The Deal (6 page)

Craig doesn’t move, but he places small kisses on my back, his hands now entwined with mine of the railing and he's still inside me, not wanting to move. Fuck me, why hadn’t we ever tried shower sex before? Who knew how hot that would be? Grinning to myself, I squeeze Craig’s fingers and I can feel him smiling into my back. Lifting himself from me, he pulls me up with him, our hands still entwined and he wraps them around my stomach, pulling my back against his chest, his cock still firmly inside of me.

“Shit, Nic, why haven’t we done that sooner.” He chuckles, leaning his head upon my shoulder, his stubble scratching me. I shrug.

“Don’t know, but it was bloody hot.” I giggle, reaching out the turn the shower back on as goose bumps begin to rise all over me. “But get out now, I seriously need to shower and wash the sex off.” I turn to face him, a low sigh leaves me when he slips out of me. He lets out a hearty laugh and pushes me back under the water, before placing his hands on my cheeks and staring deep into my eyes.

“I can help you get clean.”

And with that he reaches for the loofah and with one touch and a smirk, orgasm number two is pending…

Chapter Four

Nic

Craig and I have always hated Sundays. In university every day was hangover day and because we lived away from home, dealing with them in the comfort of our student house with a takeway and crappy TV was always the best way to get over them – well, for me it was anyway. But since we have been married my parents and Craig's dad demand that we come home for a roast dinner and a catch-up. Every. Single. Week. We also hate spending time with our parents  - well I hate spending time with my mother - due to the constant questions we get asked about the past week and about each other. And that is why we text constantly throughout the afternoon. It pisses his dad and my mother off to no end, and that is my wish every weekend. To piss the parentals off.

So you can see why we think Sundays should just be skipped.

I take a look outside the car window and my stomach clenches. I dread walking up the path and entering the house and playing happy families with my mother while she looks on with disdain over this whole fake marriage and my dad sits and shuts up only getting involved if my mother gets too heated. If only I knew what the problem was between our families, we could try to fix it, but they both seem hell bent on keeping zipped about the past and have warned me to stop asking them. So for the past eight years I have quit trying to learn all about the feud. As my mother has drummed into me, some things are best left alone.

Building up the courage to step out of the car, I count to five and jump out, shutting the door behind me and I snail pace it up the path. I knock once before taking a deep breath and plastering on a cheery smile to step inside my childhood home. I aim for the living room as that is the likely place my dad will be and leave my mother in the kitchen alone for a few minutes. I spy him in his favourite recliner, the football match between Liverpool and Cardiff City plays upon the television and a can of beer is sat on the table. I shake my head at the scene – it's the same every week. Before I can interrupt his game, I get sidetracked by my mother, who grabs my arm hard and pulls me away from the living room door. I wince as her nails dig in, but I keep the pain to myself. She won't see any form of discomfort from me. Not any more.  I rip my arm from her grasp and spin around to face her. She doesn't look happy, not one bit.

“You're late, Nic,” She seethes, and I do just about everything I can not to make a remark back, because I am not late at all. I glance to the clock before looking back to my mother. “Next time try to drag yourself out of your slutty bed before midday. Your family would like to spend time with you.” And with that she pushes me in the direction of the living room and storms back into the kitchen. I glare at the kitchen door before calling “It was the shower, not my bed.” I take a few calming breathes before stepping into the living room and plastering on a real smile, a smile only reserved for my dad.

“Hey, Dad.” I say, making my way over to kiss his cheek. His eyes waver from the television and a big smile plants on his face. I wrap my arms around his neck from behind and place a kiss on his stubbly cheek. He pats my hands and when I release him, I sit on the sofa to the side of him, putting my feet up on the table.

“Hey, baby girl.”

I watch him mute the game before gaining his full attention. I mock gasp at being chosen over football and he glares at me, smacking my knees in a signal to get my feet down. I ignore him and cross my ankles, innocently smiling back at him. “Being picked over football? Dad, are you coming down with an illness?” I tease, only to receive a middle finger in return.

“You're never too old to have your arse smacked, Nic.” He chuckles, “Now, tell me how your week has been?”

I give him the cliff-notes version leaving out the majority of what has happened and focus on what I have been doing in work and how Kelsie and Rob are. Kels is like a second daughter to him and I know he adores her as much as she adores him. Having known Kelsie since birth, she has been the one constant in my life and the one I feel most guilty about not knowing despite my father encouraging me to tell her. I try to push that to the back of my mind while I tell him about our night down the pub last night and try to mention Craig as minimal as I can. I know dad isn't happy about the marriage, but he isn't as against it as my mother. I tell him about last night and I let him know that I'm hungover so not to feel offended if I leave straight after our lunch.

“You were never good with hangovers. I'm surprised you didn’t ring up and stay in bed.”

I scoff and shake my head. “Can you imagine the phone call? Mum would have gone mental at me. No, it's easier to just come over, eat and then go back home.”

My father gives me a sympathetic look. He knows exactly what my mother is like with our Sunday ritual. Despite him not knowing the full extent of her abuse towards me, he knows she would kick off if we didn't have 'family time'. I know different. I know she wouldn't care, but she does it to keep up appearances and to keep my father happy. For arguments sake, it's better to turn up, fake a smile and then go home; I do it every week. I shrug at my father. He knows my mother and I don't have the best relationship, mostly down to her but I still have to try and converse with her one to one even after she just hurled some unnecessary abuse my way. My mum would hate it if he knew everything she has said to me throughout the years, and I would hate for him to find out because it would break his heart knowing his wife is emotionally and mentally abusing his daughter on the sly.  But I've learnt to suck it up and give it back. I'd much rather stay in here but appearances matter to my mother, and she would hate to have my father know exactly what she is like towards me so even though I despise spending minimal time with her, I do it for him.

