The Temp (18 page)

41

Eve stood against the brick wall.
She couldn’t remember what had happened in the last half hour. She should stop drinking, she should. Her head swam and her stomach wanted an out, an escape. The air was too humid, her vision too unfocused. Every time things got difficult she found herself here at some club.

Who was she kidding?

It was the second time she’d drunk more than her fair share; it wasn’t a case that she was losing control. She wasn’t an alcoholic who had to convince herself she could stop anytime. She
could
stop anytime. It was two times in total, she didn’t have a drinking problem. Her problem was she kept using it as a crutch when things got bad, when things got really bad.  

She’d faced rejection. She’d faced Trigger and he’d nearly figured out her secret. The photos, if he thought that guy’s face was familiar he was in for a world of a surprise when he finally connected the dots.

It wasn’t a question of
if
it was
when.

She shouldn’t have said they were family. It was too close to home. Her stomach sloshed bringing her back to the hell she was in. Regret and guilt clung to her more than her clothes could.

The first time she’d been drunk Roman had showed up after she’d called him. She’d been weak, she was weak at present. Her hand flew to her mouth, missing it and slapping her cheek.
Oh no.
Roman. Had she called him again? Her pulse picked up and her stomach hurled knowing what was coming.
Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Eve,” Roman stepped out under the streetlight.

No. no. no. no.
She should not handle a phone when drunk. She was definitely going to stop drinking for good this time. He stood there, a lazy ethereal outline almost a ghost. His mouth worked, something on the tip of his tongue, he closed it.
Good.

She didn’t need to be reprimanded.

It had been a week since she’d seen him, this time she hadn’t returned to work. Seeing him there, he hadn’t changed at all, stealing her breath away in his white formal shirt and black pants, hair slicked back, like he’d stepped out of prom night. What a sight. She steadied herself against the wall.

“Rome,” she hissed back. She stood outside the bar, standing upright, wrapping her arms around herself, trying and failing to look casual. She couldn’t recall the last few minutes. Obviously she’d called him, this time she wasn’t sure how he’d found her.
Stalker.
Things had blurred. Action. Faces had blurred. Her greatest feat right now was not passing out.

She shivered in her cream silk blouse; it was so virginally pure, she was a beacon of virginity and shouldn’t have been surprised when Roman came running. Their last conversation still left her raw. There was nothing she could do about it.

Eve was stuck between a rock and a hard place and for the first time it was truly becoming clear to her. She let out a steely breath, knowing what would follow, what always followed. 

He’d say her name in his seductive way.

She’d say his name, Rome in her way.

“Eve, Rome, Rome, Eve. I love how we keep doing this, how all we can say is each other’s names. We don’t even know if we actually have anything in common except sexual chemistry.” Eve laughed, “as if we’ve actually done that.” The blush never met her cheeks; she was invigorated tonight, brazened by alcohol. Roman blinked and stepped closer into her comfort zone, he became less hazy with the closeness. He smelled freshly washed and musky, a heady scent throwing her off balance. “You’ll have to be mindful of what you do, one shouldn’t drink and operate heavy machinery,” Eve giggled. Roman Pierce was definitely heavy machinery.

“You’re drunk,” his gaze was unwavering and his jaw hardened. He could do sexy assassin dangerous and pull it off in heartbeat.

“Quite the observer,” Eve slumped off the ledge of the window. He caught her before her legs gave under. “How did you find me?” her lips were so close to his neck. 

“You called me, remember?” he stood inches from her and yet the distance was like a memory so long ago. She remembered the monkeys warning her and what they represented. Thou shalt see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil and there was one more…one more forgotten monkey who had his hands over his genitals. That was the one she should know about. That last monkey was the one she was supposed to embody.

“Nope.” She slung her handbag over her shoulder and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Her side rocked into his hard muscled torso.
Oh,
how she was so aware of him! Had she really called him? And how had he found her? She could barely think yet alone call someone. Was this really happening?

“You said you weren’t going to drink again,” he hissed. She didn’t have to look to know his jaw was tighter than a robot’s. “Eve, I’m taking you home.” His arm gripped her against him sending his body heat coursing through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“No,” Eve pouted, she didn’t want to look up. This was the worst kind of drunk, the one where she would say or do anything until she got what she wanted and in the morning it would all be regret.

“Why not?”

“I won’t tell you,” Eve sang, a smile playing on her mouth. Her confidence blossomed beneath her drink addled self. Was this what it took to feel in control? Was she in control? This was so much like old times, their sexual banter followed by their intense sexual frustration.
Hers.

“Eve,” his tone was hard sending a shiver into her very core rocking her nervous system and almost rocking her gut into retaliation.

“Because I’ll want you to tuck me in,” Eve giggled moments later. She squinted down the street, this bar was somewhere in the industrial sector. Unfortunately all the hip ones were these days; she’d gone alone, like some loser. It had been extreme wishful thinking. Eve had been weak, was presently weak. She’d come here with the foolish notion of losing it once and for all, her virginity, the sacred thing keeping her from being with Rome and she’d been utterly desperate. Once she’d arrived she realised exactly how pathetic it was. It was her virginity and she wouldn’t give it away to some one night stand, even if it solved so many problems. She’d regret it. Immediately. Forever.

Then came the tequila.

One shot.

Another. Just to calm her nerves.

