Breathing in deep, I lengthen my limbs in a languorous
stretch. As my eyes slowly open and I take in his scent, I remember that I’m
still at Dane’s. I remain on my back for a few moments, listening to the sound
of nothing throughout the apartment. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s
just after ten a.m.; I’ve been asleep for over three hours. Reaching to the
bedside table, I grab my phone and text Leona to tell her I won’t see her at
the studio at eleven like I was supposed to. As long as I’m out of here by
mid-afternoon I’ll have enough time to stop at my place, shower and change
before going to the studio for my client at five p.m.
Sitting up, I put my mobile
back. Dane’s bedside tables are attached to his headboard, the entire frame is
solid, black wood. Every night I’ve spent here so far, I’ve slept on the left
side, by the wardrobe. Unable to resist, I pull open the one drawer on the
bedside table.
Is ‘empty’ typical for a
man? Mine are stuffed with all kinds of crap; some of it needs to be there,
most of it doesn’t.
I shift across to his side
and I know one thing – make that things – I’ll find in there. I pull open the
drawer and, as expected, there are condoms. There’s also a notebook, a pen and
expensive hand cream. He washes his hands frequently, and because of that, he
moisturizes them often. I open the notebook, finding page-after-page of blank
paper. Does he use invisible ink? How could there be nothing? I’m disappointed.
Obviously I didn’t want to find something incriminating, but I would’ve liked
to find something interesting, something unexpected.
I get up and cross to the
wardrobe to collect my clothes. Sliding the doors apart, I gasp with delight. I
haven’t seen in here yet, so far Dane’s put my clothes away and then taken them
out for me in the morning. I’m not entirely surprised to discover he could wear
a different pair of jeans every day for at least two weeks, or that he has more
footwear than necessary; trainers mostly, but the stacks of vinyl along the top
shelf are a massive surprise. My mum still has days when she pulls out her
records from the fifties and sixties. I love the sound of it; the connection of
the needle, the rasp as the record plays.
I wonder what Dane’s
collection consists of. Maybe some are from the band his parents used to gig
with. Shifting up onto tiptoes, I look farther back on the shelf. That huge
black case must be his dad’s saxophone, Dane said he has it. I hope he shows me
these things at some point and plays me some of his records.
I grab my jumper-dress and
underwear and put them on. After pinning my hair in a bun and brushing my
teeth, I strip the bed and make it with fresh sheets. I should probably leave,
there’s no need for me to be here, but I feel too intrigued to go just yet.
I enter the door next to his
bedroom, by the bookcase at the back of the living room. It leads to the main
bathroom. The tiles on the floor and walls are dark gray and black, the shower
is large, just like the one in his en suite, and enclosed in transparent glass.
The white shiny bath is egg-shaped. It’s the kind of bathroom that seduces you
into spending hours in there getting up to more than bathing. I wonder if he
actually uses it.
Sitting at the desk, a match
for the other wooden furniture in the living room, in the alcove in the corner
to the right of the breakfast bar, I press the power button on the computer.
Whilst waiting for it to start up, I pull open the drawer of the desk. It’s
full of letters, some still in envelopes and some without. Reading his private
documents is going too far for my liking, so I close the drawer.
The screen on the PC
brightens up. My jaw drops at the sight of Dane’s wallpaper. This motorcycle is
beyond any other I’ve ever seen. It’s kind of futuristic looking and so eye
catching in silver, red and white. Kayla was right when she said their
customization work is totally freakin’ awesome.
There are only a few folders
on the screen. The one titled
Wonderful memories for you to cherish, with
love from your little sister xxx
makes me smile. Clicking on the folder, it
opens to reveal photos, thousands of them. It’ll take longer than I have to go
through them all with great attention to detail, but a quick scan shows me a
mix of shots taken with family and friends. Some are obviously nights out,
which aren’t a surprise given the nature of Saffron’s job. Since she put these
pictures on here, hopefully that means none of these pretty girls are Dane’s
conquests. He did mention platonic female friends, these must be them. Looking
at pictures without someone identifying the people is useless, but nothing
looks inappropriate. It’s sweet, though, I can imagine Saffron coming here and
uploading these for Dane. It’s the type of thing I’d do for my brother, Tommy,
as well.
My heart stops for a moment
and then proceeds to race as though I’m in the middle of Evan’s circuit training
class. I hover the cursor over the folder called
Bodies
, nervous as
bloody hell. Oh my word. Please don’t tell me Dane’s the type of man who keeps
souvenirs from his conquests, photographic souvenirs.
Is my body in there? Not
possible, we don’t have photos of each other – except for the one I took of him
on the sly with my phone when he was still asleep the second morning I woke up
here. That doesn’t count, and it was just his face in profile and his neck and
shoulders. Has he caught me in my sleep? Exposed? No way. He’s definitely not
some dodgy pervert.
Fuck it!
I quickly click the folder.
As it opens, filling the screen,
I flop back on the leather swivel chair breathing a massive sigh of relief.
