Chance Encounters: The Collection
by Hedonist Six
Chance Encounters #1-3
Publication Date: January 7, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic,
Romance, Realistic, Box Set
Publication Date: January 7, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic,
Romance, Realistic, Box Set
Chance Encounters
is a series of stand-alone novellas set in jolly old England,
following a set of loosely connected people as they find love
in unexpected places. Can love conquer all, from class
differences to age gaps? Read on and find out.
following a set of loosely connected people as they find love
in unexpected places. Can love conquer all, from class
differences to age gaps? Read on and find out.
Book 1 – One Night Stand
Lucy has always had everything under control: her business,
as well as her (non-existent) love life. And then George
came along and changed everything.
as well as her (non-existent) love life. And then George
came along and changed everything.
Book 2 – Beautiful Stranger
Claudia and Peter meet by chance at the side of the road.
She’s a down-to-earth 24 year old with a dead-end job, he’s
married and rich. What can possibly go wrong?
She’s a down-to-earth 24 year old with a dead-end job, he’s
married and rich. What can possibly go wrong?
Book 3 – Only a Taste
Mandi is set to move back in with her conservative Punjabi
parents. The last thing she needs is complications, but they
turn up anyway, in the form of handsome stranger, Callum.
parents. The last thing she needs is complications, but they
turn up anyway, in the form of handsome stranger, Callum.
These are short
little books, so I will be keeping my reviews
short as to ruin the book for you.
Book 1 – One Night
Stand
This book is the first
in the series. It is well-written a d the plot
although quick is easy to
follow. Quite the hot little read.
It was short, but
not sweet. It was downright steamy. Right
down to the description of George.
Mmmm love a man with
all that long hair. And the rest, makes you wonder if he
is
really out there. With the way she described him made you
feel as you were
in the bar with Lucy ogling him too. But even
as this one night turned into
more you could tell there was
an issue no one was addressing. As they say
honesty is best
for a relationship to survive.
Book 2 - Beautiful
Stranger
The description of
this book needs to be written a little
differently. I thought this book was
about adultery. On Peter’s
part, as in he was the one cheating on his wife. But
the actual
cheater was his wife. The book is well written and such
a good but
quick read.
When Claudia finds
Peter he’s sitting on the side of the road
in his car. It's because he just
found out he's been sleeping
with his friend. Claudia being the sweet person
she is taking
home with her comma and takes care of him. The first time
in a
long time Peter has someone taking care of him instead
of the other way around.
Peter being quite wealthy, trying to
impress her by showing her how much money
he has. But
this is the wrong approach and what happened at the party
has her
running away. Claudia doesn't want to have to
depend on anyone else. But after
telling Peter that maybe
this was his new start with leaving his wife. He feels
that he
has to help her but then also just didn't work out his favor
and has
her kicking him out. Now we just have to hope she
comes to her senses or he may
lose his one true love.
Book 3 – Only a
Taste
What a sweet
little story. This book is just as well written and
such a good plot line, and
very easy to follow.
This book is about
Mandeep and Callum. Although they
come from different cultures this still feel
a deep connection
after one night together. But it can only be one night, it is
time
for her to go home and let her parents set her up with a
husband as her
culture dictates. But Callum cannot forget
Mandi nor does he wants to. But her
family will not allow it.
That is unless he can change their minds.
Now before I ruin
this for you I will leave off here. I hope you
enjoy these books as much
as I did. If you do like this book,
please consider leaving a review. The
Authors really like it
when you do; they value your opinions too.
One Night Stand
by hedonist six
Time seems to move in slow
motion when his hand finds my wrist, and pulls me closer towards him. Our faces
move closer together until he finally looks up at me again.
His eyes look almost black
in the subdued light and we're now so near that I can feel his breath tickling
my face. His scent is pleasant, like a rather masculine sort of cologne with a
hint of beer mixed in. The effects of the few drinks I've had already are
making it hard for me to focus but I know what I want, and I desperately hope
he does too.
"You're making it very
difficult for me to resist..." he says.
I see the same nerves I
feel mirrored in his eyes momentarily. But instead of acting on them, he
continues to stare deep into my soul.
"That was the
idea..." I breathe.
Both of us are ready to go
where our instincts might take us, still my mind plays tricks on me by
announcing his idiot friends' return. I can hear the creepy one even if I don't
know or care what he's saying. It's making me want to run and hide again, away
from all interruptions.
He releases my wrist so I
can I run both hands up his shoulders and around his neck. I hardly need to
make any effort to get him to come closer, he already stood up right in front
of me.
George is quite a bit
taller than he looked sitting down. With me still perched on my bar stool and
him standing, I can reach him perfectly. I run my fingers through his ponytail
while our lips meet.
