Blowing It (13 page)

That drew a smile. “You can’t have met many decent
guys, then.”

I grimaced, acknowledging the truth of his words.
We hadn’t talked about our past relationships, although that day was probably
coming sooner rather than later. Now wasn’t the time, however, and I pushed the
grimace away. “Don’t put yourself down,” I said. “I’m touched. Genuinely. I
thought the only person reading them was my mum.”

He chuckled. “Well, now you know there’s at least
two of us.”

I rubbed his head affectionately, cupped his face and
pressed it against mine. “Remind me to show you how touched I am, sometime,” I
said huskily.

His breath caught. “Oh?”

“Mmhm.” I bit my lip, grinning as I felt a new
awareness slowly seep into his limbs, his body becoming almost imperceptibly more
attuned to mine. I could play him like an instrument, bring him to heel with
only a look. He might look a bit rough and ready, but under the surface was a
great, soft lug. He was my gentle giant.

At the first nudge, he reclined, lying with his
head on the arm of the couch, keeping hold of my hand and pulling me down on
top of him. I hung my feet over the cushions so my boots didn’t dirty them and
settled across his stomach, my head on his shoulder. He slid his arm around me
and kissed the top of my head. Contented, I closed my eyes.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked.

“Huh?”

His chuckle rocked me like I was on a boat.
“Sleepy?”

“No.” I rubbed my cheek against his shoulder. “Just
relaxing.”

“Good.” He squeezed my arm. “You’ve been working
too hard.”

“It doesn’t last. Once the edits are done, I’m back
on my own schedule again.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’m supposed to have the manuscript back to my
editor by the end of the month.”

“It’s the twenty-eighth today,” Magnus said, sounding
concerned.

“I’ve not got much left to finish. I could probably
get it done in a day if I’m not interrupted. Why? What’s happening this
weekend?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Now you have to tell me.” I placed my hand on his
chest and raised my head to look at him. “Were you planning something?”

“It’s Abi’s birthday,” he said. “Eric and Lorna are
having a party for her on Saturday.”

“You’re going?”

He nodded. “I was going to ask if you wanted to
come, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”

I chewed my lip. While I’d met Abi a couple of
times and thought she was a sweet kid, Magnus knew I wasn’t particularly fond
of children, and I didn’t know her well enough to make an exception. A birthday
party full of ten-year-olds wasn’t my idea of a good time, nor was it the sort
of thing I could imagine him inviting me to. Unless it wasn’t about the kids at
all.

“Your parents will be there?” I guessed.

Magnus nodded. “It doesn’t matter, though,” he
insisted. “You’re busy.”

“I don’t have to be,” I said. “It’s only Wednesday.
I can get the edits done and back to Squire by Friday.”

“I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

I smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “I was
planning to be done by Friday, anyway. Then I’ve got weeks before my editor
comes back to me, and a whole year to finish the third book. I can take a few
days.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” I grinned. “As long as you promise not
to abandon me with an overprotective relative who’ll demand to know what my
intentions are.”

His eyes widened. “You have intentions?”

“Mmhm.” I stroked his beard, up through the short
hairs until I touched his mouth. He parted his lips, his breath hot on my skin.
I pushed one finger inside, flattened his tongue, and smiled as he pursed his
lips and sucked. Inclining my head, I whispered against his mouth, “That’s for
me to know and you to find out.”

Before he could respond, I kissed him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Magnus picked me up early on Saturday afternoon.
Eric and Lorna lived near St Albans, an hour away up the M1. Magnus assured me
the kids’ party had commenced at eleven and would be winding down by the time
we arrived, but given the glorious weather we’d been having, Eric had decided
to host a barbecue afterwards. Ryan had laughed at me the previous night when
I’d called him in a panic about what I was going to wear, and in the end I’d
heeded his advice to be comfortable, ditched the Young Conservative getup I
thought would best impress Magnus’s parents, and opted instead for my favourite
pair of skinny jeans, which fit well but not so closely Magnus’s mum would be
able to tell which side I dressed, and an oversized black T-shirt decorated in
a silver motif of skulls and hearts. The slightest amount of gel tamed my hair,
which had a tendency towards fluffiness when the weather was warm, and I wore a
large pair of dark glasses against the glare of the sun.

