Under Your Spell - Part 3
Jun. 20th, 2006 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stellarmeadowTITLE: Under Your Spell, Part 3
AUTHOR: Stellar Meadow
RATING: Eventually NC17
STYLE: angst, romance, erotica...a little bit of everything
STARRING DURAN: They're all in here, but the pairing is John/Simon (you expected anything else from me?)
SUMMARY: See Simon meet John. See Simon fall like a ton of bricks. Run, Simon, run!
NOTES: Still editing, still posting. Six months. Over 33,000 words. That's a lot of editing. And after that much work, I really, really hope you all enjoy it. A lot. :-)
DISCLAIMER: If you think this is real, I'd like you to say hello to my little friend, reality. I don't believe you've met....
Read Part 1 || Read Part 2
"No, no, no! That's not right." Nick jabbed at the ashtray with his cigarette until it was no longer even recognizable as a cigarette.
"Well then what the hell is right?" Andy growled.
"I don't know, but that's *not* it!"
I watched as Nick stomped--well, as much as Nick ever actually stomped--over to Andy to discuss the chords in a somewhat more civilized tone. "Enjoying the backroom show?" John asked, sitting down carefully beside me on the floor, his bass settling into his lap like an old friend.
I grinned in his direction without really taking my eyes off Nick and Andy. "Is it always like this?" There'd been three such blow-ups in the week we'd been practicing--including one where I'd thought Nick and John were going to come to blows, and yet at the end of the day, everyone seemed to go home friends.
"Oh, no," John said, plucking at a few strings on his bass before fiddling with the knobs on its face. "They're still on their best behavior for the new bloke." I watched as he tested the strings again and nodded in satisfaction. "Stick around. It gets worse."
"I see why you've gone through so many singers."
He raised his eyebrows. "Arguing?"
"No, the pep talks," I said, my grin widening.
He laughed at that. "I take it your other bands didn't argue quite so much?"
"Hardly ever." My eyes drifted back over to Andy and Nick, more discussing than arguing now. "As long as we were in the genre they wanted, it was more of a, 'Do whatever you want, Simon,' sort of attitude."
"And you don't miss that kind of control?"
I glanced back over at him. "Control over nothing isn't control."
John nodded. "I figure we wouldn't all argue so much if we didn't care about this." He looked around the room. "This is our world for the moment, but every one of us wants the whole rest of the globe one day." His eyes landed on me again. "Don't you?"
"Absolutely." I thought for a second. "Well, I'm not sure about Antarctica. It's very cold."
"Right then," John said, lips twisted into a half-grin. "We'll be sure not to tour in Antarctica. But if the Clauses want a concert for the elves--"
"I'll buy a very warm parka," I finished for him, sharing in his laughter.
Nick finished with Andy and went back to his keyboards. "Simon, what were the lyrics again?"
"Back to the coal mines," John muttered as he stood. I watched him walk away with probably more interest than I really should have.
"Simon?"
"Sorry, Nick." I read the lines from my notebook while I firmly focused my mind where it belonged--on the music, and off just how good John Taylor's ass looked in those jeans.
For the most part, I'd gone from staring at John to just sneaking glances now and then. I was getting used to having him around, and if I still reacted to his presence, well, then, at least it was lessening. Somewhat.
Another year and I'd probably be able to ignore him completely.
"Earth to Simon."
Nick's voice jerked me back to awareness. At least I'd been staring at my notebook instead of John. "Planet Earth, actually," I said, meeting Nick's irritated gaze with a bland one.
"Sorry?"
"The lyric is 'Planet Earth.' My name's nowhere in it. Though we could put that line in there, I suppose," I added, as serious as I could manage. "Sort of a Major Tom kind of thing."
Nick's glare was worth it for the chuckle I heard off to my right. A sound that earned John a Nick-glare of his own, followed by a roll of my eyes when Nick's back was turned seconds later. At John's smothered laughter, Nick whirled back around, but we both composed ourselves in time.
