Authors: Tillie Cole
Tink rubbed both of his
hands over his face. “You’re wrong, Wil. I know it. He likes you,
and stop thinking that way about yourself. You may not see all the
beautiful in you, but I do, and so do an army of others,
including
one Tudor North. I know you want to live more freely, but that guy...
I don't know, something is just off about him.”
“Tink, babe, let’s
leave it there,” I said, patting his hands. “Nothing will happen
and nothing
is
happening between us now. It’s just been a
crazy couple of days, that’s all. We’ve had more excitement in
the last forty-eight hours than I think we have ever had in our lives
and we are getting carried away with it all,” I soothed.
Tink sighed and flicked
my nose. “You
are
wrong, missy. But I’ll let it go… for
now,” he smiled and kissed my head. “What do you say we get you
out of this bath, throw on our onesies and settle down to watch an
entire series of
Grey’s Anatomy
?” He pretended to fan
himself at the thought of all those doctors.
I nodded once and giggled at his
antics. “I’m in.”
In celebration of our
move to Calgary, Tink and I had made an impulsive purchase of novelty
adult baby-grows –
onesies
– to brave the winter nights.
Both had feet and hoods and were made of the warmest fleece material.
My onesie was, you
guessed it, a pig with a snout, ears, spiral tail and trotters.
Tink’s was a replica of
Peter Pan’s
Tinkerbell costume,
complete with glitter wings and a hood which looked like a blonde
chignon hairstyle when erect.
We had settled on the
sofa and were ogling McDreamy, McSteamy, McArmy and McBlue-eyes (our
given title for Dr. Avery), with Tink bringing me a bag of frozen
peas every two hours to put on my bump to numb the pain. We were
ploughing through the box set, but the clock only read seven p.m. It
was officially the longest day of my life.
I got to my feet to
visit the little girls’ room whilst Tink was re-freezing the bag of
peas. I had made it all of three slow, painful steps when there was a
knock at the door. I walked to the hallway and opened the giant
oak-and-steel door to find Tate – looking dapper dressed in a black
blazer, dress jeans, a white shirt and his staple red dickey bow
–with two bunches of colourful flowers in his hands.
“Well, this is a
pleasant surprise,” I exclaimed as Tink came bolting around the
corner, looking as though he was going to bollock me for getting up
without his assistance. When he caught sight of Tate his face broke
from an annoyed scowl into a sunny, happy grin.
Tate looked up shyly.
“Hey, guys,” he said with a wave of the flowers, passing one
ridiculously huge bunch to me and one to Tink.
“I got you these,”
he said, kissing us both on the cheek. He lingered a touch longer
than was really necessary on Tink’s.
“Honey, what you
doing here?” asked my giddy pal, waving his arm to welcome him
inside whilst smelling his gorgeous bouquet of pink and white roses.
Tate looked to
something at his side, the large second half of the double front door
blocking my view. “We just came to see if you were okay,” he said
to me, interrupting me gazing adoringly at my favourite flowers in
the whole world – sunflowers.
How did he know?
Wait–,
“We?” I squeaked.
Tink shot forward to grab my arm as I began to sway, losing my
already-defective balance, and took my flowers off me before I
dropped them.
Tate quickly moved
further inside the hallway, followed by a huge hulk of man wearing
jeans, a tight, white, V-necked long-sleeved T-shirt, hooded black
leather jacket and grey beanie hat.
Tudor.
“Tash,” he
announced rather formally, nodding his head and then breaking into a
huge grin.
Be still my beating
heart. No-one should be allowed to look that good.
“Nice threads,” he
commented, cockily.
What? Aww shit!
Tate turned away shyly,
laughing into his hands, and Tudor stood there grinning, hands in his
pockets and looking directly into my eyes.
What is it with this
guy and eye-contact? Does he do that in every situation?
My mind wandered back
to him straddling me in the park…
Focus, Tash!
I looked at Tink in his
get-up, and then down at my own pink ensemble.
We must look like
lunatics – call for the men in white coats!
Turning back to our
guests, I simply said, “Oink?” and shrugged my shoulders.
Tate burst out laughing
and Tudor smirked. I turned to go back to the sofa, suddenly not
feeling so good.
