Exploits (12 page)

"Hello?"

"Are you okay? What's happening?"

I swallow hard as I watch around me, skittishly, with large fearful eyes. "Selene, I can't find him. I'm flipping out. It's all weird. I'll call you as soon as I have news."

"Please. Dammit Stef: I can’t handle this!"

"
You
can’t? I'm freaking!"

"Just call me! I have to go, your phone is ringing."

"I'll wait. Maybe it's him."

"Okay, hang on."

I wait, twisting anxiously, keeping my eyes on everything. The front door is still open: (why did I leave it open? Now it makes me feel vulnerable.) From here I can see into the kitchen, dining room and lounge. I need a drink. And a cigarette, dammit!

"Stef?"

Relief at her voice. "Yes?"

"I have to go, this call is going to take a while. It's not him.
Phone me."

"Okay. Bye."

Crud. Now I still don't know what's going on. I stare at the arrows leading into the kitchen and finally summon the courage to follow them. Next to the kettle are flowers waiting for me.

Okay? Now you see: a normal male would not begin to comprehend why I have a problem with any of this. I am totally losing my sanity, because this scares me witless. When you have known someone for four years and they have never bought you a soft toy or flowers, it sets off alarm bells in your head. Why now? What's different about today? When someone says sorry and they have never cared enough to say that to you before, it's Freddie Kruger scary. Premonition, suspicion, paranoia kick in.

"Stefanie."

I
whip around. My legs have turned to jelly. They can't hold me up.
God Gary, scare the shit out of me, why don’t you!

I'm gripping the counter with all of my might and mentally counting the steps to the knife drawer. I stare, afraid to say anything. I'm sure that right now I am paler than the
white tiles under my feet.

He looks normal. He doesn't look like he's about to shoot me. What does someone look like when they're about to commit cold-blooded murder?

I watch him. My silence triggers something. His face is changing colour. He's wearing the same shirt he wore the day I met him. It still makes him look like a god. I watch his brilliant blue eyes flood and can't believe that I am witnessing Gary with tears coming out of his eyes. He’s like a robot. I forget he has emotions because he so seldom reveals them to anyone.

Did someone die? Crap. Maybe something happened to his parents?

I take an unsure step toward him, "Are your parents okay?"

He nods. (Okay, can I just say that it's totally NOT fair that men have such long legs?) He takes one stride and is standing right in front of me. I stare into his chest, unsure. Afraid. Shit, he's too close. I'm reacting. My body is tuned like a pitch fork to his tone. To his vibration. It's like my heart wants to fuse with his. It feels as though it's straining against my ribcage.

Gary grabs me and wraps his arms tightly around my shoulders, his face burying into my hair. He holds me tight like that for what feels like ages. I have no idea what's going on. Why's he so upset? But I can feel his pain. I'm flattered that when he needed someone, he called me. But this is bizarre and I'm afraid and my body just wants to jump him, and I'm fighting my libido about that too.

Tentatively, I put my arms around his waist. Soothingly, "Gary? Gary you're scaring me."

He lifts his head and looks down at me. Tears free-flowing out of eyes, some drip off his nose. I love him. I know I do. My instinct is to soothe his pain. To take it away. To distract him from whatever it is that has him this upset. Worry causes my own eyes to prickle, "Gary? Talk to me. What happened?"

He tightens his hold and I'm afraid he's going to crush me. He's much taller than me, and I only have a view of a white knit shirt and a few buttons. My heart breaks as his shoulders start shaking so much, that it dawns on me that he's stricken with tears. Gary does not feel like the rest of us. Life is one long game. We're all just pawns. He doesn't emotionally engage with the characters on the board. He just urges them to move,
then laughs inwardly when they obediently follow his command or manipulation.

I know it's seriously, cataclysmically bad, for Gary to be crying. I cuddle him back, waiting for him to regain enough self-control to tell me what's bothering him.

I also hate myself for this. I am so weak. I'm thrilled he reached out for me. Of all the people in his life, he's here with me.

He pulls away and turns his back on me. (I am so confused.)

After a few moments, he faces me again, and seems ashamed of his own weakness, "Can I get you some coffee or something?"

What
?

Wow, just hang on a second here. I am feeling emotional myself now. This entire experience has been surreal and outlandish and totally scary, he's in tears and now, he's offering me
coffee
?

And since when does Gary make coffee?

I nod. I have no idea how to respond. I'm surprised he even knows how to make coffee the way I drink it.

He walks to the kettle and stares at the flowers next to it. His voice is cracked and hoarse, "Did you get my
flowers?"

My mind starts racing. Shit. Flowers! Three bouquets the same day. Two didn't have cards. Crap. I don't know which ones he sent!

I nod nervously, beginning to nibble my lip. I'm ready to flee.

He leans his narrow hips against the counter, folding his arms as he studies me. "Why didn't you phone me then?"

Because I didn't know you'd sent any! You never send flowers,
ever
. And after the way you reacted to those other flowers I never thought you would ever send me flowers.

I'm watching him and the hurt is obvious. He's made a
real effort and expected recognition for it, at least acknowledgement, My eyes start flooding. "I'm sorry."

I wipe my eyes, bitter with myself for crying. I have to keep the upper hand here or I'll be handcuffed to that bed before the kettle has even started boiling. I manage with a shaking voice, "Thank you, they were lovely." (Did you send the pink amaranths or the roses?)