“I'll go see the Dragon. Want anything whilst I'm being interrogated like a terrorist?”

I can tell he's trying too damn hard not to burst out laughing at the pet name I give her, and instead shakes his head and turns away from me. His body is shaking and I love that he understands why I say this stuff about my mother. She's always been demanding and inquisitive, along with being a snooty bitch, but since the marriage she’s upped it. She needs as much information about Craig and I as she can get. And that is another reason why I hate coming over and spending time with her. If she won't tell me why our families don't speak and why our grandparents forced us to marry, then she's not getting any information about my private life with Craig. I know she wants the 'marriage' to fail, hates the thought of me living with Craig but if she doesn't tell me why, then she has no right delving into my personal life.

Only two hours and you can go home. You can do this, Nic.

I exhale before pushing open the kitchen door to reveal my mum, Kerry, slaving over the hob. The radio is playing in the background and she's lightly singing along. I've never seen this side to her. All my life she has been 'The Dragon', the person who has torn me down with insults and slung abusive words towards me for not wanting to be anything like her. Not wanting to be a trophy wife and gold-digger. I have always known my own path and she hated it. Hated that I wasn't a mummy's girl, hated that I ran to my dad before her. But yet, with all the emotional and mental abuse she slings my way, I have to take it in my stride. I know it's down to the past and I try my hardest not to let it get to me. As much as she wasn't and isn't a mother to me, I stay civil for my father's sake. He's the most important person in my life, and if he loves my mum, I have to push past everything and do this for him, hence why I am here every single Sunday when I would much rather stay at the flat without the snide digs every time I speak to my mother. Trying to make an effort, I don't want to interrupt her 'good mood', so instead I make myself a drink and sit at the island. I pull my phone out and send a text to Craig, asking how his afternoon is going with his dad. No more than two minutes I receive a text back.

I'm wanting to put a bullet through my head. My dad is on fire today. How are yours? Xx

I spray out the water I had gulped and begin to laugh at his response. My mother spins around and put a hand to her chest, glaring at me for making her jump. I do a little dance inside.

“Jesus Christ, Nic, give me a warning if you are in here. I'm cooking with boiling water and if that spilt over me...” She scorns, eyeing up my phone. I try not to roll my eyes at her attitude and look up briefly to smile, before returning my attention to the device. “Who are you texting?” That tone in her voice is one I am used to. Cold, hard and full of bitterness.

“Who do you think, mother?” I lift my head up to give her a cocky smirk. She just gives me a disgusted look in return and turns her back to me, focusing on her pans.

“I'd prefer if you didn't text
him
in my house.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “And I'd prefer it if you would butt out of my life, but that's not going to happen.”

I watch her spin back to face me, a face full of anger. She stomps over and stands opposite me on her side of the island. I raise my eyebrows and put my phone down. Here we go. Let the screaming match begin. It doesn’t matter if I am twenty-two, she will always treat me like a two year old. We continue to glare at each other, neither one of us faltering. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of backing down. Why should I? She acts all high and mighty, acts like she is the damn Queen and I've had enough. I'm older now, I know myself, and it's time I fought her back. I only break away when my phone chimes and I know I would rather converse with Craig over text than verbally with my own mother. I can feel her throwing hot daggers at me and my phone and although I know she is scrutinising me, I ignore her. I focus on texting Craig, and wanting to get the hell out of the house and back to my flat to binge off take out and crappy TV.

The tension around us is too thick. It's never reached this point before but she's never told me I can't text Craig before either. I'm surprised the bitch in her hasn't taken it away from me like I am a naughty teenager and banned me from having it until lunch is over. That happens and I am smacking her, taking the phone and running.

“Nicole Jones, can you put that sodding phone down and talk to me. I'm your mother, for Christ's sake. Show me some respect and talk to me properly. You see
him
every day, and us once a week. Now put the phone down!”

“I will when you stop referring to Craig as
him
. Now that, mother, is disrespectful.” I throw her a sarcastic smile and push off the stool, not standing to be with her another second. “Let us know when lunch is ready.” And with that I whiz from the kitchen into the living room to hide away with my dad. I let out the breath I've been holding in and stare at the clock.

Not long left to go.

My mum hasn't spoken to me for an hour now, she sulked the entire way through lunch. Now we're sat watching some documentary, and she is sitting as far away from me as she can. What was she saying when she said I see Craig every day? Ah yes, that I see them once a week. There's a damn good reason for that, and this is actually why. The arguments between her and I, the tension, the snarky comments and the fact she stops talking to me when I prove a point to her. I'm not that shy little girl any more. I'm an adult and have grown a backbone. Especially around my mother. My father isn't one to get involved unless he really has to. My mother tries to push him in the middle but he doesn't take the bait. And I love him for that. That he won't pick one over the other. It's between me and my mum, and no one else. He's only come between us once, and that was all her. She pushed and pushed about the marriage, about Craig and how much she hates the Thomas' that I snapped on her. She had it coming and my dad knew that. I didn't speak to her for a few weeks after that. Eventually she came grovelling but I think it was down to my father making her. She wouldn't have done it otherwise.

I lean back on the plush sofa and take a sip of my water, the hangover disintegrating. All I want to do now is sleep it off and that is exactly what I am going to do because I
need
to leave. I can't take the silence or the death glares I am being given every once in a while from my mother, so I jump from the sofa.