"Planet Earth to Major Simon?" I suggested.
Nick pulled out his empirical stare. "You're both major pains in the ass."
"Well we can't very well say 'Planet Earth to Major Nick,'" John said reasonably. "It sounds too much like a big arrest."
"Shut it, *Nigel*," Nick growled. "Unless you want to go on that stage in three weeks' time," he added, pointing towards the front of the club, "with no songs to perform."
"We could always sing Three Blind Mice," John said with a hint of a grin.
I braced myself for a Nick outburst, but to my surprise, he started laughing. "All right," he said after a moment, his voice calmer, "enough messing about. Let's get back to work."
My curious frown in John's direction was a waste, as he was paying attention to his bass. After a few seconds I shrugged and went back to contemplating my lyrics.
Asking him about it would give me an excuse to corner him later.
The opportunity came on the way to dinner that evening. We'd gone half a block when he realized he'd left something at the club. I hung back just enough to catch him out of ear reach off Nick. "So what was that about Three Blind Mice earlier?"
He laughed. "Ask Nick."
"I would, but I prefer my head on my shoulders rather than bitten off, thanks."
More laughter. "He might not bite it off. He might just laugh." I gave him a look. "All right, he might bite it off."
"So?" I prompted after a few seconds.
John glanced ahead to where Nick, Roger and Andy were talking before ducking his head closer to mine. "We'd talked about forming a band for ages, from almost the moment we met, right? Our parents were fairly sick of hearing about it. So one day, when Nick was about thirteen, I suppose, his mother tried to teach him a lesson."
He checked on Nick again. "Nick was after her to buy something with a keyboard--electric, a regular piano, anything. She finally took him into a keyboard shop and said if he could play a whole song on one, she'd buy one. The only song he knew how to play was Three Blind Mice." John smiled as he shook his head. "Knew the whole bloody thing, though."
I pictured a slightly smaller version of Nick giving his mother that icy stare as he plunked out Three Blind Mice and couldn't help but laugh. "Guess she learned better than to underestimate him after that."
John nodded. "He didn't get much over on her anyway, but after that, no way. Watching those two negotiate is like watching a couple of barristers. I keep expecting them to draw up contracts one day."
"That I can believe," I said, laughing again.
"What's so funny?"
I stopped at Nick's voice and looked up to realize we'd caught up with the others at the door of the restaurant. "Nothing," I said, slipping quickly past him and inside. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see John shrug as he stepped into the restaurant. Nick's eyes narrowed as he watched the two of us head to our usual table, but he said nothing else as he sat down beside John.
It wasn't until we'd ordered our food that Nick fixed me with the look I'd learned to dread. "So," he said in his best Nickquisition voice, "enjoying all of that free time now that university's out?"
I nodded around the rim of my water glass. "Absolutely," I said, nodding some more. "I'm spending loads of time writing."
That seemed to help, as he sat back, eyes slightly less narrowed. "Good to see you're taking it seriously."
"Have I given you any indication that I didn't take this seriously?"
My tone was a little sharp, but before Nick could call me on it, John jumped in. "Have you found a new flatmate yet?"
"No." I happily turned my attention to John. "Stuart's due to leave at the week's end, and I've not found anyone yet."
John's eyebrows raised. "I'd have thought you'd have loads of offers, given the cheap rent."
"Interested?" I said with a grin, knowing full well he was saving every pence by staying at home, and wouldn't dare take me up on it.
"Sure, if the rent's free."
I considered the option of phoning up Mum and Dad and telling them I couldn't find a flatmate and needed more money, but I didn't think that would work. Especially if they found out I was giving the other room away for free. "Afraid not." I sighed. "Unless you can convince the landlord of that."
"I'm not that good."
While I wasn't so sure of that, I wasn't about to force the issue either. I might have found the ability to stop staring at him, even to chat and hold entire conversations, but living in the same tiny flat?
Even I knew that would be taking self-destruction to new levels.