His arms find their way
naturally around my back. The world around us disappears, taking any unwelcome
other people away with it. My legs part as far as they'll go in this skirt to
allow him closer. If his lips are anything to go by, he is the gentler type
definitely. Or perhaps he just likes to start off that way.
beautiful stranger
by hedonist six
Chapter One
I’ve been dreading my drive home
all day. In fact, that is an understatement. After a long day at work, the last
thing I need is to be reminded that I’ve decided to live in that beautiful,
mostly serene part of the world called Ascot, Berkshire. Which of course during
this week of the year turns into a hellhole, overrun by obscenely rich people
clogging up the roads in their Bentleys, Rollers and whatnot. Actually the
Bentleys and Rolls Royces don’t bother me so much, it’s the hordes of
not-so-rich people who think it’s classy to hire a Hummer limo that I can
really do without.
Such is my aversion that I’ve even started to avoid
newspapers this week, the one week in June that the Royal Ascot races take
place. If I wanted to see photos of ridiculous hats and passed out drunk people
on the lawn, I could’ve just bought a ticket and gone myself. But I don’t
really care about horse racing, or showing off. I would much rather attend a
music festival, if I had to brave the Great British Weather in inappropriate clothing
anyway.
My neighbours tend to flee around this time of year,
but unfortunately I can’t afford a holiday. With the way things have been at
work, I’d better put every spare penny away for a rainy day. At least tonight
will be the last time this year I’ll have to deal with this mess, tomorrow is
my day off and I don’t intend to venture out onto the roads at all until next
week when normality has returned.
I’m already looking forward to my quiet long weekend,
focusing on nothing but my paintings. All I have to do is get there.
Slowly I make my way through the various traffic
control measures set up seemingly to hinder the flow of traffic rather than
improve it. I suppose it all makes sense to someone. It takes me an hour to get
onto Blacknest Road, which in ordinary circumstances would be about five
minutes from home. But these are not ordinary circumstances.
As my car creeps along in its spot within the tedious
metal conga line that has formed around me, all I have for company are my radio
and my grumpy thoughts. And the occasional sympathetic smile from someone in
much the same situation in the opposite lane.
I occupy myself by looking at the flash cars that
slowly pass by. Nothing too unusual in this part of the world, various
Ferraris, Lambos and of course the already mentioned Bentleys and Rolls Royces
of all ages. I almost give up on seeing much variety when something small and
dark blue catches my eye parked up on the verge ahead. Twin white racing
stripes accentuating its curvaceous body, top down to reveal its cream leather
interior. Absolutely beautiful. I wonder if it’s a real AC Cobra or just a good
replica. And more importantly, what is it doing sitting in the muck next to
this busy road?
Traffic creeps ahead and I get closer, there’s a man
in the driver’s seat, arms folded and head resting against them on the steering
wheel. He is sporting the accepted race-going uniform; grey waistcoat with a
matching hat and coat on the passenger seat beside him.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I leave my coveted
place in the traffic queue and pull up behind him. Just to see if he’s OK—I
tell myself—or at least to get a better look at his magnificent car.
Stepping out has me cursing under my breath
immediately. Of course I managed to position my exit right in the middle of a
patch of sticky mud left behind by this morning’s early summer showers.
“Excuse me, are you having car trouble?” I ask. He
lifts his head off his forearm which is still resting on the steering wheel. “I
was wondering if you need help...”
His pale blue eyes stand out against his face and
particularly against his dark hair which is starting to grey around the
temples. If I had to guess I’d say he was in his late thirties or early
forties, and the salt and pepper look is really working for him. Something
seems off, though. I remind myself he’s probably just had a few too many
glasses of champagne or whatever it is they drink at the races.
“I wanted to leave, but thought I probably shouldn’t
be driving. So I pulled over.” His voice sounds friendly, if a tad uncertain.
Everything about him suggests money, from his accent to his clothes. Perhaps
the car isn’t a replica after all.
“You’re probably right, I suppose you shouldn’t be
driving. Where were you headed?” I ask.
He averts his eyes downwards before answering. “I
don’t know.”
“Right. Where do you live?” I try.
“I can’t go there.” There’s an awkward silence after
his response, and he grips the steering wheel with both hands and rests his
forehead against his knuckles.
I think for a little while and look around. The
traffic jam heading away is still going strong, but traffic moving in my
direction has started to thin. If pulling over wasn’t already weird enough,
what I say next actually stuns the rational part of my brain completely. The
impulsive surge inside of me is simply impossible to fight, causing my lips to
utter certain words before better sense prevails.
“What do you say, you come with me and we’ll figure
out where you should be going after reaching my place?”
When he looks back up at me, there is not a hint of
suspicion in his eyes. It doesn’t seem to register with him that only a
reckless lunatic would invite a drunk stranger home. What the hell am I
thinking?
“That would be nice. Thanks.” He tries to smile but
instead his face twists. “Oh God, I feel ill.” I hurry around the car and open
the car door to pull him out by his arm.
