“Tits bigger than her IQ?”
“That’s the one. I wouldn’t have minded so much if she’d been a rocket scientist. But to be passed over for a giant pair of knockers.” She looks down at her breasts. “I always thought I had nice boobs.”“You have exceptional boobs.”“Thank you. I knew you’d appreciate them.”We clink glasses and have another mouthful of whisky. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I can’t believe he cheated on you. What an imbecile.”“I thought so.”“Did he get the plate-glass window treatment too?”“No. I just turned and walked out.”“That’s a shame.”“Yeah, part of me wishes I’d kicked him in the family jewels, but hey. It’s done.”“So what about Rich then?” I ask. “What were the issues in the bedroom?”“You know I’m only telling you this because I’m drunk.”“Why d’you think I’m pouring the whisky?”She sighs. “He suffered from premature ejaculation.” She glares at me as I start laughing. “It’s not funny.”“I know. There but by the grace of God and all that. It’s every guy’s worst nightmare.”“So why are you laughing?”“I honestly don’t know. Christ, Elizabeth.”“Me and sex don’t go together well,” she says somewhat gloomily.“I think you’re a perfect match.”“Yeah, yeah. Between you and me, I think sex is vastly overrated. I get far more enjoyment out of my vibrator than I’ve ever done with any guy,” she says, a little sulkily.“Ah, man.” She’s determined to torture me tonight. The thought of her preferring to pleasure herself is both an incredible turn-on, and a little bit sad at the same time. “Please don’t say that.”“Men are high maintenance. They’re so selfish.”“We are, it’s true.”“No, not you. Well, maybe, I don’t know, I can’t think about you and sex in the same sentence.” She waves a hand. “But generally, you know, guys just want to get to the finish line. So it’s like, five minutes of foreplay max, which involves one erogenous zone, or two if you’re lucky, and speaking of which, why do guys think it’s a turn on to touch you as if they’re stuffing a chicken?”I give a short, humorless laugh. “Jesus.”“And then they’re like, hey, what do you mean you’re not ready for me? So they have at it anyway, then they’re shocked when you don’t come. And then afterward when they leave you unfulfilled and you ask them for some help, you’re the selfish one for keeping them awake when they want to doze off. So you lie there while they’re pressing buttons knowing they’re thinking for fuck’s sake, come on, and if anything’s going to kill your passion, it’s that…” Her diatribe trails off as she looks up at me.I’m resting my forehead on a hand. “Please don’t tell me any more. You’re killing me.”“I’m sorry. I’m just telling it how it is.”“Elizabeth… please go to bed with me.”That makes her laugh. “We are so drunk.”“Go to bed with me. Let’s have some amazing sex, and get you pregnant in the process.”“I told you, I don’t want a relationship.”“Fine. Give me one night, then.”She blinks, and her gaze slowly focuses on me. “You’re serious.”“I’m deadly fucking serious.”“I’m not going to sleep with you.”“Why? I can’t be any worse than Rich-oh-fuck-I’ve-come-already-Halcome.”She giggles. Then she lifts a hand to my face. Her gaze is filled with longing.“We’d make the most beautiful baby,” I say.She brushes a thumb across my bottom lip. “I thought you didn’t want to be a distant father again? Why would that be any different?”“Because I think if you give me one night, I’ll be so irresistible that you’ll want two. And then three. And we’ll never look back. And we’ll have a dozen beautiful children and be happily married until the end of time.”She lowers her hand and gives a short laugh. “It’s a nice fantasy.”“We could make it a reality.”“I don’t think so.”“Why not?”“You remember the story I just told you about having a non-healing fracture?”“That was ten years ago. We were kids back then. We’re grown-ups now. We’d make it work.”“I don’t want that, Hux.”“You’re just scared.”“Maybe.”“And it’s understandable. But if you give me time, I’ll prove to you that I’m serious about you.”She looks at her glass. Then she has another mouthful of whisky.“Let’s start with one night,” I tell her. “When you’re ovulating. I’ll make love to you as many times as I can manage it. And if, after that, you want to call it a day, I won’t argue.”She gives me a mischievous look. “How many times do you think you could… ah… arrive in one night?”