As I’m having a mild freak-out, he’s pacing in the living room in all his naked glory, but he’s in full Alpha mode, making one phone call after another, barking out orders, giving some a hard time, others he’s apologizing for the unexpected problem, whatever it is. It’s all tech speak.
I locate my tablet and stay in my bedroom to give him a semblance of privacy, but I can’t focus on one word of the ebook I’m currently reading. He marches back and forth and so becomes visible through the doorway for a brief moment, and I keep looking up, as if my body has an internal timer tuned to when he’ll appear.
I’m struck by the change in him. He’s back to his non-smiling self, and it’s a weird juxtaposition. This guy pacing in the living room—all take-charge and serious—is not the flirting, carefree man who was just inside me. This guy…this guy feels like a stranger.
A flutter of panic builds in my chest at how take-charge he is. How good he is at it.
Then I catch myself—because that doesn’t matter. We’re just having fun while stuck together during a storm, and while he’s fulfilling every fantasy I had about him, I need to remember that this won’t work—we won’t work—when we return home.
Before, when he was my secret crush, it was easy for me to be smug about my strength. It wasn’t being tested.
But now that I’ve been with him? And it was the hottest sex I’ve ever had? How can I keep my walls intact if we actually date? I’ll get attached. I’ll want to morph to please him. I’ll want everything.
Conor
What a bleeding mess.
I left the coding team in good shape for the next phase of testing the new app. I met with each team member, set expectations, deliverables, fucking deadlines, and made contingency plans.
Then Steven drove it arseways by doing a piss-poor review of the code segment he was in charge of.
I hang up from the last call.
I find myself in a hotel room, naked, staring at a darkened window as rain is pissing against the glass pane. And it takes me a second to zero in on where I am and why I’m feckin’ naked.
Then I remember.
And just like that, I’m back into myself fully and glance frantically around. “Claire?”
“In here!”
I step into my jeans and lean into the bedroom. She’s stretched out on her stomach, her feet in the air, crossed. A tablet rests on the bed in front of her, its glow illuminating her face. Feckin’ hell. Sex with Claire was deadly. She’s looking mighty feen, hair still mussed from the riding. And while, of course, my lad’s piping up for another go, I’m also feeling the frustration with work ebb away just looking at her.
“Could you eat now?”
She glances up and makes to rise. “Sure. Lemme help.”
“You stay there. I want to be doing this, yeah.” She gives me a big grin that goes right inside me, it does. I hustle to the kitchen and busy myself making a hodge-podge of a dinner out of the non-perishables we’d bought. I’m halfway through when my poxy mobile dings again.
I pick it up—it’s a text alert. One that’s triggered whenever my sister is late for a payment. Frustration spikes through me. I hit the icon for Siobhan.
“Hey.”
“We talked earlier.” She’s sounding groggy. “Why are you ringing now?”
I pull my mobile away and look at the time. Shite. The time difference slipped my mind. “You didn’t tell me you were three days late with the mortgage.”
“What are you at, Conor, ragging at me?” Her voice definitely sounds awake now.
“How many times is it I’ve told you, I can help you when you’re needing it. If you were short a few quid, why didn’t ya tell me?”
Her breath pushes into the speaker. “You don’t need to be sending me anything at all. The farm’s mine, remember? It’s mine to handle.”
“Then why aren’t the bills paid off, yeah?”
She’s quiet for a moment—probably picturing all the ways she can belt me from across the pond. “Not that you’d know much about it, but I’ve bought a ram from over near Ballinasloe. A fine lad, big as an ass, which is what you’re being. And I’ve got two old ewes to market for their meat come the morrow. I’ll have the payment made soon enough.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“Conor. It’s past time to start believing I can handle the farm without you, yeah?”
Agitation and frustration rise within me. I’m wanting to help. If she’s not letting me put a finger in it, what am I good for? Leaves me a right bowsie. If I hadn’t left her, she wouldn’t be shouldering all the burden herself.
“Night, Conor. Let me try to get in some sleep?”
“You know I’m only looking out for yourself, yeah?”
She groans. “Sure look it, and being a right gowl about it.”
Shite. I hang up and finish prepping dinner. Then I find myself setting the table for the meal, because I know that’s what Claire’s liking.
No. Scratch that. That’s only partly true. It’s growing on me as well, because when we sat down earlier and took our time eating, it weren’t half bad. The feeling of sharing a moment together. Not rushing. Enjoying.
That frantic call from work was a sharp reminder that I put my whole self too much into a soulless corporation. Rushing to get ahead there. Rushing through my life.
So stopping and enjoying? Yeah, I’m finding I like it. Maybe too much.
Claire
“Dinner’s on,” Conor calls from the kitchen.
I power down my tablet to conserve the battery and step into the main room.
He’s set the table.
A part inside me goes squishy at that. Especially when I notice a couple of candles glowing in the center. I know the candles are because we need to see, but I can’t help thinking it looks romantic, okay? Like it means something.
“Wow, this looks great. Thank you.”
I settle at the table and drape my napkin across my lap. He’s made some kind of sandwich with—I lift the top slice of bread. “Canned ham and potato chips?”
“And sugar, mind.”
“Ooookay.” I take a bite. Different. But surprisingly good. The flavors mix and dance on my tongue, and I close my eyes. Mmmmm.
I open them, ready to tell Conor thank you again, but he’s staring at me with hooded eyes. He’s still bare-chested, though he put his jeans back on.
“What?”
“Never thought watching someone eat would turn me on,” he says, voice low with a trace of surprise.
Warmth blooms in my chest. “Oh yeah?” I take another bite, this time taking my time biting into it, closing my eyes, and giving a good “Mmmm.”
He closes his eyes and groans.
He’s distracted and edgy, but he’s joking with me, interacting, so I know the edginess isn’t about us. There’s no awkwardness in the air, or regret.
I take another bite. “What’s going on?”
He starts eating and, in between bites, tells me about his sister buying a ram and delaying her loan payment.
When he’s done, I say, “You’re worried.” It’s clear he doesn’t believe his sister can take care of the farm and its needs.
“Of course I’m worried. She could lose everything she’s been working her arse off to keep.”
“It’s her farm to lose, isn’t it?”
He falls back against his chair. “But if I hadn’t left—” He breaks off and looks to the side. Guilt wafts from him, so thick I can feel it.