“Believe me, tomorrow you’ll really regret it if you
throw up in that nice car of yours!” I warn him.
He walks a few steps away from the road and leans
against a tree. I can’t help but stare. He looks fit, about six feet tall,
broad shoulders. Any other observations would be pure speculation though, plus
it would be difficult for anyone not to look good in formal wear.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this. There’s something
special about him, tempting even. Something that makes him appear trustworthy
and harmless. Still, I’m sort of aware of the possibility that it may all be a
clever act on his part and I’m about to let an axe murderer into my house.
Walking towards him now, I can see he has his eyes
closed and is just breathing in the fresh air away from all the traffic.
“Never mind, I guess it was a false alarm,” he
mutters.
“Well then, let’s go,” I say, “I don’t think your car
would be safe here, though.”
“Mine, on the other hand, nobody would touch if I
abandoned it here for weeks. And since you’re not fit to drive just now...” I
continue.
He doesn’t say a word, simply places the car keys into
my outstretched hand and opens the passenger door for himself. Looking at the
gorgeous car, I decide then that even if I end up hacked into bits and buried
in my own garden tonight, it will have all been worth it.
After grabbing my handbag and locking my own vehicle,
I sit down next to him. His expression has hardly changed, he shows no sign of
concern that he’s letting a complete stranger drive his car. I have to conclude
he’s not all there. I turn the key and the engine purrs to life with a deep,
thundering rumble which can only mean one thing: under the shiny, curved bonnet,
there lives a huge beast of an engine.
“Why so distracted, did you lose big at the races
today?” I ask while checking over my shoulder for a gap in the traffic. It
occurs to me that my attempt at small talk is making me sound like a cabbie.
“I don’t gamble. But yes, in a way.” He sighs.
I’m intrigued but don’t want to probe too much. The
car behind me flashes its lights, allowing me to merge. After a moment’s
silence, he takes a few deep breaths.
“My wife...” His voice trembles ever so slightly while
he speaks, “and someone I’d considered a friend...”
My question unintentionally cut right to the core of
the matter, it sounds as if he lost hope rather than money.
“Wow, I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” I’m not sure I want
further detail but I can’t take the question back now.
He shakes his head. “I should’ve seen it. But I guess
I wasn’t around enough, working long hours, sometimes Saturdays too..” He turns
towards me and when the traffic stops again, I get the chance to study his
face. Perfectly symmetrical, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He is
gorgeous, perhaps even more so because he looks so lost.
“But it was all for her! I wanted to give her the life
she deserved. Why didn’t she see that?” Tears are starting to blur those
magnificent eyes of his. “Instead, she fucking replaces me.”
Well, that’s one mystery solved. I guess posh
people do swear.
“You’re right, she should’ve understood,” I say.
The traffic starts moving again and we get just a
little bit closer to our destination.
“It was all for nothing.” He looks out at the trees
and houses passing by, lost in thought again.
Nothing more is said for the rest of the drive;
fifteen minutes or so. I pull up into the cul-de-sac on the hill where I live,
the three surrounding houses are unoccupied while the neighbours are on
holiday. The setting is secluded, idyllic but the actual house is modest by
most standards. It makes me wonder what his home would look like, the exact
opposite I bet. The gravel makes a crunchy sound underneath the tyres as I park
the car under the rustic wooden carport which is always smothered in pink
clematis blooms at this time of year.
Right at this moment the clouds break apart, letting
through the pleasantly warm evening sun. I hand him the keys and we both get
out of the car. Rather than head for the door, he distractedly takes a few
steps towards the fence that surrounds the driveway.
“Beautiful.” He’s right, but it’s been a while since I
really appreciated the view myself.
Perhaps I should try my hand at painting a landscape
this weekend.
Tall trees line the fields that cover most of the hill
below. The lush green leaves on the trees as well as the long grass glisten in
the golden light, giving everything a warm glow.
Meanwhile I open the low gate and enter into the
garden that runs along the side of the house. There’s a large wooden table and
bench set up against the wall, overlooking the same downhill aspect. He follows
a few steps behind me.
“Make yourself at home, I’ll just go inside and get
some cushions.” I turn the key and enter the cosy living room through the patio
door.
While I’m inside already, I might as well cobble
together a meal of sorts. Rushing to pop some pre-baked bread in the oven, I
raid the fridge for cold meat and cheese.
I vaguely wonder why I’m bothering to hide the Aldi
packaging, or arrange everything on a nice plate. After all, my bluff is pretty
much called already, the classiest bottle of wine I have probably wouldn’t have
cost more than five pounds. Must’ve been a gift that’s been languishing in my
kitchen for much too long.
It annoys me that I even care, I never pretend to be
something I’m not, why start now?
Only
a Taste
by Hedonist Six
MANDI
I lie awake, staring at the
chandelier which glistens in the faintest beginnings of daylight filtering
through the French windows. Beside me, Callum's deep, even breaths suggest he's
still sleeping, so I take care not to move much so I don't disturb him.