Nick glanced to his other side at Andy. "Aren't you looking for a place?"
"Yeah, actually," Andy leaned forward. "Where is it?"
I told him the location and the rent, and his eyebrows shot up. "Should've been looking at Uni housing all this time," he said with a shake of his head. "Can I have a look?"
"Sure. After rehearsal?" Andy nodded. "Great." Having a band mate in residence could be very helpful. A ready-made ally and possible source of information never hurt anyone. All I had to do was be a little more guarded about my secret. Surely I could manage that.
And if not, well, then, I'd go through his things and look for blackmail material.
***
I looked around the tiny flat, wondering why we'd agreed to host a party for fifteen people. Which, knowing that lot, meant at least twenty. I had very few possessions, and Andy made me look like a pack rat by comparison, but even so, there wasn't much room in our place. Still, we'd promised, and there was no way I was letting the day go by without a party.
We'd packed as many of our things as we could into our bedrooms. Though, considering my room was the larger of the two, and barely held the bedroom basics and a lamentably small stereo, there wasn't much we could fit in there either. I was trying to magically squeeze a chair into a corner about two inches too small when Andy walked into the flat.
"What the hell are we having this party here for?"
"Because we're the only ones with our own place?"
He shook his head. "John's parents couldn't have a party?"
"Is that what you want for your twentieth birthday?"
"Well...." He scratched his head. "No," he admitted finally. "So, party it is. Hope they like feeling like sardines."
"It'll be fine."
We managed to squeeze a few other things out of the way and face my speakers more or less out of my bedroom door in the direction of our small sitting room. Maybe if the music was loud enough, they wouldn't notice there was no room to breathe.
And then the birthday boy arrived, and I forgot about my concerns. He'd brought a date, which had everything to do with the gorgeous brunette I'd invited as mine, and I watched him walk in with his arm slung so casually around her shoulder that I hated her on sight.
No reason to be rude, however. I put on my best smile and sauntered over to the door. "Johnny!" I gave him just enough of a hug to dislodge the girl. "Happy birthday!"
He grinned as I let him go, and he pulled the blonde back to his side, his arm around her waist this time. "This is Bridget," he said nodding down at the girl, who barely reached the middle of his chest. I returned her vapid smile with a rather insincere one of my own, until I caught the face John made, imitating her blank look.
I choked back a laugh. "Welcome to our spacious luxury home, Bridget."
She blinked at me a couple of times, as if trying to process my words. "Thanks," she said, finally giving up with another blank smile. "It's, um...cozy."
John rolled his eyes as I bit my lip to keep from laughing this time. "Enjoy yourself," I said, more to John than to her.
An hour later, I had to declare the party a modest success. There were well over 20 people crammed into our flat, and no one seemed to be complaining about the lack of space. Possibly because everyone was happily shoved against someone they didn't mind getting close to. I wouldn't have minded being shoved a bit closer to John, but we were sitting on the couch, touching from shoulder to knee, which was about as much as I could hope for under the circumstances.
He smelled good, even if his scent was mixed with that of the girl sitting half on the arm of the couch and half in my lap. Who was talking to me again, seemingly with no clue that I wasn't listening to a word.
John was listening to his date prattle on about fashion, which would normally be interesting, but she'd just been reciting the latest columns in some stodgy backwater magazines, which were all wrong anyway. But he was smiling and nodding, because telling one's date she was an idiot did not tend to get one laid.
"Fancy another drink, birthday boy?" I asked, stepping right over the misguided Bridget's diatribe about hats.
"I can get it," John said.
He started to rise, but I pushed him back into his seat. "It's your day; you shouldn't have to get your own drinks." I stood up. "Besides, I wouldn't want to pull you away from the lovely lady's scintillating conversation," I said, smiling at Bridget, then at him. "Same again?" I nodded at his bottle.
"Is there anything else?" he asked with a laugh.
"No. I was just being polite," I said, my grin matching his. I turned to my date, because ignoring birds tended to get the same result as calling them idiots. "Another drink?"