A vague smile flirts with his lips. I watch in silence as he makes coffee. This is the first ‘normal’, Gary and I have ever had. It leaves me feeling unstable.

He offers my mug to me, I take it.

"Will you stay long enough for a chat? I want to talk to you."

(I could argue and ask what was the bloody emergency?)

Instead, I nod. I'm in emotional carnage right now. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do this. God help me but this boy is so sexy. My eyes watch him walk out of the kitchen. He's wearing grey track pants and white socks. He's still got the hottest derriere ever owned by anyone. Every man I've met in the past two and a half weeks pales in comparison with this one. He charges the room like a Van der Graaf generator. Every hair follicle I have stands to attention when he's present.

We sit down on chairs facing each other. My coffee is too hot so I place it onto the table next to my chair. His father made this table.

"Smoke?"

I nod.

He lights my cigarette for me after I take one from his packet. (Gary does not light my cigarettes. What is going on?)

This day goes down in Stefanie and Gary history. He's charming. He's a gentleman. And he cries.

Chapter 16

Game - Set - Match

He smiles across to me. It's disconcerting.

"I missed you."

Like hell you did
.

I arch an eyebrow and watch him. Choosing silence until I know what I'm doing here. I have a certain amount of satisfaction at his obvious nervousness. I've never seen him nervous before.

"Did you like the hound?"

What?

I gather my expression conveys the dumb blonde moment, because he reaches behind his chair and picks up the fluffy dog and presents it with obvious glee, "I thought you'd like him. Don't you think it's cute?"

So it's not a set-up.
Get to the point, Gary.

"Yes, he's cute." I stare at the dog that reminds me of a Basset. Forgive me for my reservations but I don't trust Gary.

I watch him falter and place it awkwardly next to his leg. Track pants, eh? Clinging to toned thigh muscles from playing squash. I sigh slowly, exhaling smoke, as I appreciate the view.

My eyes travel back up him to meet his. He's watching me, waiting.

"What am I doing here, Gary? I'm supposed to be at work."

I enjoy satisfaction at the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Woman."

My free hand tightens, "I beg your pardon?"

"Stefanie. Shit man! I'm no good at this. No matter what I do I'm going to fuck it up."

I stare coldly at him, anger simmering at being reduced to a gender again.

I watch his own hand curl into a fist, glistening with golden hairs. Midas hands.

He pleads, "I need you. Please ..."

State your case: this is your only chance.
I arch an eyebrow. Tears escape his eyes again. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I fucked up. I can't ... please come back."

He unfurls the clenched hand that was assisting him in containing his self control and it reaches across and glides over my knee to my thigh.

Breathe. Just breathe, dammit.
Aladdin is unleashing the genie I had tightly corked in her bottle. My veins become sluggish as they pump the rising mercury. I pick up my coffee and sip it, watching him over the rim of the black edged mug. Slowly exhale.

"What happened to your girlfriend?"

He reacts as though I slapped him. He pulls away sharply and folds his arms. Outlining biceps and triceps. Gulp.

"She's not interested."

"Uh huh."

"Stef ..."

His voice chokes and I watch him fighting himself. He looks away, out of the window, as tears escape his simmering eyes. I'm already back, but I'm not going to make this easy. I can feel his magnetism from here. It's calling me. I can't resist the pull. I'm fighting myself as much as he's fighting his own weakness.

He looks back, his shoulders moving with silent sobbing. "I'm sorry. I don't know how else to say it."

I nod, and exchange my coffee for the fading cigarette in the ashtray on the table next to me. Nonchalantly, I demand, "Gary, we can't go back to the way we were. Things are going to have to change."

I flick the ash and look up at his desperate expression. He nods enthusiastically.

Waaaaayhaaaay!
Finally, my opportunity for a few rules.

I smile, I can't stop myself. I'm deriving a certain amount of pleasure from this one-eighty about-face turn.

"My name is not ‘woman’. It's Stefanie."

He nods.

"If you ever go out, or are late, I will phone you and check up on you, even if it's two in the morning. If you don't answer, it's over. If I have to wait ten minutes to get hold of you, it's over."

Ha! What a grim expression!

"Okay."

"And I want normal. Gary, you
are
going to take me out for dinner. I am not here to serve you. And it's time you stopped the weird shit. I can't do that anymore. I want love. I want to feel that you love me. If you love me, then make love to me. What we do isn't love, Gary. I need you to give me that."

He nods. He's looking calmer. More confident.

"And tell me you love me."

"Why?"

Oooh, that is so the wrong response. "
Why
?" Grrrr.

My adrenalin has just overpowered the spell of his charisma. I grind out with unrestrained anger, "Because if you love someone, they need to hear it. How can I tell when you're lying to me if you never say it? Because you
didn't
love me when you went behind my back to fuck that teenager!"

"I didn’t!"

I glare at him in obvious disbelief and stand up, "I've got to go back to work."

I'm not going to say goodbye because I seriously want to cry. I love this hateful bastard. He was the one that was in the wrong,
not me
.  But somehow he can't own up and be a bloody man about it. I can't do this. I just can't.

As I reach the open front door his voice reaches me, "Wait!"

I stare at the freedom waiting for me beyond the door. Blue sky. The sun is out. I hear birds and traffic. I want to claw and cry. I want to give him my grief. I want him to see my pain, but my pride is ingrained. The stiff upper lip. I take a deep breath and swivel to face him. When in doubt, feel anger. It's the only thing holding me together right now.

He's standing, his face alarmed.