There's a horrible, heavy feeling in my chest, like a
weight holding me down under water. I'm drowning, desperate for air, but relief
seems so impossibly out of reach, I don't know what to do.
This has been the best night of my life, and with it,
it's the worst. What if I didn't go home today? What if I just ran away,
wouldn't that solve everything?
I know it would not. The guilt of leaving behind my
family would eat me up.
But don't I deserve to be happy too? Do I have to do
without so Mum and Dad can be proud of who I am? Why does it have to be one or
the other?
I turn onto my side, facing Callum's sleeping form. He
looks so peaceful, like an angel - as stupid as that sounds. At dinner, he
insisted I keep an open mind tonight, suggesting he's after something more than
just a one-nighter. Could this beautiful man actually be that interested
in me? He's successful, famous even, whereas I'm a failure professionally and
not even a nice person most of the time. Sarcastic: definitely. Nice: not so
much.
And then there's the baggage: not just one or two
issues, but a whole collection the size and shape of a super conservative
extended family.
Whatever this is between Callum and me, it can't work
out. There's no happy end to be found here.
Tears sting in my eyes, and I'm annoyed at myself for
letting it get so far. Alice was right: this was supposed to be my farewell
party. A last celebration before I'd have to forget myself and fit in with what
is expected of me. It was never meant to be a beginning of anything, just an
end.
I didn't think it could happen, that I'd go to bed
with someone and get tangled up in complicated emotions afterwards. It
certainly never happened to be me before. But for some reason now that I'm
here, looking at him, I'm not thinking of whether he'll wake up if I try to
escape now, or whether I need to worry about him calling me when it's all over.
It's the opposite. I wonder how long I can stay here
with him, before real life catches up with me. I'm terrified that he won't want
to call. All the while, I have nothing to offer him at all.
The more I think about it, the more I know what to do.
I need to be really clear with him, tell him that as nice as our time together has
been, this is it. This night will become a nice memory for us to keep, perhaps
to think back to as that crazy day in Brighton. Nothing more.
It hurts to look at him now, knowing I'll probably
never see him again after this. I lie back down on my pillow and cover my eyes
with the back of my hand, doing everything possible to swallow my tears.
What the hell? I've never been the emotional type, why start
now?
He's just a guy. We just had sex. No big deal. So why
is my heart trying to make it into something more meaningful?
"Morning, beautiful." Callum's voice pierces
through the silence. "You're up early."
"How did you know I was?" I ask, hoping my
voice doesn't betray my innermost feelings.
"Your breathing. You sounded different when you
were asleep."
It's time. The moment of truth. I have to tell him
now, before he manages to distract me with his boyishly handsome looks and
ruffled bed hair.
I lean up on my elbows and look over at him. Shit. Just
seeing his half-naked form as he sits up, ready to get out of bed, is making my
heart beat faster again. I don't know if I can do this! If only I had a
choice...
"I had a lovely time last night..." I start.
He turns, his blue eyes piercing me and peeling back
my defences layer by layer. "Me too."
"But..." Even my voice sounds breathless
now, that's how uncharacteristically nervous I am. I've never had this problem
before, why start now?
"But things are very complicated right now and
you're not looking for anything," he repeats my words from last night
almost verbatim.
I press my lips together, again fighting the sting of
tears and nod.
His expression is no longer carefree, but has hardened
as he continues to look at me. I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if I
really want to know.
"Look, it's not you, OK," I try to justify
myself. "Things at home... My parents are very traditional."
"I see."
"They'll never let me date, especially not
outside our community."
"How old are you again?"
I remain quiet. He'll never understand. I'm not even
sure I understand. It's so unfair that I have to choose
between their happiness and my own. But crying about it isn't going to change a
thing.
"I really like you, Callum. I wish things were
different."
"So do I." He turns around again, leaning
forward to pick up his clothes off the floor.
There's nothing more to say, so I just watch him as he
gathers his things and heads to the bathroom. The door shuts behind him with a
painfully loud click. I fall back into my pillow, and focus on deep, even
breaths. Stay calm. Soon, this awful moment will pass.
I stay like that for about five minutes, until the
bathroom door opens again, revealing a fully dressed Callum. If it wasn't for
the slight stubble on his chin - which could be justified as fashion - nobody
could tell this overnight stay was unplanned.
"I have to get back into London for a meeting
this morning," he says, while picking up his wallet, phone, and other
items still on the antique-looking chest of drawers opposite the bed. Then he
turns to face me, his expression is firm, almost neutral, although his eyes
still betray the fiery passion that had made last night so special.
One, two steps forward, and he's at my bedside. He
leans down, his face just an inch from mine, sending my self-control into a
tailspin.
"I've heard what you said, and I
understand," he says, while running his forefinger over my chin.
The tickle of his breath against my lips is almost too
much, forcing my eyes to flutter shut a few times while he speaks.