“You look like a rock star,” Magnus said when he
arrived.

“I could change—”

“Don’t you dare.” We were in the lobby of my
building, which prohibited excessive PDAs, but he practically fucked me with
his eyes as he stared at me.

“You look good, too,” I said, returning the look
with fervour. He was wearing cream slacks and a loose, pale blue shirt with
short sleeves, a pair of aviators tucked into the breast pocket.

“Did you get her a present?” Magnus indicated the thin,
rectangular package wrapped in bright pink paper clasped in my hand.

“Well it isn’t for you,” I said, grinning. “You can
have your present later.” Waggling my eyebrows, I led him from the building.

The interior of the BMW was cool, the AC kicking on
the moment he started the engine. The stereo started louder than I expected,
the chorus of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere” bursting through the speakers.
Apologising, Magnus turned it down to a more appropriate level for background
music.

“You were singing along, weren’t you?” I asked,
giving him a knowing smirk as he manoeuvred the car forward and joined the flow
of traffic on Bethnal Green Road.

“No comment,” he said dryly, taking the aviators
from his pocket, snapping the arms open with a practised flick of his wrist,
and putting them on.

Smiling, I slouched comfortably in my seat and watched
London pass by outside the window, humming along with the fading chords of the
music.

Eric and Lorna lived a little way out of St Albans,
at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac in an area which had an almost rural feel. The
house was relatively new, but the ivy growing around the front door gave it an
aged, cottagey impression. As we walked up the path to the front door, the
sound of squealing children could be heard coming from the back garden.

Magnus entered without knocking, calling hello as
he led me through a short hall and into a surprisingly large, airy lounge. Through
the open French doors, I saw Eric talking with a couple of men on a patio, bottles
of beer in hand. Behind them kids, mostly girls, were chasing each other around
the lawn.

Feeling unexpectedly nervous, I stuck close to
Magnus’s side as we stepped into the garden.

Magnus greeted his brother with a warm hug, and
Eric’s smile didn’t dim when they separated and he saw me.

“I hope you don’t mind me gate-crashing,” I said.
“Magnus mentioned barbecue, and I couldn’t resist.”

Eric laughed. “You’re more than welcome,” he
assured me. “It’s good of you to take the time. I’m sure you must be a busy
man.”

I brushed off the flattery with a modest denial.

“Abi will be thrilled,” Eric continued. “It’s done
wonders for her street cred, saying her uncle knows a famous author.” Concern
momentarily passed over his features. “That is all right, isn’t it? Only you
know what kids are like about keeping secrets—”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. It was bad enough Eric
and Lorna had to lie for me. I wouldn’t ask the same of their daughter.

“Lorna’s about somewhere,” Eric said, squinting
against the sun as he glanced around. “She’ll be pleased to see you.”

“How’s her mother?” I asked, remembering she had
been hospitalised.

“Better.” Eric nodded. “Much better. It’ll take
more than a dodgy ticker to keep Iris down!”

“I’m sure that’s a relief for all of you.”

“You’ll have to meet everyone,” Eric said. Placing a
hand on my shoulder, he turned me to the men he’d been speaking with, who were
standing patiently, waiting for an introduction. “This is Ian.” I shook hands
with a ruddy-faced man of about thirty-five, who gave me a ready smile. “And
this is Craig.”

“I’m Owen,” I said, shaking Craig’s hand. “A friend
of Magnus’s.”

“You’re that writer chap, aren’t you?” Craig asked.

“That’s right.”

“My kid’s around here somewhere. She loves your book.”

“Thank you.” I decided to change the subject before
we spent the whole afternoon discussing me. “Where’s the birthday girl?”

“Somewhere in that lot.” Eric waved towards the
gaggle of screaming children, now running circles around a small shed in the corner
of the garden. “Don’t worry, they’ll settle down eventually. Can I get you a
drink?”

“Beer’s great, thanks.”

