On Dublin Street(67)

Braden had other plans.


As I came, he’d flipped us over and drove into me over and over, his eyes gazing down into mine. I wanted to close them like last time. But I couldn’t.


I closed them now with a soft groan.


This was so getting complicated, and cowardly it might be, but I just couldn’t face Braden in the light of day after the intensity of the previous evening. I slipped out of the huge oriental style bed and scurried quietly from the room, jogging downstairs to my clothes. I hurried into my underwear and dress, stuck my feet into the shoes, even though they hurt, and grabbed my clutch. I let myself out, my heart thumping hard against my chest as I guiltily made my way out into the fresh air. Not really in the mood to do the walk of shame, I hailed a cab at the top of the Quartermile and didn’t relax until we were pulling into Dublin Street.


I was just putting my key in the door when I got the text.


Whatever the f*ck that was, don’t do it again. We’ll talk.


I exhaled heavily, exhausted at the prospect.


***


Judy Garland was singing at me, telling me the sun was shining and to come on get happy. There was nothing wrong with a little Judy Garland, but right then I wanted Gene Kelly to come back on the screen and dance for me. I’d showered the sweat and sex from last night off, changed into jeans and a hoodie and curled up on the couch to watch old movies. If I’d tried to sit down at my laptop and write I would only have gotten lost in my very confused and messed up thoughts. So I was numbing my mind with musicals and my big Old Hollywood crush, Gene Kelly.


I had just made myself a sandwich when I heard the front door open. My heart stopped for a second until I heard the light footsteps. Ellie. I breathed a sigh of relief.


“Hey.” Ellie smiled down at me as she strolled into the room. “Back from the opticians.”


I put Judy on mute. “How’d it go?”


“Apparently, I need glasses for reading and watching the TV.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t really suit glasses.”


I doubted that. Ellie could wear a trash bag and still look cute. “When do you pick them up?”


“Next week.” She grinned suddenly. “So? How was dinner?”


“Your brother tricked me. It was just us two.”


Ellie snorted. “Typical Braden. Did you have fun though?”


“Other than meeting an obviously ex-girlfriend of Braden’s, who seemed perfectly pleasant if a little clueless as she inadvertently told me about Braden’s ex-wife, then yeah.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “We had fun.”


Ellie gasped, drawing my gaze back to her. Anxiety clouded her pale eyes as she stood up and walked over cautiously to sit next to me. “I would have told you, Jocelyn, but Braden wanted to tell you himself. And it’s personal for him. I wish I could explain but it really is his business.”


I waved her off. “It’s okay. He told me about Analise. How she cheated on him.”


Ellie’s eyebrows drew together. “He told you?”


Was he not supposed to? “Yeah.”


She sat there for a moment seeming frozen and then something in her eyes softened as she smiled at me. “He told you.”


Oh God, she was getting romantic ideas in her head again. “Stop.”


“What?” Her eyes grew huge with pretend innocence.


I made a face. “You know what.”


Before Ellie could respond our front door opened and slammed shut. Heavy footsteps tread down the hall towards us.


“Oh crap,” I muttered, ignoring Ellie’s questioning eyes.


The door to the sitting room swung open and there he was in his suit, leaning against the doorjamb, expression blank.


“Hey, Braden,” Ellie greeted weakly, sensing the sudden danger in the air.


“Afternoon, Els.” He nodded at her and then pinned me to the couch with his lethal blue gaze. “Bedroom. Now.” He turned on his heel and left me to follow.


I gaped open-mouthed.


“What did you do?” Ellie whispered worriedly.


I shot her a look. “I snuck out of his place this morning.”


Her eyes widened. “Why?”


Already feeling inexplicably guilty, my guilt transformed quickly into anger. “Because that’s what f*ck buddies do,” I snapped, jumping off the couch. “And he needs to stop ordering me around.” I stomped—yes, stomped—into my bedroom and slammed the door shut behind me, chest heaving with indignation. “You need stop ordering me around.” I pointed my finger at him.


The blank expression he’d been wearing as he stood at the bottom of my bed was quickly replaced by displeasure. That was putting it nicely. He was pissed. “You need to stop acting like a f*cking headcase.”


I drew in a sharp breath. “What the hell did I do?”


He looked incredulous, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “You snuck out of my flat like I was some drunken lay you were ashamed of.”


He couldn’t have been more wrong. I crossed my arms over my chest, a protective measure, as I shook my head and refused to meet his gaze.