"But don't think I'll give up that easily. This
isn't goodbye." He emphasises his statement with a kiss that knocks the
wind out of me, then lets go and leaves me panting in bed as he makes his exit.
"Just leave the key in the room, it's all paid
for. See you later, Mandi." The door clicks into place behind him, and the
silence that remains overwhelms me.
After what feels like forever, I finally lean up and
retrieve my phone from the bedside table and dial.
"Hey," Alice's groggy voice answers.
"What time is it?"
"Dunno. Hey, can you come and get me whenever
you're ready? I'll text you the address," I say, doing my utmost to
disguise the disillusionment in my tone.
There's a pause, and something sounding like a yawn on
the other end. "Dude, you have to tell me all about last night, how was
it? I'm assuming it went well since I didn't hear from you..."
"Get ready, come pick me up, I'll tell you all
about it on the drive home." I hang up before she has the chance to say
anything else. Hopefully by the time we get together, I won't feel so raw, so
vulnerable. I'll tell Alice what she wants to know, minus his identity and the
part where I wished he wouldn't leave me behind, even after I told him to.
This is all an impossible dream, isn't it? He can't be
serious, that after everything I tried to say he'll continue to pursue me? He can't
possibly.
And yet, against my better judgement, I desperately
hope to see Callum Byrne again.
One Night Stand
by hedonist six
Time seems to move in slow
motion when his hand finds my wrist, and pulls me closer towards him. Our faces
move closer together until he finally looks up at me again.
His eyes look almost black
in the subdued light and we're now so near that I can feel his breath tickling
my face. His scent is pleasant, like a rather masculine sort of cologne with a
hint of beer mixed in. The effects of the few drinks I've had already are
making it hard for me to focus but I know what I want, and I desperately hope
he does too.
"You're making it very
difficult for me to resist..." he says.
I see the same nerves I
feel mirrored in his eyes momentarily. But instead of acting on them, he
continues to stare deep into my soul.
"That was the
idea..." I breathe.
Both of us are ready to go
where our instincts might take us, still my mind plays tricks on me by
announcing his idiot friends' return. I can hear the creepy one even if I don't
know or care what he's saying. It's making me want to run and hide again, away
from all interruptions.
He releases my wrist so I
can I run both hands up his shoulders and around his neck. I hardly need to
make any effort to get him to come closer, he already stood up right in front
of me.
George is quite a bit
taller than he looked sitting down. With me still perched on my bar stool and
him standing, I can reach him perfectly. I run my fingers through his ponytail
while our lips meet.
His arms find their way
naturally around my back. The world around us disappears, taking any unwelcome
other people away with it. My legs part as far as they'll go in this skirt to
allow him closer. If his lips are anything to go by, he is the gentler type
definitely. Or perhaps he just likes to start off that way.
beautiful stranger
by hedonist six
Chapter One
I’ve been dreading my drive home
all day. In fact, that is an understatement. After a long day at work, the last
thing I need is to be reminded that I’ve decided to live in that beautiful,
mostly serene part of the world called Ascot, Berkshire. Which of course during
this week of the year turns into a hellhole, overrun by obscenely rich people
clogging up the roads in their Bentleys, Rollers and whatnot. Actually the
Bentleys and Rolls Royces don’t bother me so much, it’s the hordes of
not-so-rich people who think it’s classy to hire a Hummer limo that I can
really do without.
Such is my aversion that I’ve even started to avoid
newspapers this week, the one week in June that the Royal Ascot races take
place. If I wanted to see photos of ridiculous hats and passed out drunk people
on the lawn, I could’ve just bought a ticket and gone myself. But I don’t
really care about horse racing, or showing off. I would much rather attend a
music festival, if I had to brave the Great British Weather in inappropriate clothing
anyway.
My neighbours tend to flee around this time of year,
but unfortunately I can’t afford a holiday. With the way things have been at
work, I’d better put every spare penny away for a rainy day. At least tonight
will be the last time this year I’ll have to deal with this mess, tomorrow is
my day off and I don’t intend to venture out onto the roads at all until next
week when normality has returned.
I’m already looking forward to my quiet long weekend,
focusing on nothing but my paintings. All I have to do is get there.
Slowly I make my way through the various traffic
control measures set up seemingly to hinder the flow of traffic rather than
improve it. I suppose it all makes sense to someone. It takes me an hour to get
onto Blacknest Road, which in ordinary circumstances would be about five
minutes from home. But these are not ordinary circumstances.
As my car creeps along in its spot within the tedious
metal conga line that has formed around me, all I have for company are my radio
and my grumpy thoughts. And the occasional sympathetic smile from someone in
much the same situation in the opposite lane.
