Page 73 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“Very,” I say as she begins to move and from that point on, I have no coherent words, until I cry out her name, as she arches backwards, both of us convulsing in an explosive climax.
Afterwards she’s lying slumped across my chest, limp like one of the soft toys the dogs have de-stuffed, my half-mast cock still inside her, twitching as if it could be roused back into action with a little encouragement.
“It’s not too late to call in sick,” I murmur into her hair as she slides off me.
“I wish,” she groans.
I let her go without further protest, knowing her work is important. She’ll be home tonight and we can do this all over again; for as long as she wants. With the connection between us growing stronger by the day, to the point where it seems almost tangible, I’m hopeful that’s going to be a very long time, maybe a lifetime.
But I’m aware of the spectre of real life waiting for us beyond this house. It’s a sinister figure, poised in the shadows with scythe in hand, ready to leap out and slash this bright thread of connection as viciously as it cut Waverley loose from me. It was bad enough facing the loss of Waverley in my life, but losing Haley is something I’m not sure I could come back from.
Fucking squirrels. It’s their fault my feet are lumps of ice and my lips are blue. Even Haley’s thick Oodie isn’t enough to ward off the chill of the outdoors. Not when it barely covers my arse. I admit defeat and close the door on the dogs. The little bastards can spend all day outside on their futile surveillance mission for all I care.
My annoyance only ratchets up another notch when I hear footsteps in the kitchen, heading my way. I’m getting used to people wandering into the house unannounced. Doesn’t mean I like it.
“Fuck it, Sam. You’re really going to come around and check up on me every day while Haley’s at work? Or are you secretly craving the pleasure of my company?”
“So, you’ve met the famous Samantha?” Ollie appears in the hallway, face lit by his famous mega-watt grin. “And lived to tell the story?”
Now that’s a face I don’t mind seeing. Even though we spent months together on the road, I’ve missed this guy. And much as I hate fucking reality shows after this latest disaster, I’ll be forever grateful one gifted me the best friend I’ve ever had, a better man than I’d ever hoped would want me as a friend.
I had other friends, but none of them were like me. None of them were people I could be myself with. All the guys I grew up with in our rural backwater were mostly happy with the life marked out for them, going from school to a job. Most chose farming, of course; a few picked up trades; one or two went to university, but all doing sensible, useful things.
Unlike me. I worked crap jobs, played in bars, wrote songs and angsty lyrics—yeah, move over Taylor, I’m the original tortured poet—and pretended to be doing something with my life, when I was simply waiting for a chance to do what I was meant to do.
Ollie’s road to success was different to mine. He had the flash education, years at the academy, formal training, a performing arts degree. In the end, though, it all came down to the same thing—a chance. BeyondStar Power, we both saw that chance and we took it. And, while we might be opposites, at the same time, we took a chance on each other, too. I fucking love this guy.
I grin up at my friend. It’s so good to see him and I’m relieved he didn’t get lost in the wilds of Africa, never to return. He in turn looks pleased I’m not dead by the hand of the ninja nurse.
“Fucking oath I’ve met Samantha. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. First time she slammed me into the floor and damn near brokemy arm.” I wouldn’t confess that to just anyone—I do have a little pride—but there’s no pretence between Ollie and I.
He gives a howl of delight. “That’s our Sam.” There’s a fondness in his smile, and I’m reminded that Sam and the Templetons go way back.
“Good to see you, man. Although you look fucking terrible.” I note dark circles under Ollie’s eyes suggesting a lack of sleep. He looks like he could do with a decent meal, too.
He catches my raised palm in his, going in for our usual handshake, his grip a bit weaker than normal, before folding me into one of his Ollie hugs. He’s a notoriously big hugger, and I’ve grown used to it, although this one feels a little bony.
“Yeah, picked up some gastro thing the last few days of the trip. Shitting liquid and puking my guts out. Had to hole up in a hotel in Johannesburg for a couple of extra nights. Wasn’t about to climb on a plane in that state.”
“OK, so apart from that, otherwise it was good?”
“Yeah, bloody incredible. My god, the wildlife.”
He pauses, his eyes crinkling and then falling as they sweep the length of me, and his face contorts, confusion clouding his grin.
“Is that my sister’s…?”
“Oh yeah, man. Bloody warm. A bit on the snug side, though.”
The cloud darkens. “Why are you wearing my sister’s clothes? Am I missing something here?”
There’s an edge to his words, a sharpness in the set of his mouth, as narrowed hazel eyes laser in on me. No point lying.
“About that. Yeah. Well.” I’m silently cursing my lack of preparation for this moment. Haley and I should have talked about this. What to tell Ollie. When to tell Ollie. But we didn’t discuss thefirst. And there’s no choice about the second. I suck in a breath and swallow hard. “Haley and I have some news. We…we…”
Ollie doesn’t explode, but the ice in his glare is somehow worse.
“You slept with my sister.” The words come out flat. There’s the same lethal undercurrent as when Rachel told me she’d kill me. Ollie doesn’t have to say it. I think he wants to kill me, too. Take a number, buddy.