“Tash, you okay?”
asked Tudor, silencing any giggling from the flirty fellows as he
stepped forward whilst I grabbed the wall for support.
“Erm, I just got a
bit faint then. I need to sit down.”
I felt Tink grasp my
elbow, and appreciated the much-needed steadiness.
“Tink, can I?”
Tudor asked, and before I heard a reply felt a large arm encircle my
waist and guide me to the couch.
My God if I was
faint before, I am heading towards a complete K.O!
I inhaled. Pure woodsy,
pheromone-inducing, Tudor.
Game-over, I’m down for the count!
I was lowered to the
sofa and then flanked on either side by Tink and Tate. Tudor knelt
down in front of me, put both hands on my knees, and searched my
eyes, obviously checking for the fixed and dilated pupils my carers
had been told to look out for. If they resembled saucers we would
need to go back to the hospital immediately. On seeing his expression
change to one of relief, I guessed that I wasn’t dying, and so
rested my head on the back cushion, closed my eyes and breathed
deeply to steady the nauseating dizziness.
Tudor began moving his
hands up and down my leg from knee to mid-thigh; nothing had ever
felt better.
After I recovered from
the dizzy spell and the room was the right way around, I opened my
eyes. Tink was glaring at Tudor, who I assumed had never looked away
from me through my little episode. Tate, too, was fixed on him with a
startled look upon his face.
It is too much to
take in.
“That’s better,”
I sighed, refocusing Tink and Tate’s attention back on me.
“Wilbur, you’re
overdoing it. Why did you answer the door, you silly mare?”
Great
bedside manner, Tink!
“I was going to the
bathroom when I heard the knock. No biggie,” I shrugged.
“No biggie? You
nearly face-planted the marble floor! From now on you’ll use a bed
pan and that’s final, or I’m ringing your dad!” he threatened,
and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Whatever,” I
dismissed.
No-one said a word for
several awkward seconds. Mention of a bed pan will tend to do that to
a conversation.
“I suppose a date is
out of the question now?” asked Tate breaking the silence. My fairy
and I both immediately snapped out of our mutual huffs to look his
way.
“A date? Tonight?”
squeaked Tink.
Tate blushed –
how
cute!
“I was trying to be
spontaneous. I’ve been running around all afternoon to set it up
for us.”
Tink didn’t know what
to say. He kept opening his mouth and closing it over and over again.
Tate bowed his head and
pulled imaginary lint from his jeans.
I reached over and
patted his leg for reassurance. “Of course Cinderella shall go to
the ball!” I confirmed weakly. Tate looked up with a relieved,
beaming smile.
Tink shook his head.
“Wil, I can’t go, I have to stay with you for forty-eight hours
remember, doctor’s orders. And the date can wait, right, Pookie?”
‘Pookie’ lost his
smile. “Of course, that was selfish. Forgive me, Tash?”
A cough interrupted the
conversation.
Tudor.
I had, for most of the
conversation, been struggling to breathe at the fact that Tudor was
still on his knees in front of me, rubbing my thighs. His long
fingers suddenly stopped their stroking at everyone’s pulled
attention and I allowed myself to take a deep breath, now that his
fingers weren't glancing ever-so-close to my intimate areas. I mean,
come on, there is only so much titillation a girl can take before she
spontaneously combusts!
“I could stay with
Tash,” he suggested – well, kind of directed.
Three sets of eyes
bugged further in his direction. “What?” we said in unison.
“I
said
,” he
drawled, exaggerating the words. “I can stay with Tash and look
after her. You two go on your date.”
“Well, dip me in
honey and throw me to the lesbians!” screeched my bestie.
Tudor looked at Tink
and arched a single eyebrow.
Tink stared back, and
then started shaking his head profusely. “No, she is
my
best
friend, and
my
responsibility and
I
will stay and look
after her,” he stated quite aggressively. Well, in a camp sergeant
aggressive kind of way. He grabbed my hand, kissed the back of it and
harrumphed loudly. I felt that if he had just cocked his leg and
pissed on me, then he would have asserted his ownership rights with
more clarity.
Tudor ran a hand over
his stubbly chin. “I don’t mind. I’ll feel better doing it
anyway, so I know she is alright. I kinda feel responsible for her.”
