The Arrangement (Erotic Novella) (4 page)

‘Gotcha!’ says Iain, as he catches me mid-fall, and pulls me
to the sofa next to Brett and Simon, and that’s the problem isn’t
it?! They’re not arseholes at all. They’re
nice
. And, yeah, I know ‘nice’ isn’t
the most expressive word I could choose to use, but right now
‘nice’ just about covers every single one of them. Sure, I felt
something for one or two - or three - that might have inched toward
passion, but for the most part these fellas are all just decent
guys who wanted a bit of fun.

“I hate you,
Cayley,” I murmur, but Simon’s got my head pushed down between my
legs and he’s rubbing my back in soothing little circles, so my
words don’t have the impact I’d hoped for.

Lily and Celia
stand awkwardly at my side. I tell them to go talk. They’re no good
to me here, caught up in the tension of their own issues. And I
seem to have enough of my own. Seven to be precise. Seven unwanted,
testosterone filled issues, draped around my living room, drinking
beer and watching me.

“We won’t be long,” Lily tries to reassure me as she leads
Celia out to the kitchen. And I think Celia says
chin up cuz
but my chin’s
lodged safely on my thighs.

Cayley clears
her throat delicately. "So, who wants to start?"

"Wait," I murmur, because I can't be this pathetic little
wretch with her head down any longer. I need to know who's here in
my flat, and I'm tough enough to face them. So I scan the room. I
nod a weary hello to Rich, who’s in the corner oozing
anti-charisma. I say a quick, awkward ‘hi’ to Ed, who's stretched
lazily across my arm chair wearing his trademark amused grin. And I
even manage to half-smile tentatively at Guy, who once upon a time
I really did like very much indeed. Guy looks about a tenth as
miffed as I feel, but that's still fiercer than any other bloke in
this room. For the life of me, I can't think why. I mean
he
ended it with
me
.

And then something else hits me. These are the men who could
make it. The ones who said
yes
. Who else did Cayley talk to? Oh,
please tell me she didn't talk to everyone in my little yellow book
of shame!

"OK," I say.
"Well thanks for coming, all of you. I'm touched - I think -
possibly. But I really don't have time today, so-"

"This won't
take long." That's Guy. Oh brother. "So, I thought it was just me
you were like that with. Turns out I was wrong, huh?!”

“No judgments.”
That’s Anders again. Sweet, bland, big bicep-ed Anders. Anders who
works out for hours every evening to keep that lovely body all
tight and pretty. Anders for whom I felt zero sparkage, but enough
body-lust to keep things entertaining. “We’re here to be
supportive.” God bless his cotton jock strap.

I appreciate his chivalry and all, but I want to know what Guy
meant. I
have
to
know. Guy’s rolling his eyes skyward like Anders is the dumbest
thing he ever clapped eyes on, and he’s
so
obviously got an axe to
grind.

“If I did
something to piss you off, Guy, just spit it out,” I say, sounding
stronger than I feel. But again, one of my many ex-lovers tries to
buffer his accusation before it comes.

“Ignore him,
Em. You were a perfectly fine girlfriend,” says Simon, still trying
to soothe me with his hand on my back.

Perfectly fine?!
Why am I now taking
offense at that? I guess I
was
perfectly fine with Simon. We had a perfectly fine
year of hum-drum OK-ness right before I started working at Thrills.
We hung out together. Or not. Whatever we felt like. He’s a teacher
- or, at least, he was - so he was always short of social time. And
to be honest I think that’s why it worked. Actually I know that’s
why it worked, because the six-week Summer break killed our
relationship. We both suddenly felt like we had all this extra time
we should be spending together - and we realised pretty quick that
it just wasn’t worth the effort. So we fizzled.

“Thanks,
Simon,” I murmur, but I’m still watching Guy. My eyebrows are
hitched into my forehead, urging him to spill whatever mean beans
he’s hiding.

Guy sighs,
digging his hands into his jeans pockets. He seems to be searching
for the right words. “I liked you, Em. We had - y’know - a
connection. Jesus. That sounds so fucking chick-lit, but you know
what I mean…”

I nod, urging
him on, past the preliminaries to the bit that’s going to
smart.

“But whenever I thought we were getting closer, you’d -” he
pauses and I wonder if he’s deliberately going for dramatic effect.
But then when he says the next bit, I can tell by the way his voice
tightens that it pains him a bit to say it. Hell it pains
me
to hear it. “- you’d
lay out the rules, like if I got too serious about you, you’d
leave.”

“So
you
left,”
nods Brett. What?! How did
he
know
that
? Except… except, that
is
kind of how it went
down with Brett too. And I’m sure they’ve all been having a great
old time swapping notes.

“I didn’t… it’s not like that!” I say, but Brett and Guy are
both looking at each other like they
get
it
- like they finally get
me
.

And - oh fab - Ed too. He’s been grinning through all this and
now he’s looking with awe-struck delight from Brett to Guy like
finally some great weight’s been lifted from their collective
shoulders in this magical male-bonding moment. I liked Ed. A lot.
But I’m prepared to
un
like him if he keeps this up. He’s the most outgoing,
self-assured man I’ve ever dated. IT consultant by day, and - I kid
you not -
male stripper by
night
. Once you know that about him, the IT
geek glasses look like the lamest camouflage ever, and to be honest
I think he wears them just for the Clark Kent effect.

“Whoa! Emma James! And there I was thinking it was just
me
!” Ed
announces.