I tried not to be annoyed by her smile as she simpered her thanks. I grabbed three more beers from the stash and hurried back before my date decided she deserved the full seat on the couch.
My seat was still open, and I dropped back down, a little closer to John than before, ostensibly to allow my date more room. John pressed a little closer to Bridget, and my date slid off the arm to sit half on my lap and half in the small space between me and the arm of the couch.
"I'm amazed," John said to me, as Bridget paused for breath, "that you fit all these people in here."
"Just pray that no one shouts 'fire,' or we might all be dead."
He laughed. "Well, in case someone does yell 'fire,' thanks for the party," he said, turning that killer smile on me before going back to pretending to pay attention to Bridget. I held back a sigh and put my arm around my date, who was only too happy to snuggle even closer to me.
Despite the proximity of her cloying perfume, however, I found I could still make out John's scent under everything else. I could always recognize that particular smell, and it was often a struggle not to react to it after prolonged exposure. Fortunately, I had an excellent excuse as my date wiggled against me, her hand resting in just the right spot for my reaction to flatter her.
She would have been far less flattered by that, and by my enthusiasm in bed later, had she realized the true reason. She certainly wasn't complaining, however, as she lay sleeping beside me, her light snores grating just enough to keep me awake.
Or maybe that was just my mind, torturing me with images of what John was likely doing in the bedroom of the buxom, beneficent Bridget.
I glanced across the bed to where my cigarettes lay on the nightstand, but I really didn't want to wake her up by reaching across. Then I'd be expected to chat and say all the right words I'd be required to say in the morning anyway, and I wasn't in the mood. Not when my mind was providing such vivid imaginings of all the things I really wanted and couldn't have. Would never have.
*You don't know that,* whispered the little idiot in the back of my mind.
"Fuck off," I muttered, then held my breath as the girl beside me stirred. I waited until she'd settled back into sleep again before I dared move at all. Even then I only sighed and pulled as far away from her as the wall to my back would allow, and waited for the sun to rise.
***
Read Part 4
AUTHOR: Stellar Meadow
RATING: Eventually NC17
STYLE: angst, romance, erotica...a little bit of everything
STARRING DURAN: They're all in here, but the pairing is John/Simon (you expected anything else from me?)
SUMMARY: See Simon meet John. See Simon fall like a ton of bricks. Run, Simon, run!
NOTES: Still editing, still posting. Six months. Over 33,000 words. That's a lot of editing. And after that much work, I really, really hope you all enjoy it. A lot. :-)
DISCLAIMER: If you think this is real, I'd like you to say hello to my little friend, reality. I don't believe you've met....
Read Part 1 || Read Part 2
"No, no, no! That's not right." Nick jabbed at the ashtray with his cigarette until it was no longer even recognizable as a cigarette.
"Well then what the hell is right?" Andy growled.
"I don't know, but that's *not* it!"
I watched as Nick stomped--well, as much as Nick ever actually stomped--over to Andy to discuss the chords in a somewhat more civilized tone. "Enjoying the backroom show?" John asked, sitting down carefully beside me on the floor, his bass settling into his lap like an old friend.
I grinned in his direction without really taking my eyes off Nick and Andy. "Is it always like this?" There'd been three such blow-ups in the week we'd been practicing--including one where I'd thought Nick and John were going to come to blows, and yet at the end of the day, everyone seemed to go home friends.
"Oh, no," John said, plucking at a few strings on his bass before fiddling with the knobs on its face. "They're still on their best behavior for the new bloke." I watched as he tested the strings again and nodded in satisfaction. "Stick around. It gets worse."
"I see why you've gone through so many singers."
He raised his eyebrows. "Arguing?"
"No, the pep talks," I said, my grin widening.
He laughed at that. "I take it your other bands didn't argue quite so much?"
"Hardly ever." My eyes drifted back over to Andy and Nick, more discussing than arguing now. "As long as we were in the genre they wanted, it was more of a, 'Do whatever you want, Simon,' sort of attitude."