“Arrive?”“It means come.”“Funnily enough, I was able to decrypt your Enigma code. So, with you? Ah… Fourteen, fifteen?” My lips curve up as she giggles. “All right, that might be an overestimation. Um…” I think about it. “In one night? I’m not as young as I used to be.”“Ballpark.”“Ah… okay… if I don’t self-administer for a few days before…”She gives a short laugh, and her eyes dance.“Four?” I suggest. “Five if you paint your toenails red?”She snorts. “Five? Seriously?”“Yeah. After that the well might run dry for a day or so.”Her gaze drops to my mouth. “How often do you self-administer? Loving these euphemisms, by the way.”“Most mornings.” I sip my whisky. “You?”She sucks her bottom lip for a moment. “Most mornings.”We both smile.“We are really, really drunk,” she says.“Yeah, I know.”“I’m so going to regret this conversation in the morning.”“It’s the most honest we’ve ever been,” I tell her. “I’m loving it.”She leans forward and rests her forehead on my shoulder for a moment. “Don’t tell anyone.”“Which bit? The self-administering bit, or about Rich Halcome?”“All of it.” She sighs. “Especially the bit about Steve hitting me. Mack and Titus will get all riled up and then the Magnificent Three will go off to teach him a lesson, and I don’t want that.”“Why not?”“I dealt with it. Plate-glass window, remember? The fucker will have scars on his face for life. He won’t ever forget the day he gave me a fucking backhander.”I kiss the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”“I love you,” she says.I sigh. “You are plastered, aren’t you?”“I mean it.”“I know.”“Why aren’t you drunk?” she demands.“I am.”“Y
ElizabethI open my eyes. It’s pitch black in the room, the only light coming from a small red dot of a TV on standby. I’m confused, because I don’t have a TV in my room at home. The red display on the alarm clock on the bedside table reads 03:11.I lift my head and groan as the room spins. Ahhh… why do I do this to myself? I love alcohol, but I detest this part of being drunk.My stomach churns, and I groan again and push myself up to a sitting position. I recognize the layout of the room—I’m in one of the suites at Huxley’s. I’m shoeless but fully dressed, and lying on top of the covers.Nausea rises inside me, and I get up and stumble into the bathroom, where I vomit into the toilet. When I’m done, I lurch back into the bedroom, taking off my jacket, trousers, and shirt as I go, leaving them where they drop. In just my underwear, I pull back the duvet, collapse into bed, pull the duvet over my head, and fall asleep.At 04:16, and again at 05:27, I rise and vomit again. The third ti
I look up at the ceiling. Huxley is tall and handsome—the best-looking guy I know. He’s incredibly clever—his crack last night about bribing the examination officer for a pass in mathematics was amusing because he was top of all his mathematics and economics classes. The guy’s a fucking smart arse. He’s honorable and fair. Very funny. Extremely affable and a great host, seeing it as his calling in life to put everyone at ease. And because of all that I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s great in bed. He sounds perfect.But he’s not of course. I can overlook the fact that he’s afraid of spiders, heights, thunderstorms, needles, clowns, dolls, the sight of blood, and probably a dozen other things. I can forgive him for being incredibly ambitious, a tad arrogant, squeamish, for only eating his food one item at a time without mixing them on his plate, for liking practical jokes, and for being stubborn and prideful and even Mr. Darcy-like at times, refusing to admit he’s wrong.I can forget all
At 1:10 p.m., I arrive back at the club. I feel a lot better than I did earlier. I went home, picked up Nymph from my brother, took her for a run, showered and changed, and ate breakfast, even though my stomach was still a bit uneasy. By eighty-thirty I was in the office, and I’ve had a busy and productive morning. I’ve just dropped Nymph off home, and now I feel ready to face the music.I’m a little late because my last meeting ran over, but it won’t matter—everyone in the Consortium runs a business, and we all know the pressures we’re under, and make allowances accordingly.I have to admit, though, to feeling butterflies in my stomach as the elevator rises to the third floor. Will Huxley have told any of the others what we talked about last night? I can’t imagine he would have. Even so, I have to take several deep breaths as I walk out of the elevator and along the corridor to the board room where the meeting is always held.As I approach the room, I can see the shape of the other e