I occupy myself by looking at the flash cars that
slowly pass by. Nothing too unusual in this part of the world, various
Ferraris, Lambos and of course the already mentioned Bentleys and Rolls Royces
of all ages. I almost give up on seeing much variety when something small and
dark blue catches my eye parked up on the verge ahead. Twin white racing
stripes accentuating its curvaceous body, top down to reveal its cream leather
interior. Absolutely beautiful. I wonder if it’s a real AC Cobra or just a good
replica. And more importantly, what is it doing sitting in the muck next to
this busy road?
Traffic creeps ahead and I get closer, there’s a man
in the driver’s seat, arms folded and head resting against them on the steering
wheel. He is sporting the accepted race-going uniform; grey waistcoat with a
matching hat and coat on the passenger seat beside him.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I leave my coveted
place in the traffic queue and pull up behind him. Just to see if he’s OK—I
tell myself—or at least to get a better look at his magnificent car.
Stepping out has me cursing under my breath
immediately. Of course I managed to position my exit right in the middle of a
patch of sticky mud left behind by this morning’s early summer showers.
“Excuse me, are you having car trouble?” I ask. He
lifts his head off his forearm which is still resting on the steering wheel. “I
was wondering if you need help...”
His pale blue eyes stand out against his face and
particularly against his dark hair which is starting to grey around the
temples. If I had to guess I’d say he was in his late thirties or early
forties, and the salt and pepper look is really working for him. Something
seems off, though. I remind myself he’s probably just had a few too many
glasses of champagne or whatever it is they drink at the races.
“I wanted to leave, but thought I probably shouldn’t
be driving. So I pulled over.” His voice sounds friendly, if a tad uncertain.
Everything about him suggests money, from his accent to his clothes. Perhaps
the car isn’t a replica after all.
“You’re probably right, I suppose you shouldn’t be
driving. Where were you headed?” I ask.
He averts his eyes downwards before answering. “I
don’t know.”
“Right. Where do you live?” I try.
“I can’t go there.” There’s an awkward silence after
his response, and he grips the steering wheel with both hands and rests his
forehead against his knuckles.
I think for a little while and look around. The
traffic jam heading away is still going strong, but traffic moving in my
direction has started to thin. If pulling over wasn’t already weird enough,
what I say next actually stuns the rational part of my brain completely. The
impulsive surge inside of me is simply impossible to fight, causing my lips to
utter certain words before better sense prevails.
“What do you say, you come with me and we’ll figure
out where you should be going after reaching my place?”
When he looks back up at me, there is not a hint of
suspicion in his eyes. It doesn’t seem to register with him that only a
reckless lunatic would invite a drunk stranger home. What the hell am I
thinking?
“That would be nice. Thanks.” He tries to smile but
instead his face twists. “Oh God, I feel ill.” I hurry around the car and open
the car door to pull him out by his arm.
“Believe me, tomorrow you’ll really regret it if you
throw up in that nice car of yours!” I warn him.
He walks a few steps away from the road and leans
against a tree. I can’t help but stare. He looks fit, about six feet tall,
broad shoulders. Any other observations would be pure speculation though, plus
it would be difficult for anyone not to look good in formal wear.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this. There’s something
special about him, tempting even. Something that makes him appear trustworthy
and harmless. Still, I’m sort of aware of the possibility that it may all be a
clever act on his part and I’m about to let an axe murderer into my house.
Walking towards him now, I can see he has his eyes
closed and is just breathing in the fresh air away from all the traffic.
“Never mind, I guess it was a false alarm,” he
mutters.
“Well then, let’s go,” I say, “I don’t think your car
would be safe here, though.”
“Mine, on the other hand, nobody would touch if I
abandoned it here for weeks. And since you’re not fit to drive just now...” I
continue.
He doesn’t say a word, simply places the car keys into
my outstretched hand and opens the passenger door for himself. Looking at the
gorgeous car, I decide then that even if I end up hacked into bits and buried
in my own garden tonight, it will have all been worth it.
After grabbing my handbag and locking my own vehicle,
I sit down next to him. His expression has hardly changed, he shows no sign of
concern that he’s letting a complete stranger drive his car. I have to conclude
he’s not all there. I turn the key and the engine purrs to life with a deep,
thundering rumble which can only mean one thing: under the shiny, curved bonnet,
there lives a huge beast of an engine.
“Why so distracted, did you lose big at the races
today?” I ask while checking over my shoulder for a gap in the traffic. It
occurs to me that my attempt at small talk is making me sound like a cabbie.
“I don’t gamble. But yes, in a way.” He sighs.
I’m intrigued but don’t want to probe too much. The
car behind me flashes its lights, allowing me to merge. After a moment’s
silence, he takes a few deep breaths.
“My wife...” His voice trembles ever so slightly while
he speaks, “and someone I’d considered a friend...”
My question unintentionally cut right to the core of
the matter, it sounds as if he lost hope rather than money.
“Wow, I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” I’m not sure I want
further detail but I can’t take the question back now.