"And you don't miss that kind of control?"
I glanced back over at him. "Control over nothing isn't control."
John nodded. "I figure we wouldn't all argue so much if we didn't care about this." He looked around the room. "This is our world for the moment, but every one of us wants the whole rest of the globe one day." His eyes landed on me again. "Don't you?"
"Absolutely." I thought for a second. "Well, I'm not sure about Antarctica. It's very cold."
"Right then," John said, lips twisted into a half-grin. "We'll be sure not to tour in Antarctica. But if the Clauses want a concert for the elves--"
"I'll buy a very warm parka," I finished for him, sharing in his laughter.
Nick finished with Andy and went back to his keyboards. "Simon, what were the lyrics again?"
"Back to the coal mines," John muttered as he stood. I watched him walk away with probably more interest than I really should have.
"Simon?"
"Sorry, Nick." I read the lines from my notebook while I firmly focused my mind where it belonged--on the music, and off just how good John Taylor's ass looked in those jeans.
For the most part, I'd gone from staring at John to just sneaking glances now and then. I was getting used to having him around, and if I still reacted to his presence, well, then, at least it was lessening. Somewhat.
Another year and I'd probably be able to ignore him completely.
"Earth to Simon."
Nick's voice jerked me back to awareness. At least I'd been staring at my notebook instead of John. "Planet Earth, actually," I said, meeting Nick's irritated gaze with a bland one.
"Sorry?"
"The lyric is 'Planet Earth.' My name's nowhere in it. Though we could put that line in there, I suppose," I added, as serious as I could manage. "Sort of a Major Tom kind of thing."
Nick's glare was worth it for the chuckle I heard off to my right. A sound that earned John a Nick-glare of his own, followed by a roll of my eyes when Nick's back was turned seconds later. At John's smothered laughter, Nick whirled back around, but we both composed ourselves in time.
"Planet Earth to Major Simon?" I suggested.
Nick pulled out his empirical stare. "You're both major pains in the ass."
"Well we can't very well say 'Planet Earth to Major Nick,'" John said reasonably. "It sounds too much like a big arrest."
"Shut it, *Nigel*," Nick growled. "Unless you want to go on that stage in three weeks' time," he added, pointing towards the front of the club, "with no songs to perform."
"We could always sing Three Blind Mice," John said with a hint of a grin.
I braced myself for a Nick outburst, but to my surprise, he started laughing. "All right," he said after a moment, his voice calmer, "enough messing about. Let's get back to work."
My curious frown in John's direction was a waste, as he was paying attention to his bass. After a few seconds I shrugged and went back to contemplating my lyrics.
Asking him about it would give me an excuse to corner him later.
The opportunity came on the way to dinner that evening. We'd gone half a block when he realized he'd left something at the club. I hung back just enough to catch him out of ear reach off Nick. "So what was that about Three Blind Mice earlier?"
He laughed. "Ask Nick."
"I would, but I prefer my head on my shoulders rather than bitten off, thanks."
More laughter. "He might not bite it off. He might just laugh." I gave him a look. "All right, he might bite it off."
"So?" I prompted after a few seconds.
John glanced ahead to where Nick, Roger and Andy were talking before ducking his head closer to mine. "We'd talked about forming a band for ages, from almost the moment we met, right? Our parents were fairly sick of hearing about it. So one day, when Nick was about thirteen, I suppose, his mother tried to teach him a lesson."
He checked on Nick again. "Nick was after her to buy something with a keyboard--electric, a regular piano, anything. She finally took him into a keyboard shop and said if he could play a whole song on one, she'd buy one. The only song he knew how to play was Three Blind Mice." John smiled as he shook his head. "Knew the whole bloody thing, though."
I pictured a slightly smaller version of Nick giving his mother that icy stare as he plunked out Three Blind Mice and couldn't help but laugh. "Guess she learned better than to underestimate him after that."