“How about Evie?” She’s a police officer. “She’ll have access to handcuffs.”“She frightens the shit out of me,” Titus says, and we all laugh.“Plus you have the X-Y chromosome thing going,” Huxley adds.“Oh yeah,” I say, “I forgot she was gay.”“Chrissie?” Victoria suggests. She partnered Titus in a mixed doubles tennis tournament back in January.“She’s sweet,” he says. “But she’s dating an accountant.”“That leaves Heidi,” I say, somewhat mischievously. Heidi Huxley is twenty-four and gorgeous, with blonde hair that’s so long it reaches past her bottom. When Huxley was twenty-one, he had a party at their parents’ house, and Heidi, who was all of sixteen at the time, was there. She had a couple of dances with Titus, and afterward I walked into the kitchen to get a drink and caught them kissing. They broke apart, and Titus’s first words were, “Don’t tell Huxley.” Nothing came of it, I don’t think, because she left shortly afterward to travel around Europe, and she now lives and teach
He gets up from the table and walks toward me. I back away and meet the wall with a bump.He stops in front of me. Even with my high heels, I’m still about ten inches shorter than him, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.He gives me a look that’s hot and sultry. “Are you trying to turn me on?” he murmurs.I blink. “What the…?”He shrugs. “I dunno. The word impregnate gets me all hot and bothered.”“Jesus.”“Say inseminate.”“No.”“Fertilize?”“Hux!”He laughs. Damn him, he’s so incredibly charismatic. “You’re not going to win this argument,” he says, amused. “I don’t care how much you stamp your feet.”I glare at him. “I’m not stamping, not in these heels.”For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze turns gentle, affectionate. “Look, ten years ago I did something stupid. I know that, and you were right to tell me to get lost.”“I didn’t—”“Let me speak. You were right, and so I convinced myself you were better off without me, and I let you
ElizabethOn Saturday, I arrive at Huxley’s parents’ place around 3:30 p.m. They live in a huge house on Shore Road with a gorgeous view across Hobson Bay. I have to wait for the white double gates to slowly swing open before I ease my Mazda MX5 convertible down the drive.Several cars are parked out the front, including my own parents’ Ford Ranger, as they’re good friends with Huxley’s parents. Huxley’s beloved obsidian Mercedes AMG GT is also already here, snoozing like a panther in the afternoon sunshine. I slide the Mazda into the space next to it and turn off the engine. After unclipping Nymph’s safety harness from the seatbelt, I get out, and she leaps across my seat, out the door, and sprints around the side of the house toward the back garden.Smiling, I retrieve the wrapped present from the boot and follow the poodle.Huxley’s mum, Helene, is an artist, a very good one, and sells her paintings at a local gallery. I doubt she makes a fortune, though, and most of their fortune
“Will you come in?”“Yeah,” he says good-naturedly, putting one arm around her and hugging her. “Hey, have you said hello to Auntie Elizabeth?”“No, hello!” She comes up and hugs me.“Hello, you.” I give her a big cuddle. She’s only a few inches shorter than me. “You want your prezzie now?”“Ooh, yes please!” She sees the parcel I brought on the table and rushes over to it. “Can I open it now?”“Of course.”She rips off the paper as her friends crowd around, and they all squeal. It’s a nail stamper kit with kid-safe polish, over a hundred icons, and five design pods.“I thought you could all give yourself mani-pedis at your sleepover tonight,” I tell them.“I love it! Thank you so much!” She comes up and hugs me again and then runs off with her friends to investigate the different icons.Huxley gives me a wry look.“What?” I ask.“You know they’re going to want to give me a manicure.”“Why do you think I bought it?”He meets my gaze, and his eyes are hot, bright. “Don’t think I didn’t