Page 70 of The Rest is History
Holy shit.
I’m glad I held on tight.
Post-double-orgasm Charlie is a different creature from the anxious Charlie who greeted me an hour ago. This guy’s so laid back he’s practically horizontal. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt that readsI HAVE A HARD-ON FOR REVISIONIST HISTORY.Apparently, one of his classes presented him with it last year.
He’s dressed me in the shirt he was wearing, and I quite like it. He’s only fastened a couple of buttons. He said there’d be nothing sexier than me completely naked in one of his shirts, but we compromised. I’m wearing a pair of his boxer briefs too—men don’t seem to get that no condom equals leaky love juices after sex. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.
He won’t let me out of his grasp. The sea bass is baking happily in its parchment parcel, and right now he’s grilling vegetables on the barbecue with one hand in between swigs of his wine. He has the other arm wrapped lazily around me, gluing me to his side. He keeps raining kisses down on the crown of my head, my forehead, and, when I lift my face to his, my lips. The dogs have materialised and are sitting watchfully, their noses twitching constantly.
I love it. I love the closeness, the post-orgasmic cloud we’re both on, and most of all, I love his easy, carefree manner.
Charlie scared the living crap out of me earlier. I’m not sure exactly what was going down—either serious anxiety or the beginnings of a full-on panic attack—but I’m really glad he was able to snap out of it, and that I was able to help him, even a little. It was surprising to see him like that, given how outwardlywooden he’s been for the vast majority of the time I’ve known him. But then again, his inability to show emotion isn’t the healthiest of behaviours.
I’m just glad he can find it within himself to show me his true self—the good stuff and the bad.
‘If only I’d known sex was the answer to your can’t-smile-won’t-smile problem,’ I tell him, ‘I might have just given you a blowjob in the interview.’
His hand runs over my upper arm, cupping my shoulder. ‘That would have been incredibly unprofessional and immoral of me, and I would, of course, have been completely open to it.’
‘You should know that now I’ve tricked you into relaxing, I’m going to bombard you with intrusive questions.’
‘I’d be disappointed if you did anything less.’ He releases me with a sigh and picks up a platter. On go the grilled peppers and courgettes.
I watch him and say, ‘Okay. I’ll lead in gently. You mentioned the other day that Martha’s your niece. Does that mean you’re related to the Fisher massive?’
He chuckles. ‘Yeah. Her dad’s my brother. Jack. Well, half-brother, really, but that’s academic.’
‘I need more info. And I’m not stopping there.’ I take a sip of my utterly delicious wine. I could get used to this: excellent wine, alfresco orgasms, and a devilishly sexy man cooking for me.
He mock-rolls his eyes and carefully lifts the parcel of fish onto another platter. ‘Here. You take the veg; I’ll take this.’
The dogs scurry behind us as we go to put the food on the enormous wooden table just inside the curved wall of folding doors. His kitchen is outrageous—a long space taking up one whole leg of the L-shaped house. It finishes in a semi-circle of bi-fold doors, which are completely open now, looking out onto the lush gardens. Charlie has already brought in the wine and laid out a couple of jewel-coloured salads.
Once he’s unwrapped the fish and cut it up with a fancy-looking fish knife (something tells me he’s a gadget guy), we sit and dig in.
‘Your brother,’ I prompt him.
‘Right.’ He spoons some pomegranate-studded couscous onto my plate. ‘We have the same mum. Jack’s dad died when he was really young, and Mum met Dad a few years later. I’m seven years younger than Jack. He doesn’t really remember his dad, though he kept his name. But he calls my dad Dad, and to all extents and purposes, we’re brothers.’
‘Wow. And they have loads of kids, right? Him and his wife?’
‘Kind of. He has four with his ex, Stacey. Glamorous, blonde, American. Ring a bell?’
I nod. ‘One of her twins, Augie, is in my class.’ And I crush hard on almost everything Stacey Fisher wears.
‘Of course he is. Well, I’ve known Stace for twenty years. She and Jack met at uni. But then they split up, and he met Emmy. She was pregnant at the time—Bertie’s father’s a bit of a prick. He’s in the picture, but Jack is very much bringing up Bertie. And then they had another, Aurelia, just for the hell of it.Leia. Shoo.’
‘Wow. So six kids.’ I inadvertently press my thighs together as the spaniel shoots Charlie a look equal parts mournful and resentful and slinks outside. ‘I’d counted five.’
‘Yeah. There are five at Hampton Park, now that Bertie’s joined the nursery, as well as little Aurelia. It’s chaos. But he makes it work. He and Stace share custody, and he’s a family man. Never happier than when surrounded by kids and animals. And he’s loaded, which helps. They have a massive compound—it’s incredible.’
I really want to ask Charlie if he’s a family man, too, but I recognise that’s a seriously creepy thing to ask a guy you’vejust had sex with for the first time. So, instead, I ask the other politically incorrect question.
‘Speaking of loaded…’ I wave my arm around. ‘Either I need to have a serious chat with Philly Willy around the gender pay gap at school, or you have another gig. And please don’t say puppy fur. Because I’d really, really like to have sex with you again.’
He grins, his gaze dragging south from my mouth to my breasts under his shirt (did I mention that the two buttons he deigned to fasten were quite low?).
‘In that case, I’m prepared to lie.’
