Authors: Samantha Towle
Original Sin (16 page)
On my lunch break I decide to go for a walk around the little town centre where the café is situated. I haven’t really ventured around here much. I’ve had no reason or care to.
Passing a charity shop I decide to go in and see if I can pick up an affordable dress to wear tonight. Luckily, I find a vintage wrap dress and some ballet pumps. For both of them it comes to five euros. I’m sure I can stretch to that. Funny the old Alex would never have dreamed of shopping in a charity shop.
As it’s a nice day I stop to get an ice-cream from a vendor. Mint choc-chip. Sitting at the fountain with my ice-cream and new purchase I just enjoy watching people. Sitting here, licking on my ice-cream, I actually start to feel normal.
As I look around, I see there are couples everywhere. Shopping together. Eating lunch together. Holding hands. Kissing.
Loneliness and envy creeps into me.
And then I start to think about Nathan. I wonder what he’s doing at this exact moment in time? He’ll probably be on the farm working.
I wonder if he’s happy? I hope he is. I really do.
Being away from him, and for it to hurt as much as it does … well, it has to be worth it for that reason alone.
Closing my eyes I conjure his image in my mind, opting for the last moment I have of him – Nathan asleep, peaceful and content in the bed we shared together in that hotel room.
I savour it for a moment. Then open my eyes. Pushing Nathan back in a deep recess of my mind, I get to my feet and make my way back to work, finishing off the ice-cream on the way. And for the first time ever, with a slight spring in my step as I think of tonight. My first actual proper night out in a very long time. Something I never thought I’d do again. And Zeff’s made that happen.
He’s made a lot of things happen.
Chapter 16: The Date
“Thank you again, for dinner,” I say to Zeff as we’re walking out of the restaurant and into the balmy night.
“Again, you’re very welcome.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “And Bunny, if I didn’t say it already … you look really nice tonight.”
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I slide a look his way, smiling. “You did. But thanks,
again
.”
He smiles, locking out gazes, then looking away we continue to walk on side by side.
I know this is a last night together dinn ~ow joth it fer, but everything about it screams, date. And I’m actually okay with that. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.
He looks more handsome than normal tonight, smells ridiculously good, and I’m proud to be on his arm. I could see the envious flickering looks from other women in the restaurant, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I felt kind victorious that he was there with me. They don’t know we’re just friends.
But then I don’t even know that anymore. There’s a really fine line that has slipped between Zeff and me over the course of the week we’ve spent together, and tonight I’m treading very close to the edge.
I feel disloyal to Nathan for even thinking these things. I know that sounds stupid because he will have moved on to better things. And I really shouldn’t be considering any type of thing with Zeff. I leave tomorrow. I can’t keep on having sex with guys, and then disappearing the very next day.
But I just can’t help that little voice that keeps popping into my head, telling me to stop thinking, to stop overanalysing and to just let go. Let happen whatever will happen.
Tucking my purse under my arm and then wrapping them around my chest, I ask him, “So what’s the plan for the rest of the evening?”
“Well, I had a thought…” A smile starts to play like a tune on his face.
I’ve fast learned that when Zeff looks like this, it usually involves me doing something I’d rather not. “Does it involve me making an arse out of myself?”
His smile turns to a grin. “Bunny, when have I ever made you do anything to make you look like an ass? Actually no, don’t answer that,” he interjects, as I open my mouth with my listed tirade. “Come on …” he urges. “Trust me, just this once.”
How can I not when he’s looking at me the way he is. All soft and sweet, with chocolate eyes, and his, oh so, very handsome face, while smelling like he’s the devil's cake.
I reach out and take hold of his hand. He looks down at it surprised, then up at me. He gives me such a warm smile that I nearly melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Let’s go.” Then he’s picking up pace, pulling me along with him.
“Hang on, what about your car?” I ask, realising we’re heading off in the other direction, away from where he parked it.
“We’re not going far, we’ll come back for it later.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, laughing, stumbling along, tripping over the cobblestones of the road as we cross it to round the corner.
“There.”
I look up to where his finger is pointing and see we’re across the road from a nightclub. “You want us to go clubbing?”
“No, Bunny. I want us to go
dancing
.” He smiles that delicious devilish smile of his again. The ‘I’m not taking no for an answer’ one.
I pull my eyes away, mustering myself up to fight his charm. “I don’t want to go dancing.” I plant my feet firmly into the ground. “Let’s go drinking, I’m good at that – great in fact. Look there’s a pub over there.” I point to a little pub I hmy I just spotted down the road.
“I don’t want to drink, I’m driving anyway so I can’t. I already had my one with the glass I had at dinner.” He makes puppy dog eyes on me. “I want to dance. With you.”
“But I don’t dance. Seriously, I have three left feet.”
He glances down at my feet. “Three?”
“Yeah. That’s how bad I am.”
He lifts his eyes and they practically burn into mine. He moves closer, just a fraction, but it’s enough. And I don’t stand a chance.
“Let me teach you,” he murmurs. “Just one last thing before you go.”
After those words, he might just be in for teaching me some other stuff too.
Did I actually just think that? I shake the crazy out of my head.
Zeff continues to stare at me, then a sympathetic tug of his mouth, and before I know it, I’m nodding agreement. Then he’s leading me by the hand, toward the club, passing by the door staff, then we’re through the door and he’s paying the entrance fee.
I follow Zeff in through the main door which leads us straight into the heart of the club. I glance around taking in my surroundings. The beat of the bass is pumping up through my body, banging loudly in my ears.
At first it makes me want to switch my hearing off, until I adjust to it. Then I start to enjoy the thrum of the music and the people milling around me. And as I do a quick look around I start to notice a lot of people, not everyone, but most are dressed like they’re something out of an eighties rock video.
