Page 61 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Twenty-Five
Freddie
“Just here’ll be good,” I tell the cab driver, and I’m opening the door almost before he’s parked. It’s been a long, awkward and frankly fucking awful day, but it’s about to end because as soon as I slam the cab door closed, it’s over.
“Freddie,” Elliot says, and I turn to him when what I really want to do is run. “Thank you for… Well, just thank you. I’m not sure I’d have got through it without you.”
He smiles but everything about him is stiff and strained, just as it’s been stiff and strained between us since we set off together from the villa, which now feels like a lifetime ago. We’ve barely talked. Elliot’s been on his laptop and I’ve been surgically attached to my phone via earbuds, music playing in an attempt to drown out the noises in my head.
“Glad I could help. We both got what we wanted out of it.”
Elliot jolts, and a tiny thrill of bitchy triumph fizzes through me, but it immediately goes as flat as week old cheap cola.It was only sex, just a bit of mindless fun, and no big deal.The words I said to him this morning. And I believe them, I believe every single one. But then why do I feel like every one of them is a knife that’s twisting in my guts?
I force myself to smile, and it’s probably as lifeless as his. It’s time to say goodbye.
“Thanks for the lift back.” I climb out onto the pavement where my luggage is already waiting for me, but I don’t close the door. “I, erm, hope you get everything sorted. You know, with Gavin and that.”
“Gav?” he says, his smile morphing into something that’s more like the Elliot I’ve come to know, and I can’t help but smile back. “And you too. Good luck with Oslo and advanced Norse fishing techniques.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Don’t forget shipbuilding and weaving, but yeah, thanks.” It’s only a few words, but it feels like the first truly easy and genuine ones we’ve exchanged all day, and I’m glad of that. Elliot’s been good to me, in so many ways, and I don’t want us to end badly. But end it must. “Come here,” I say.
He leans towards me and I plant a quick kiss on his cheek, the hint of stubble rough against my lips.
“Take care.” I bundle up my luggage as the cab rolls away and I blink away the prickling behind my eyes.
* * *
“Hello?” I call, stepping over flyers for pizza and fried chicken shops. I wrinkle my nose as an assortment of takeaway food smells attack me. I already know the place’s in a mess because it always is when left to Cosmo.
Dumping my stuff in my room, I sag onto the bed, letting my head drop forward as bone weary tiredness throws its arms around me.
“You haven’t got much of a tan. I swear you’re whiter than when you went away. Did he chain you to the bed all day, and ravage you?”
Cosmo’s leaning against the door jam, wearing his feral Rudolph PJs, his hair sticking up all over the place. He looks like he’s spent all day in bed, and probably has.
“And you haven’t grown another six inches. Why are you in your pyjamas at eight in the evening?”
“Didn’t see any point in getting dressed, not after I made the call. To work. I was feeling poorly.”
“You mean you were hungover?”
Poorly — code for too many tequila shots or lurid cocktails in the pricy bars he keeps in business.
“You’ve a very low opinion of me,” he says, pouting. “And you haven’t answered my question. Did or did Elliot not chain you to the bed, and radish you with his—”
“Enough.” I raise my hands, palms out, as though to push his words away. “No, he didn’t chain me to the bed, and no he did notravishme. I can assure you, no vegetables were hurt in the course of my sojourn in the South of France.”
“Are you sure about that? You’ve gone all blotchy, which isn’t a good look. And, if you rub at your neck any harder, it’ll disappear.” He advances into the room, peering at me.
Fuck it. It’s impossible to fob the little sod off. It’s like he has a radar honed and primed to find evasion tactics.
“Something happened, didn’t it? I knew it would.” He grins triumphantly, hopping from foot to foot in glee. “And you’re going to tell me all about it.”
* * *
“So, you slept with him. You’d have been mad not to so I don’t understand what the big deal is. He’s a big boy, you’re a big boy — or maybe not, don’t forget I’ve seen your dick way more times than is decent.”
“Piss off.” It’s pretty much my default response with Cosmo, and I pick up another slice of pizza.