He shakes his head. “I should’ve seen it. But I guess
I wasn’t around enough, working long hours, sometimes Saturdays too..” He turns
towards me and when the traffic stops again, I get the chance to study his
face. Perfectly symmetrical, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He is
gorgeous, perhaps even more so because he looks so lost.
“But it was all for her! I wanted to give her the life
she deserved. Why didn’t she see that?” Tears are starting to blur those
magnificent eyes of his. “Instead, she fucking replaces me.”
Well, that’s one mystery solved. I guess posh
people do swear.
“You’re right, she should’ve understood,” I say.
The traffic starts moving again and we get just a
little bit closer to our destination.
“It was all for nothing.” He looks out at the trees
and houses passing by, lost in thought again.
Nothing more is said for the rest of the drive;
fifteen minutes or so. I pull up into the cul-de-sac on the hill where I live,
the three surrounding houses are unoccupied while the neighbours are on
holiday. The setting is secluded, idyllic but the actual house is modest by
most standards. It makes me wonder what his home would look like, the exact
opposite I bet. The gravel makes a crunchy sound underneath the tyres as I park
the car under the rustic wooden carport which is always smothered in pink
clematis blooms at this time of year.
Right at this moment the clouds break apart, letting
through the pleasantly warm evening sun. I hand him the keys and we both get
out of the car. Rather than head for the door, he distractedly takes a few
steps towards the fence that surrounds the driveway.
“Beautiful.” He’s right, but it’s been a while since I
really appreciated the view myself.
Perhaps I should try my hand at painting a landscape
this weekend.
Tall trees line the fields that cover most of the hill
below. The lush green leaves on the trees as well as the long grass glisten in
the golden light, giving everything a warm glow.
Meanwhile I open the low gate and enter into the
garden that runs along the side of the house. There’s a large wooden table and
bench set up against the wall, overlooking the same downhill aspect. He follows
a few steps behind me.
“Make yourself at home, I’ll just go inside and get
some cushions.” I turn the key and enter the cosy living room through the patio
door.
While I’m inside already, I might as well cobble
together a meal of sorts. Rushing to pop some pre-baked bread in the oven, I
raid the fridge for cold meat and cheese.
I vaguely wonder why I’m bothering to hide the Aldi
packaging, or arrange everything on a nice plate. After all, my bluff is pretty
much called already, the classiest bottle of wine I have probably wouldn’t have
cost more than five pounds. Must’ve been a gift that’s been languishing in my
kitchen for much too long.
It annoys me that I even care, I never pretend to be
something I’m not, why start now?
Only
a Taste
by Hedonist Six
MANDI
I lie awake, staring at the
chandelier which glistens in the faintest beginnings of daylight filtering
through the French windows. Beside me, Callum's deep, even breaths suggest he's
still sleeping, so I take care not to move much so I don't disturb him.
There's a horrible, heavy feeling in my chest, like a
weight holding me down under water. I'm drowning, desperate for air, but relief
seems so impossibly out of reach, I don't know what to do.
This has been the best night of my life, and with it,
it's the worst. What if I didn't go home today? What if I just ran away,
wouldn't that solve everything?
I know it would not. The guilt of leaving behind my
family would eat me up.
But don't I deserve to be happy too? Do I have to do
without so Mum and Dad can be proud of who I am? Why does it have to be one or
the other?
I turn onto my side, facing Callum's sleeping form. He
looks so peaceful, like an angel - as stupid as that sounds. At dinner, he
insisted I keep an open mind tonight, suggesting he's after something more than
just a one-nighter. Could this beautiful man actually be that interested
in me? He's successful, famous even, whereas I'm a failure professionally and
not even a nice person most of the time. Sarcastic: definitely. Nice: not so
much.
And then there's the baggage: not just one or two
issues, but a whole collection the size and shape of a super conservative
extended family.
Whatever this is between Callum and me, it can't work
out. There's no happy end to be found here.
Tears sting in my eyes, and I'm annoyed at myself for
letting it get so far. Alice was right: this was supposed to be my farewell
party. A last celebration before I'd have to forget myself and fit in with what
is expected of me. It was never meant to be a beginning of anything, just an
end.
I didn't think it could happen, that I'd go to bed
with someone and get tangled up in complicated emotions afterwards. It
certainly never happened to be me before. But for some reason now that I'm
here, looking at him, I'm not thinking of whether he'll wake up if I try to
escape now, or whether I need to worry about him calling me when it's all over.
It's the opposite. I wonder how long I can stay here
with him, before real life catches up with me. I'm terrified that he won't want
to call. All the while, I have nothing to offer him at all.
The more I think about it, the more I know what to do.
I need to be really clear with him, tell him that as nice as our time together has
been, this is it. This night will become a nice memory for us to keep, perhaps
to think back to as that crazy day in Brighton. Nothing more.
It hurts to look at him now, knowing I'll probably
never see him again after this. I lie back down on my pillow and cover my eyes
with the back of my hand, doing everything possible to swallow my tears.