John nodded. "He didn't get much over on her anyway, but after that, no way. Watching those two negotiate is like watching a couple of barristers. I keep expecting them to draw up contracts one day."
"That I can believe," I said, laughing again.
"What's so funny?"
I stopped at Nick's voice and looked up to realize we'd caught up with the others at the door of the restaurant. "Nothing," I said, slipping quickly past him and inside. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see John shrug as he stepped into the restaurant. Nick's eyes narrowed as he watched the two of us head to our usual table, but he said nothing else as he sat down beside John.
It wasn't until we'd ordered our food that Nick fixed me with the look I'd learned to dread. "So," he said in his best Nickquisition voice, "enjoying all of that free time now that university's out?"
I nodded around the rim of my water glass. "Absolutely," I said, nodding some more. "I'm spending loads of time writing."
That seemed to help, as he sat back, eyes slightly less narrowed. "Good to see you're taking it seriously."
"Have I given you any indication that I didn't take this seriously?"
My tone was a little sharp, but before Nick could call me on it, John jumped in. "Have you found a new flatmate yet?"
"No." I happily turned my attention to John. "Stuart's due to leave at the week's end, and I've not found anyone yet."
John's eyebrows raised. "I'd have thought you'd have loads of offers, given the cheap rent."
"Interested?" I said with a grin, knowing full well he was saving every pence by staying at home, and wouldn't dare take me up on it.
"Sure, if the rent's free."
I considered the option of phoning up Mum and Dad and telling them I couldn't find a flatmate and needed more money, but I didn't think that would work. Especially if they found out I was giving the other room away for free. "Afraid not." I sighed. "Unless you can convince the landlord of that."
"I'm not that good."
While I wasn't so sure of that, I wasn't about to force the issue either. I might have found the ability to stop staring at him, even to chat and hold entire conversations, but living in the same tiny flat?
Even I knew that would be taking self-destruction to new levels.
Nick glanced to his other side at Andy. "Aren't you looking for a place?"
"Yeah, actually," Andy leaned forward. "Where is it?"
I told him the location and the rent, and his eyebrows shot up. "Should've been looking at Uni housing all this time," he said with a shake of his head. "Can I have a look?"
"Sure. After rehearsal?" Andy nodded. "Great." Having a band mate in residence could be very helpful. A ready-made ally and possible source of information never hurt anyone. All I had to do was be a little more guarded about my secret. Surely I could manage that.
And if not, well, then, I'd go through his things and look for blackmail material.
***
I looked around the tiny flat, wondering why we'd agreed to host a party for fifteen people. Which, knowing that lot, meant at least twenty. I had very few possessions, and Andy made me look like a pack rat by comparison, but even so, there wasn't much room in our place. Still, we'd promised, and there was no way I was letting the day go by without a party.
We'd packed as many of our things as we could into our bedrooms. Though, considering my room was the larger of the two, and barely held the bedroom basics and a lamentably small stereo, there wasn't much we could fit in there either. I was trying to magically squeeze a chair into a corner about two inches too small when Andy walked into the flat.
"What the hell are we having this party here for?"
"Because we're the only ones with our own place?"
He shook his head. "John's parents couldn't have a party?"
"Is that what you want for your twentieth birthday?"
"Well...." He scratched his head. "No," he admitted finally. "So, party it is. Hope they like feeling like sardines."
"It'll be fine."
We managed to squeeze a few other things out of the way and face my speakers more or less out of my bedroom door in the direction of our small sitting room. Maybe if the music was loud enough, they wouldn't notice there was no room to breathe.
And then the birthday boy arrived, and I forgot about my concerns. He'd brought a date, which had everything to do with the gorgeous brunette I'd invited as mine, and I watched him walk in with his arm slung so casually around her shoulder that I hated her on sight.
No reason to be rude, however. I put on my best smile and sauntered over to the door. "Johnny!" I gave him just enough of a hug to dislodge the girl. "Happy birthday!"
