decided that he needs to just walk around with his face attached to my skin. The tickle when he laughs against it is my new favourite thing.

“Yes your Ladyship.”

This time the digging in is a warning. It’s hard to get words out since he’s resumed as instructed.

“Don’t call me that.”

Now the laugh is an irksome combination of annoying and sexy. I hate that almost as much as I hate the bloody title. 

“Well you are, right?” Justin says.

“It’s over-fucking-rated.”

“True. Nobody wants a Lady in the bedroom anyway. Oww!”

He says something about making me pay but I’m beyond caring. He can decide for himself whether I scratched him in passion or retribution. My mind’s too busy. There’s a rush of blood to my head and my heartbeat’s in my ears. I can kiss goodbye to my already tenuous grip on reality.