It’s motorcycle stuff. Why couldn’t he just call it
Bodywork
instead? I
would have. I think.
All the other stuff is work
related, so I open up the web browser. I enter his search history, and as
quickly as I can, I scan down each page working in reverse, looking for …
something that stands out, I don’t know what. Is impulsive snooping as bad and
as sneaky as planned snooping?
My eyesight is great, so I’m
not sure why I’ve got my face literally pressed to the screen. I back up, it’s
really hurting my eyes. It’s mostly his email accounts and music downloading
sites he visits on here. I’d love to get my hands on his tablet; that’ll
probably have something of interest. I glance around the living room for it,
but it’s not in sight. I think he takes it to work with him, because it
definitely wasn’t in the bedroom. There aren’t even porn sites logged here.
Don’t all men watch porn? Even I’ve indulged.
One of the guys, Stephan,
from my dance family introduced me to my first gay porn when I first came to
San Francisco. It was an amateur video clip, and I was surprised to find that
it aroused me. Now I have a small selection of gay erotic romance novels,
recommended by Stephan, waiting to be read from my tablet.
I continue my search and
stop with my brows raised in surprise. There’s a list of visits to YouTube; and
the titles show that they’re my performances in
All about the Dance.
I
read through them. It shows all the genres I got to do before I had to leave.
Frowning instead of
grinning, I look for the ones I’d rather he didn’t see – the two where I spoke
to one of the presenters after I got injured. I was with Owen and crying
because I was completely taken over with emotions; sadness, disappointment,
pride and gratitude for even having such an amazing opportunity. I never
understood all the crying contestants do on TV talent shows, but you really
have no idea if you haven’t lived it. Mostly I was scared – I convinced myself
I’d never dance again.
I don’t want Dane seeing me
cry, but I can deal with the fact that he watched one of the dances I performed
that did make me shed tears. It was so powerful, beautiful. I’m glad he didn’t
click on the ones where I was upset, I definitely don’t want him witnessing
those, though I’m curious about why he didn’t.
He’s watched my
performances.
My smile is so huge right
now. I feel warm and proud, and I’m going to hold on to this feeling. It’ll
certainly make staying here with him tonight easier. I hope I sleep through, I
like spending the night with him. I don’t want to have to stop. It should be
fine. I’d never tell him this, but I think he triggered my nightmare last
night.
The sound of a key pressing
into a lock causes my heart to race again. I don’t have time to shutdown
properly, so I quickly close the browser and the folders and press the power
button. As the front door opens quietly, I move from the chair and press my
back to the wall, hiding in the alcove. Would he mind me going on his computer
without permission? What would be my reason? I have email and everything else
on my bloody phone.
I hear the bedroom door
slowly open. “Brooklyn?” Dane says.
I peep out from behind the
wall. He calls my name again, the sound of his voice telling me he’s in the
adjoining bathroom. I make a mad dash across the living room, to the main
bathroom. Before I make it in there, Dane’s coming out of the bedroom. I’m
stood in the doorway of my intended destination. “Hi,” I say with a huge grin
to mask my anxiety. Fucking hell!
“Hey,” he says, approaching
me.
“I was just having a nosey
at your bathroom.” It’s plausible. I haven’t been in there, and better that
than his computer, though I’m technically admitting to snooping in some
context. I’m not cut out for this. “I Love it. Ours is so average.”
He stops close to me, his
lips hinting that he wants to laugh. “Elevators, carpets, and bathrooms, you’re
pretty easy to please.” His hand snakes around the side of my neck, warm and
lovely. “Did you sleep?” He searches my eyes, which will be more than awake
after the shock of his presence. First chance I get I need to shutdown that
computer.
“Too well, I missed the
eleven a.m. class I wanted to attend. What are you doing here, skiver?”
His right brow arches.
“Skiver?”
“Yeah, don’t you have a
business to run?”
“I wanted to make sure
you’re okay.”
I smile, feeling guilty as
sin. I’ve snooped and lied to him and his care is so genuine. Wrapping my arms
around his midsection, I press my face to his chest, breathing in his wonderful
scent. “Thank you.”
His hands stroke up and down
my back, and I feel both lucky and horrid.
I arrive at my mum’s hotel room and practically jump
on her the second she opens the door.
“Oh, darling, let me look at
you,” she says, pulling out of my hug and stepping back. “You look gorgeous.”
She cuddles me again.
“Have you been splashing out
on perfume?” I ask, as we let each other go.
“I couldn’t resist duty-free
at Gatwick.”
I laugh at her because she’s
such a shopaholic. Any excuse to shop. “Mum, you look fab.”
She always does. Her skin
has its typical healthy olive glow and her brown eyes are excited and warm. Her
hair, the same color as mine, is shiny and long enough to reach her lower back.
She’s just beautiful. Even in simple, fitted black jeans and a cream V-neck
sweater she looks glam.
“How are you feeling after
the long flight?”