He grinned as I let him go, and he pulled the blonde back to his side, his arm around her waist this time. "This is Bridget," he said nodding down at the girl, who barely reached the middle of his chest. I returned her vapid smile with a rather insincere one of my own, until I caught the face John made, imitating her blank look.
I choked back a laugh. "Welcome to our spacious luxury home, Bridget."
She blinked at me a couple of times, as if trying to process my words. "Thanks," she said, finally giving up with another blank smile. "It's, um...cozy."
John rolled his eyes as I bit my lip to keep from laughing this time. "Enjoy yourself," I said, more to John than to her.
An hour later, I had to declare the party a modest success. There were well over 20 people crammed into our flat, and no one seemed to be complaining about the lack of space. Possibly because everyone was happily shoved against someone they didn't mind getting close to. I wouldn't have minded being shoved a bit closer to John, but we were sitting on the couch, touching from shoulder to knee, which was about as much as I could hope for under the circumstances.
He smelled good, even if his scent was mixed with that of the girl sitting half on the arm of the couch and half in my lap. Who was talking to me again, seemingly with no clue that I wasn't listening to a word.
John was listening to his date prattle on about fashion, which would normally be interesting, but she'd just been reciting the latest columns in some stodgy backwater magazines, which were all wrong anyway. But he was smiling and nodding, because telling one's date she was an idiot did not tend to get one laid.
"Fancy another drink, birthday boy?" I asked, stepping right over the misguided Bridget's diatribe about hats.
"I can get it," John said.
He started to rise, but I pushed him back into his seat. "It's your day; you shouldn't have to get your own drinks." I stood up. "Besides, I wouldn't want to pull you away from the lovely lady's scintillating conversation," I said, smiling at Bridget, then at him. "Same again?" I nodded at his bottle.
"Is there anything else?" he asked with a laugh.
"No. I was just being polite," I said, my grin matching his. I turned to my date, because ignoring birds tended to get the same result as calling them idiots. "Another drink?"
I tried not to be annoyed by her smile as she simpered her thanks. I grabbed three more beers from the stash and hurried back before my date decided she deserved the full seat on the couch.
My seat was still open, and I dropped back down, a little closer to John than before, ostensibly to allow my date more room. John pressed a little closer to Bridget, and my date slid off the arm to sit half on my lap and half in the small space between me and the arm of the couch.
"I'm amazed," John said to me, as Bridget paused for breath, "that you fit all these people in here."
"Just pray that no one shouts 'fire,' or we might all be dead."
He laughed. "Well, in case someone does yell 'fire,' thanks for the party," he said, turning that killer smile on me before going back to pretending to pay attention to Bridget. I held back a sigh and put my arm around my date, who was only too happy to snuggle even closer to me.
Despite the proximity of her cloying perfume, however, I found I could still make out John's scent under everything else. I could always recognize that particular smell, and it was often a struggle not to react to it after prolonged exposure. Fortunately, I had an excellent excuse as my date wiggled against me, her hand resting in just the right spot for my reaction to flatter her.
She would have been far less flattered by that, and by my enthusiasm in bed later, had she realized the true reason. She certainly wasn't complaining, however, as she lay sleeping beside me, her light snores grating just enough to keep me awake.
Or maybe that was just my mind, torturing me with images of what John was likely doing in the bedroom of the buxom, beneficent Bridget.
I glanced across the bed to where my cigarettes lay on the nightstand, but I really didn't want to wake her up by reaching across. Then I'd be expected to chat and say all the right words I'd be required to say in the morning anyway, and I wasn't in the mood. Not when my mind was providing such vivid imaginings of all the things I really wanted and couldn't have. Would never have.
*You don't know that,* whispered the little idiot in the back of my mind.
"Fuck off," I muttered, then held my breath as the girl beside me stirred. I waited until she'd settled back into sleep again before I dared move at all. Even then I only sighed and pulled as far away from her as the wall to my back would allow, and waited for the sun to rise.
***
Read Part 4