What the hell? I've never been the emotional type, why start
now?
He's just a guy. We just had sex. No big deal. So why
is my heart trying to make it into something more meaningful?
"Morning, beautiful." Callum's voice pierces
through the silence. "You're up early."
"How did you know I was?" I ask, hoping my
voice doesn't betray my innermost feelings.
"Your breathing. You sounded different when you
were asleep."
It's time. The moment of truth. I have to tell him
now, before he manages to distract me with his boyishly handsome looks and
ruffled bed hair.
I lean up on my elbows and look over at him. Shit. Just
seeing his half-naked form as he sits up, ready to get out of bed, is making my
heart beat faster again. I don't know if I can do this! If only I had a
choice...
"I had a lovely time last night..." I start.
He turns, his blue eyes piercing me and peeling back
my defences layer by layer. "Me too."
"But..." Even my voice sounds breathless
now, that's how uncharacteristically nervous I am. I've never had this problem
before, why start now?
"But things are very complicated right now and
you're not looking for anything," he repeats my words from last night
almost verbatim.
I press my lips together, again fighting the sting of
tears and nod.
His expression is no longer carefree, but has hardened
as he continues to look at me. I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if I
really want to know.
"Look, it's not you, OK," I try to justify
myself. "Things at home... My parents are very traditional."
"I see."
"They'll never let me date, especially not
outside our community."
"How old are you again?"
I remain quiet. He'll never understand. I'm not even
sure I understand. It's so unfair that I have to choose
between their happiness and my own. But crying about it isn't going to change a
thing.
"I really like you, Callum. I wish things were
different."
"So do I." He turns around again, leaning
forward to pick up his clothes off the floor.
There's nothing more to say, so I just watch him as he
gathers his things and heads to the bathroom. The door shuts behind him with a
painfully loud click. I fall back into my pillow, and focus on deep, even
breaths. Stay calm. Soon, this awful moment will pass.
I stay like that for about five minutes, until the
bathroom door opens again, revealing a fully dressed Callum. If it wasn't for
the slight stubble on his chin - which could be justified as fashion - nobody
could tell this overnight stay was unplanned.
"I have to get back into London for a meeting
this morning," he says, while picking up his wallet, phone, and other
items still on the antique-looking chest of drawers opposite the bed. Then he
turns to face me, his expression is firm, almost neutral, although his eyes
still betray the fiery passion that had made last night so special.
One, two steps forward, and he's at my bedside. He
leans down, his face just an inch from mine, sending my self-control into a
tailspin.
"I've heard what you said, and I
understand," he says, while running his forefinger over my chin.
The tickle of his breath against my lips is almost too
much, forcing my eyes to flutter shut a few times while he speaks.
"But don't think I'll give up that easily. This
isn't goodbye." He emphasises his statement with a kiss that knocks the
wind out of me, then lets go and leaves me panting in bed as he makes his exit.
"Just leave the key in the room, it's all paid
for. See you later, Mandi." The door clicks into place behind him, and the
silence that remains overwhelms me.
After what feels like forever, I finally lean up and
retrieve my phone from the bedside table and dial.
"Hey," Alice's groggy voice answers.
"What time is it?"
"Dunno. Hey, can you come and get me whenever
you're ready? I'll text you the address," I say, doing my utmost to
disguise the disillusionment in my tone.
There's a pause, and something sounding like a yawn on
the other end. "Dude, you have to tell me all about last night, how was
it? I'm assuming it went well since I didn't hear from you..."
"Get ready, come pick me up, I'll tell you all
about it on the drive home." I hang up before she has the chance to say
anything else. Hopefully by the time we get together, I won't feel so raw, so
vulnerable. I'll tell Alice what she wants to know, minus his identity and the
part where I wished he wouldn't leave me behind, even after I told him to.
This is all an impossible dream, isn't it? He can't be
serious, that after everything I tried to say he'll continue to pursue me? He can't
possibly.
And yet, against my better judgement, I desperately
hope to see Callum Byrne again.
·٠•● Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ●•٠· HEDONIST SIX ·٠•● Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ●•٠·
Call me “H.” or Hedonist if you prefer. I’m a Romance writer
based in London and I’ve always been a dreamer, though it
didn’t occur to me to write down the stories I kept dreaming
up until 2012. You’ll not find flowery language and poetry in
my work. What you will find though is believable characters,
none of whom perfect, going through life and trying to find
happiness. Just like the rest of us.
I first started writing because I craved to see more of “my
kind of books” on the shelves. In any scenario, you’ll find me
rooting for the underdog. The (emotionally) scarred hero
who hasn’t really had much (or any) luck in love. The shy
office worker who wants to pursue the man of her dreams,
but hasn’t quite mustered the courage yet. All my characters
are beautifully flawed and messed up, in a way that makes
them perfect for one another.
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