Has he brought me to an eighties night? I feel the sudden urge to laugh. This is so
him
, to do something like this.
As if sensing my humour, he turns to look at me. His dark eyes shine under the flicker of the fluorescent lighting. I feel momentarily paralysed in his gaze. He tilts his head in the direction of the dance floor, a question on his face. And suddenly things don’t seem quite so funny anymore.
I gulp down the instant nerves. My body simmering back to life. Then by way of answer, I offer a smile, and let him, once again, take me by the hand and lead me to the dance floor.
He works his way across the dance floor, weaving us through the hot gyrating bodies, until he stops, finding us our own small space in the centre of the floor.
For a moment, I stand here, close to him, looking up, but struggling to see past the flickering lights, to his face, wondering what now.
Does he expect me to just start dancing? Because the song sounds more rocky, less poppy, a little too heavy to dance to. And I am no way dancing to this.
Then the song ends. Almost abruptly. ‘Is This Love’ by Whitesnake starts to hum through the room.
If I didn’t know better right now, I’d think he requested it.
The thrum of the beat kicks in. Moving closer to me, Zeff clasps my right hand, drawing me against him, div>funny anymhe slides his arm around my back. I’ve never danced with anyone like this before in my life. Sure, Carrie would get me drunk enough to drag onto the dance floor and we’d end up with pervs grinding up against us. But dancing like this, with a guy, never before tonight.
My heart starts to tap an unsteady rhythm. Mostly thanks to the lick of electricity that’s surging through me. But it’s not uncomfortable and hasn’t been for a long time. I’m used to it, just like I’m used to him. Used to being with him. It’s going to be hard saying good-bye tomorrow.
And tonight, I’m starting to realise for the first time, just exactly how hard it will be.
Zeff’s hand encases my small one. His other spans my back. His body is big, strong, warm, and ridiculously inviting.
He has this undeniable way of making me feel so comfortable, but yet so very uncomfortable at the same time.
How is that even possible?
I start to feel a stirring deep within. Like something long hidden is awakening. My knees suddenly rubbery, my breaths coming in faster. I know I’m treading down a slippery slope, and despite everything and everyone I just want to lean against him and let myself go.
I have to fight to hold my feelings in check.
As the lyrics begin, Zeff starts to sway his body, moving me in a slow dance with him.
It’s good. Better than good. I feel like I’ve been transported somewhere else. Almost as if I’m a movie, one of my own creation and imagination. Something ideal, something perfect, but not real. Never real.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Feeling this.
I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I know he’s staring down at me and I’m looking everywhere, but at him. I’m intoxicated by the music. The moment. Him.
“And she dances,” he murmurs in my ear. His warm breath on my skin almost has me singing.
I gulp back my nerves and glance up at him. I meet with his eyes. They look opaque and impenetrable.
“Not really the case.” My mouth is dry, tacky. I moisten my lips with my tongue. “You’re doing all the work for me.”
“Suits me,” he murmurs, close.
Heat licks over my skin.
“So this was your plan? To bring me here to dance to Whitesnake.” I smile, but it comes off nervous and awkward.
“Not specifically. Not your thing?”
“I thought, more like not your kind of thing.”
A grin. “The perms, the tasselled leather pants, what’s not to like?”
Leather pants. Nathan wears leather pants. Just withot. liout the tassels. I feel a sharp stab of guilt. Hard in the chest.
What am I doing? I’m supposed to be in love with Nathan, yet here I am dancing with Zeff.
Dry ice sprays out from nowhere, covering my legs, rising upwards, seeping into my lungs, intoxicating me further, extracting out the Nathan guilt with ease.
This is wrong. All different kinds of wrong, in the very blackest sense of the word.
My heart steps up its beat to a little past nervous.
I need to stop dancing. I’m getting foggy brain. It’s this dry ice. It’s wreaking havoc on me. It’s making me feel things I shouldn’t – don’t want to be feeling. It’s making me want things, I don’t really want. I should move away from Zeff. I know I should.
I should excuse myself to the bathroom, or go the bar or something, anything. But I just can’t seem to connect the part of my brain telling me to extract myself from him, to the rest of me. My body is fighting my brain, putting up a good show, and I’m just caught in the crossfire.
I have a strong feeling which one is going to win. The way my body is moving closer and closer to his, telling me that.
Deep breath. One … two … three, in and out.
“Celine at my work has got the hots for you big time.”
I don’t know why I just said that. Yes, I do. Diversionary tactic. But really kind of obvious too. And by the way his eyes just widen and lips quirk to smile, tells me he figures that too.
He tilts his head to one side, his smile now playing on his whole face. His look shivers its way right through me.
“The blonde one?” he inquires.
I’m spiked by jealously that he cared to inquire. Jealous of something that I initiated. I’ve lost the plot, completely.
I nod my head.
“Not my type.”
Relief. Stop it, Alex.
“Blonde hair, big boobs, and legs like a barstool aren’t your thing?”
“No.”
I’m nervous, very nervous, and sliding into dangerous territory, but knowing I’m no longer in control over what’s coming out of my mouth, not that I generally am anyway.
“So what is your type?” My voice comes out husky and breathy.
He stares at me for a long moment.
“Someone a little less obvious and a lot more beautiful. Unassuming, smart, and full of wit. She survives everything life throws at her. She’s not jaded. She has a unique take on the world, and her mouth doesn’t often connect with her brain. But that’s what makes her, her. And no matter what bad stuff has happened to her, deep down she stillysedmy believes in the happy ending. The one with the white picket fence.”