“Never mind me, look at you.
Being here’s doing you the world of good.”
“Yeah, it is,” I beam.
We sit on the sofa by the
window, which provides a view of Union Square. Mum cups my cheeks and strokes
them with her thumbs. “It shows you’ve been sleeping well.”
“Didn’t you believe me when
I told you I was?” I ask lightly.
She nods, giving me the
smile I’ve been missing. “Of course I did, it’s just nice seeing the effects of
that for myself. The bad night you had on Sunday was probably just triggered by
something unexpected. Don’t let things upset you if they’re not important.”
I cuddle her again, unable
to resist it. “I’m so glad you’re here. Being away from you, Dad and Tommy is
the only thing I hate about being here.”
“We hate it, too, but it
makes it worthwhile knowing you’re so happy. This opportunity came at the
perfect time for you.”
We let each other go, and
Mum runs her hand over my hair.
“So where’s Tommy and
Katie’s room?” I ask.
“They’re next door, we’ll
pop over now. I hope you’re ready for a week of non-stop activities; Katie’s
come with a list of places she wants to see. She’s been driving your brother
mad with that camera of hers already. He couldn’t understand why she needed to
take pictures of the sky. It was so funny, she said, “It’s the sky from San
Francisco. Bit different to North London, don’t you think?”” Mum laughs and I
really love hearing it. “Then Tommy said, “Babe, it’s the sky. Not even the
sun, just bloody clouds.” She ignored him and carried on snapping away.”
I smile, I’m more than happy
to do stuff with my fabulous family and I’ll be sure to show Tommy the pictures
I’ve taken that didn’t get uploaded to Facebook. If he thinks Leona’s bad, wait
until he sees my collection.
In the hotel bar, I’m seated at a circular table with
Mum, Tommy and Katie. It’s just past lunchtime and quiet, with only a scatter
of people around. We’ve eaten, laughed, and I’ve been filled in on all the
gossip from home that didn’t make it into our phone conversations. I’m going to
make the most of their week here.
Release
finishes tomorrow night, and
I’m taking next week off from studio work for their visit.
Tommy’s sitting across from
me, his teasing brown eyes staring into mine. He’s utterly cheeky by nature and
also very protective of me. Like Mum and me, he has olive skin, though she’s a
little darker than we are. As always, he ran his fingers through his dark brown
hair when it was damp and left it to dry with the short strands shooting off in
all directions. I call it neatly messy.
I don’t want to spoil the
good mood, but I think it’s better to get in a quick discussion about Dane with
my brother now – they’ll be meeting him tomorrow afternoon, ahead of the show
they’ll all be attending. It’s a bit soon for a boyfriend and family to meet,
we’ve only been together two weeks, but since they’ll see each other anyway I
thought it would be nice to let them become acquainted beforehand, rather than
inside the theater surrounded by strangers.
“Tommy, you will give Dane a
chance won’t you?”
The three of us stare at
him, anticipating his response. I know he’d rather I stayed single, and he’ll
say what’s most appropriate with Mum here.
“Yeah,” he says, before
taking a sip of coke.
“He’s really nice,” I say,
rather pathetically.
“Mum said that, too. Not
that she even knows him.” As he turns his gaze to Mum, it’s clear he’s
unimpressed with her telling him that.
“Your sister says he is, and
I trust her judgment,” she says, with full confidence in me.
This makes me smile.
“You
trust
her
judgment?” A hint of pissed off snuck in there, I caught it in the hardening of
his voice, but he’s managed to pull it back.
“That’s harsh,” Katie
whispers to him. Her blue gaze homes in on me apologetically.
My eyes sting with unwelcome
tears, so I look down at the dark, polished wood of our table.
Do not cry,
Brooklyn
. I breathe in deep and return to my brother. “Anyway, I just want
you to be civilized. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t exactly stay single
forever.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you were
at home. We won’t know if you need us, not unless you tell us. You didn’t
before. Why am I the bad guy just because I care about you?” He leans back in
his chair, folding his arms across his chest. Rather than angry, he looks
upset. The sheen to his eyes shows I’m not the only one who’s holding in their
tears.
I want to hug him, but if I
do I’ll cry. “You’re not the bad guy. I know you care and I do appreciate it.
Just give Dane a chance, please?”
“I told you I will. You said
he’s got a sister he’s close to. If he’s as nice as you say he is, then he’ll
understand if I don’t want to be best mates with him yet.”
My brows draw tight, panic
gripping me. “He doesn’t know. I don’t want him to.” I shake my head
vigorously. “You can’t say anything. Mum, tell him.” I look to her.
She grips my hand,
reassuring me with her smile. “Calm down, my darling. Tommy’s not saying
anything.” She looks at him. “You keep it zipped.”
“Fine, she only had to
say that.” He shakes his head at me, and I know I probably over-reacted.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him,
because I feel like he’s taking too much crap.
When he smiles at me, I know
we’re okay. Now I can go and hug him.