Eric left to get my beer, and more for his friends,
leaving me alone with them on the patio. Magnus was standing a few feet to my
right, talking with an older couple. Catching my eye, he beckoned me over.

“Owen, I’d like you to meet my mum and dad, Elaine
and Charles. Mum, Dad, this is Owen.”

I stammered a greeting, feeling like an insect
under a microscope as Magnus’s parents examined me. Somewhere in his sixties,
Charles was as tall as his son and bore himself well, although the open folds
of his jacket didn’t quite hide the round belly straining against the buttons
of his shirt. He was balding and wore thin-rimmed glasses low on his aquiline nose.
His palm was dry, his grip tight, but I sensed that was just his manner rather
than him being one of those men who viewed shaking hands as a chance to exert
dominance.

Magnus’s mum looked to be in her middle-fifties.
She was dressed elegantly in a pastel pantsuit, which flattered her slim
figure. Aside from a gold ring on her wedding finger and a single strand of
pearls around her neck, she wore no jewellery, and her open, friendly face was
free of makeup, although her hair was dyed a soft shade of brown and neatly
styled.

“Don’t look so worried,” Elaine said, clasping my
hand and smiling warmly. “We don’t bite.”

I gave her a relieved smile. “I don’t taste good
anyway.”

Beside me, Magnus snorted.

Eric saved me from dying of mortification by
joining our group, bottles of beer in hand. Accepting mine, I took a long
swallow of the sickly-tasting liquid. I wasn’t a big fan of ale in any form, light
beers probably least of all, but I could drink them when required.

“There’s wine if you’d rather,” Magnus said.

“This is fine.” I gripped the bottle tighter, the
condensation on the sides making my hand cold and wet. “I might get wine if I
have another.”

“I haven’t even started the barbecue yet,” Eric
pointed out.

“Yes, why is that?” Ian called across to us.

“Wait a minute!” Eric responded, giving us a
what-can-you-do shrug.

I was searching for something to say when a small
blonde tornado barrelled into Magnus, almost taking his legs out from under
him. He picked his niece up and swung her around, forcing me to take a hasty
step back so I didn’t get a shoe in my face.

“You’re getting too big for that,” he chided when
he set her down.

“I’m ten now,” she declared proudly.

“Yes you are.” He smiled, and glancing to my right,
I saw an identical expression on his mum’s face as they looked at her.

“Did you get me a present?”

Magnus laughed. “I might have brought you
something.” Picking up a carrier bag he’d brought with him from the car and set
at his feet while talking to his parents, he handed it over.

We all watched as she withdrew a large box wrapped
in My Little Pony paper. She tore the wrapper off and screamed with excitement
as she produced a doll with familiar blonde hair wearing a blue dress.

“Elsa!” Excitedly, Abi pulled the doll from its
box, dropping the litter to the floor and clasping it close. “Thank you, thank
you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Magnus stroked her
hair. “I think if you press her necklace, she’ll sing to you.”

Eric groaned as “Let It Go” immediately started
playing. “Thanks,” he said, grimacing at his brother. “Do you have any idea how
annoying that’s going to get?”

Magnus grinned. “Why do you think I bought it?” He
caught Abi before she ran off to show her friends her new toy. “I think Owen
brought you something, as well,” he said, smiling at me.

I held out my offering. “I don’t think it’s as good
as an Elsa doll,” I said apologetically.

Abi tore my present open with as much enthusiasm as
she had Magnus’s. “It’s a book!” she announced, holding it aloft. She pulled a
face. “I have this already.”

“Open it,” I said.

“Owen, you signed it?” Magnus glanced at the
flyleaf.

“Maybe it’ll be worth something someday,” I said,
with a self-effacing shrug.

“Abi, be careful with that,” he instructed.

“Here, give it to me.” Eric took the book from his
daughter. “Thank you so much,” he said to me. “I’ll make sure she keeps it
safe.”

“There’s something else in there,” I said,
indicating the crumpled paper in Abigail’s hands.

Taking it from her, Magnus removed a sheaf of bound
pages and stared at it for a long moment before passing it silently to Eric.