Really? Why?
“She’ll be fine
with me,” roared Tink in full on diva-strop mode.
“I didn’t mean to
imply otherwise. I’m simply saying that you and… ‘Pookie’
could have your date and I would be here to tend to all of Tash’s
needs.”
All my needs – I
feel faint again – I have needs, I have needs!
“I said n-”
“Tink!” I groaned,
dizziness returning with all of the unnecessary squabbling. “You go
out, chuck. I’ll be fine,” I implored, squeezing his fingers.
I then turned to Tudor.
“You don’t owe me anything, Tudor. I’ll be fine on my own. What
happened today was my fault, not yours. You don’t need to feel
guilty, and you certainly do not need to be here to babysit from some
misplaced need to make it up to me.”
“No,” Tink and
Tudor asserted simultaneously.
I flinched and looked
to Tate for back up, but he just smiled sympathetically and shook his
head in agreement with the two arguing brutes next to me.
“Fine! You decide
what’s happening. I’m going to lie down. Tink, can you help me to
my bedroom?” I asked in a pissy manner, trying to get up from the
low couch.
“It’s okay, Tink,
I-”
“
No you won’t,”
the fairy snapped as Tudor started to pull me up by my hands. “For
fuck’s sake, I can do this! You need to back the hell off.”
“Hey, sorry,” said
Tudor, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender, causing me to
stumble into Tink’s waiting arms.
Tink looked appeased.
“Well good, at least you can follow instructions. Come on, Wil.”
Tink walked me to my
room, leaving Tudor watching us go and Tate still sitting on the
couch, unmoving and clearly regretting his surprise date idea.
Once inside and settled
on the bed, Tink began to pace. “Do you see what I mean?” he
stopped and gesticulated wildly towards the closed and thankfully
soundproof bedroom door.
“Tink, he was just
trying to make your date happen. Which I still think you should go on
by the way.”
He looked so torn,
bless him.
“I
do
want to
go but I won’t leave you alone. I fancy Tate… a lot… but I
obviously care for you more. You're my priority; I’ve only just met
the little lovely in a bow tie.”
“Well Tudor has
offered to stay–”
“Oh no, Wil, we have
discussed this! After all you went through with Nathan, how bad of a
friend would I be to green-light you getting all hot and steamy with
Mr. Fort Knox out there? I can see how you look at him, your
sex-deprived Fu-Fu is gagging for him, don't bother denying it. He’ll
break your heart if you let him, Wil.”
I sank into the
pillows. “He would simply be watching out for me until you get
back. I don’t think getting me glasses of water and bags of frozen
peas constitutes ‘getting hot and steamy’, do you?” I laughed,
but was slightly taken back by his words.
Was it blatantly
obvious that I liked him? I didn’t think I’d even made that
decision yet myself.
Tink began pacing once
more, glancing my way every now and again. His defences were
crumbling.
“Tink, go be wined
and dined by your new boy. He looked absolutely devastated when you
refused before, and quite frankly I think you’re a fool if you
don’t take him up on his offer,” I tried to persuade him.
Tink sat on the edge of
the bed and stared at me. “I think he planned to stay with you all
along.”
I gave him my ‘
as
if
’ face. “Tink, he came to check if I was okay, not to bully
you into a date, which you want to go on, with his assistant, who
just so happens to fancy the pants off you, in a grand plan to get me
alone and have his nefarious way with me,” I wiggled my fingers in
a witch-like manner and cackled to emphasise the point.
Tink cracked a cheeky
smile and went silent for a few seconds, indecision written in his
expression, tongue between his lips. “Fine, you win. I’ll go out
and leave Mr. Dark-and-Brooding here with you,” he submitted. “But
know that I’m on to him,” he added, pointing a perfectly
manicured figure at my face and then my nether regions. “He wants a
slice of your pastrami pie, Wilbur.”
“Go get ready, my
favourite fay. Oh, and switch on my TV. I think it’s best if I stay
in here. I keep getting dizzy on that sofa. We don’t want any more
embarrassing episodes in front of Mr. Hollywood out there.”
He looked worried again
so I pushed. “Go on, for frigg’s sake, I’ll be fine!”