She’d waved off all male attention, the one thing to make her writhe with pleasure. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d had to turn away a man, never, she didn’t frequent at these places. She was normally a wallflower. Eve had asserted her No’s which was the best feeling in the world, as if she were telling every man within a ten mile radius
hell no, back off!
She’d envisioned every face as Roman and when that didn’t do the trick they became Triggers.

She’d never been so empowered before, it was so far from the girl she really was. Maybe in her faux
I-am-woman-hear-me-roar
moment she’d called Roman.

Followed by alcohol swirling in her subconscious making a mockery of that very confidence she’d recently gained. She’d stepped out for fresh air.

She couldn’t tell heads or tails. “I’m a terrible drunk,” she slurred to herself. His hands cupped on her waist, the touch awakening her senses once more. “Who, what, hold on there, at least buy me a drink first,” Eve slurred. She giggled again.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

She giggled again. “I think you’ve had enough,” she mimicked his hard tone. “Come hither, you must do as I say. Doth thee not know chivalry is dead?”

“Funny, you said the same thing over the phone. I’m so happy it amuses you,” Roman led her out of the outdoor bar area and onto the street.

The night air hit them pure here. No club steam. No grinding smell of booze and sex.  He put his jacket over Eve before she could protest. His scent encased her in a shell and safety that had never felt so physical before. Roman was here. He was here. After so long of being without him.

This moment couldn’t last, it wasn’t meant to. It never did. Roman would leave and she would be empty again. Her grip tightened on his arm.
Don’t go.

She had a temping job to start next week, the time-off between had been unbearable. She’d taken care of Jack to pass the hours and done the only thing she knew to do in between. Read. She’d read and reread her favourite book until the pages blurred and real life had blurred too.

It had only been a few days. A few days. That’s all it took.

“I should have known all along. You’re just like him,” she slurred. “That’s why I can’t get away from you.”

“Like who?”

“Dorian Gray.”

“Mmm, you read the Picture of Dorian Gray?” Roman held her arm fixed to him as he led her down the pavement, his other arm attached to her waist, trapping her.

“A hundred times, I know it back to front. You’re exactly like him. That’s why I was drawn to you. It’s why I can’t get away from you.”

A heavy quiet passed between them.

“And who are you in this?” he finally said, there was a resigned tone in his voice.

Eve was silent for a second, “I’m the actress you destroyed by loving.”

“Eve, you’re not thinking clearly.”

She pushed away from him and stood upright. “It’s the clearest thought I’ve ever had. You’re going to destroy me, I know it and yet”-her voice dropped, her shoulders dragging. “I can’t stay away”-

“Get in the car.”

“I will, only because I know what I’m walking towards. You don’t mean to destroy me, but you will.” There was an amber glow of sadness in his eyes and then he turned away and moved on. Suddenly she was hollow inside, Roman Pierce, her very own Dorian Gray and the truth didn’t set her free. She was incomplete. Perhaps it was what all people in relationships sought at the end of it, closure. Closure.

In order to want closure there had to have been a relationship there in the first place.

Relationship,
no.
Something,
yes.

Had
there been something?

No. Yes. No. It was a fragment of her vivid imagination. To think, she’d come so close to Roman she could have been in his world. No. That was all a fleeting dream. In order to walk among the gods, one must be a god first. It was a wonderful unaffordable dream. Eve closed her eyes, the briefest of time.

When she next opened them she was in his car.

She hiccupped, “how long have I been out?”

“Twenty minutes,” Roman didn’t look at her. That tone he used, the way he stared at the road with a square jaw. He was mad,
Dorian Gray
mad.

Eve buried herself into her seat. Maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe she was the painter in the story and he her muse, regardless he’d destroy her.

She’d been an hour without alcohol. It swayed and tumbled in her system, the night and its activities began playing heavy on her mind, so much clearer than they’d been before. Yes, she had called Roman. She’d yelled at him over the phone, really yelled. She’d ranted,
oh god,
how she’d ranted. Her cheeks turned the deepest shade of beetroot. Her head slipped down. Her arms folded over herself as if she could protect whatever next mortifying thing that came out of her.

The engine revved and purred like it had the first time. Eve giggled and hiccupped, her hand flying to her mouth. She couldn’t control her vocal fuck ups and the thought of last time was ever present.

“What is it this time?” Roman said his eyes were on the road; his tone wasn’t as harsh as before, softening slightly. Eve shook her head, a hint of her old self working its way back into her system. How did she get here? How she wanted to be with him and hear his sweet voice…

“The last time I was in your car”-Eve put her finger to her lips, a smile lolling in place. She was stuck in heady mortification of what she said as she said it and yet she couldn’t stop herself no more than she could stop a moving car.

“Yes?” Roman inclined her way.

She couldn’t
not
look away. He was so close she could reach out and touch him, was this real? She swallowed down her old self, “I came.”

“I know,” she watched his jaw for any sign of a reaction. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Roman was a closed book and at present she wasn’t in the right frame to even guess what was going on below the surface.

“I missed you,” he said. “More than I wanted to.”

It sounded like an insult. An unexpected insult. More than he wanted to? Was it her fault? She hadn’t contacted him besides tonight. She’d been strong, up until the non-happily ever after of her favourite book.

Things had crumbled. The night had changed course to this.

The truth and the inevitable ending was a lie.

There were no happy endings with Dorian Gray. She let herself believe there were, the eternal optimist. Eve looked out the glass, tears spitting against the exterior of the window. “I didn’t want to miss you,” his gaze shifted to her for a second.