“This is too much,” Eric said, the moment he
realised what he was holding.

“Of course it isn’t,” I said. “It’s only some
papers.”

Magnus looked stunned. “Owen, this is the second
book. You said nobody was allowed to see it yet.”

“It isn’t the finished thing,” I clarified. “It’s
only a draft manuscript.”

“With your notes. And you’ve signed it! Owen, this
will be worth a fortune one day!”

“Maybe,” I corrected. “To me, it’s just paper.
Honestly. I’ve got dozens lying around. It’s not a big deal to give one away,
and who knows, perhaps one day she can sell it and buy something she really
wants.”

Bored of our conversation, Abi raced off to show
her new doll to her friends.

Eric turned to me. “I know it doesn’t seem like she
appreciates this now, but she will. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it.
I promise we’ll keep it safe.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I smiled so he knew I
wasn’t hurt by Abi’s indifference. “I didn’t expect her to be excited about it.
Especially not when she just got a
Frozen
doll.” I grinned at Magnus.

“Whatever Abi thinks, you just blew all our
presents out of the water,” he said, returning my smile.

“Who did what, now?” Lorna asked, approaching our
party.

Eric took the manuscript and signed book and showed
them to her.

“Owen, you shouldn’t have!” she exclaimed, grabbing
me and pulling me into a fierce hug. “Thank you so much.”

Laughing, I hugged her back. “You’re very welcome.”

While Lorna took the gifts inside, Eric joined his
friends on the other side of the patio, where a bag of charcoal waited beside a
gleaming silver barbecue. Soon the garden was filled with billowing white
smoke, and Lorna returned to suggest we move indoors until Eric had the flames
under control.

“He always uses too much lighter fluid,” she said,
shaking her head with exasperation. “What is it with men and fire?”

“Don’t ask me,” I said, smiling. “The last barbecue
I was in charge of, I almost burnt down my friend’s house.”

Magnus laughed. “You’ve no idea how common that is.”

“Have you always been a writer, Owen?” Elaine
asked, once we were seated in the living room.

“I’ve always written, but it didn’t always pay the
bills.”

“But now it pays a steady income, does it?” Charles
looked unconvinced.

“Dad,” Magnus warned.

I smiled at the plaintive note in his tone. No
matter how old we got, our parents always seemed capable of reducing us to
embarrassed teenagers.

“It’s okay,” I said, briefly touching his knee. Turning
to Charles, I explained my advance and royalty agreement.

“You can live like that?” he asked, sounding
sceptical. “Only getting paid twice a year, and not knowing how much you’re
going to get?”

“It isn’t perfect,” I admitted, “but I like to
think I’m sensible with my money. I remember what it was like waiting tables to
make ends meet. My biggest expense was my flat.”

“You bought it outright?”

I laughed. “They didn’t give me
that
much
money. The advance was agreed for a five-book series, so it’s paid in
increments as I deliver each book. I got a lot of money, I won’t lie, but not
enough to buy my flat outright. Certainly not if I wanted something to live on
for the next year. I have a mortgage, the same as everybody else.”

“What if you can’t finish the series?” Charles
asked. “Wouldn’t you be in hot water trying to afford it?”

“How would Magnus pay his mortgage if he lost his
job?” I countered. “Nothing’s ever totally secure.”

“Quite right, Owen,” Elaine said diplomatically. “Charles,
stop interrogating the poor boy.”

“I’m only checking he’s got his head screwed on,” Charles
protested. “You hear stories about young men getting rich overnight and going
crazy with the money.”

“I don’t plan to wind up in the gutter,” I said. “I
know how lucky I was to get this deal. I’m going to deliver the books on
schedule, and I’m not banking on earning a penny over my advance. I treat those
payments like my salary, and I budget for the rest of the year based on what I
know I’m going to get. I don’t dine at hundred pound a head restaurants every
night, and I haven’t had a holiday in two years. Every penny I don’t have to
spend, I’m saving because I’ll be done with the series by the time I’m
thirty-three, and I know I might never get another deal like this again.”