“Thinking
what
was just you?” My teeth are gritted and I’ve half a mind to
reject the glass of wine Cayley’s handing me on principle
but
I need that drink
.

“You know. You do
know
don’t you?” He says, tilting his head with a
questioning frown.

Am I stupid? Am
I missing something?!

“Know
what?”

“Well,” he
starts. “No offense to anyone else here, but we had the best
freakin’ sex ever. Fucking awesome sex. I mean - honey - you
couldn’t keep your hands off me-”

I want to die.
God let me die.

“Ed…” warns Cayley. Thanks, Cayley, but the phrase
too little too late
comes
to mind.

“O-
kay. Chill.
I wasn’t going to go into details.” Ed turns back to face me
head on and I try not to look like I’m hiding behind my wine glass.
“It’s just - well - I would have sworn you were as into me as I was
into you. But you were like,
‘It’s just
mucking about’, ‘just screwing’, ‘don’t get any ideas’
blah blah blah…
And I
would never have said this at the time, but it stung. It
hurt.”

I hurt him?!
But… he never… he didn’t…

I’m shaking. My
eyes are burning.

“No… no… It’s fine. Don’t cry,” he says, and if I was on the
verge
before
he
said it, I’m certainly blubbing now. “Look, Emma. Jesus. I get it
now. OK? It’s fine.”

“Get what?!” I
sniff. “What do you get?!”

Someone coughs.
It’s Rich I think. Cute but dull Rich, who’s folding his arms
decisively, about to have his two-pence worth in this mockery of an
intervention. “Emma. They’ve obviously got this theory about you,”
he says, shaking his head like the idea’s beyond stupid. “They
think you’re a relationship saboteur or something. Like you screw
things up so you don’t ever commit to anyone. It’s bollocks though.
We were committed.”

“So what went
wrong?” That’s Guy again, frowning mockingly, like he’s about to
prove his point.

Rich takes his
time replying, choosing his words carefully. “I guess we just
weren’t that compatible,” he says with a full-facial shrug. “We
just sort of drifted apart and decided to call it a day. No big
drama.”

That’s so true.
There was no drama between me and Rich. No passion either.

And then I get
it. It’s taken me long enough, but I see what Guy and Ed and Brett
are trying to tell me, and I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate
it. Because they’re absolutely right.

I can’t commit
to men I like. All of my functional monogamous relationships have
been with men I just wasn’t that into. Men like Simon, Rich, Iain
and Anders. Men I could take or leave.

Whereas I liked
the other three. More than liked. With Guy, Ed, Brett… well, with
each of them there’d been some degree of heat bubbling beneath the
surface. This feeling that we could be something more than just
fuck-friends. And OK, sure, that could have been nice. Maybe. But
why add that complication? Why get all heavy and emotional?

It just seemed safer keeping that side of thing under wraps. I
mean I’m just not that kind of girl - the hearts and roses
obsessive-girlfriend type. I keep things casual. Physical.
Fun
.

When did this
stop being fun?! Because it’s not. Not fun at all. I’ve got this
vertigo feeling that I’ve royally screwed things up with Harry -
that I’m too late - that he’s already sick and tired of me fucking
about. And the idea of Harry walking away the way Guy did… Oh God I
can’t bear it!

"It's not true
just because he says it is, Em," Iain says, interrupting my
downward-spiralling thoughts. "We don't all think that about
you."

But the thing
is, it
is
true. It
is
.

I put my glass
down on the coffee table and now I'm back to being the wretch with
her head between her legs because I can't take this. I really
can't. I'm shaking and struggling for air and I can't bear to look
at anyone. I need them to leave.
Now
. I've screwed things up
with Harry and it's probably too late to do anything about it and I
need to cry without an audience.

"Cayley?!"
Lily's back. I focus on her voice and try to
ignore the sick dread that's settled in my stomach. "What
happened?" A weight lifts from the sofa beside me and Lily sits
down instead, wrapping her arms around me, telling me
it'll be
OK, it'll be OK
.

Cayley's quiet
when she speaks, softly telling Lily we're done now. And she’s got
that bit right. Me and Cayley, we’re done. We. Are.
Done
.
She can take her monumentally fucked-up intentions and torture some
other poor cow because you don’t come back from a betrayal like
this. You just don’t.

The men start
mumbling like they're going to leave.
Please
leave. Please
God
let them leave. Don't drag this humiliating, painful
thing out any longer. And they start to shift. All seven of them.
Jostling toward the door. But what Celia says stops them.

"Curtis should
be here."

*****

Curtis should
not be here. Of all the people I never want to see again, Curtis is
top of the list. I look up at her, silently begging her to stop
talking. Everyone else in the room looks to me for an explanation,
but no way am I explaining Curtis. Curtis is nothing. Nobody. Less
than nobody.

"Who's Curtis?"
Lily asks. I tell Lily everything, so it's no surprise she's
confused, and I don’t blame her for asking but I can't do this now.
I shake my head at her, and though she's obviously worried, she
nods to show she understands. It's too late though. Celia has her
topic and
by Christ
she's running with it.

"Curtis! Oh,
come on!
Curtis!
She
must
have told you about
Curtis?! She literally pined after him for years when we were
growing up. And he was her first - y'know..." And then she does the
action. The universal finger mime for fucking. Like we're kids
again and she can't actually say the words.

Forget what I
said earlier. This is my worst nightmare. No one needs to know
about Curtis. No one. Celia only knows because I had her in tow
half the time when her mum was too pissed to look after her. I was
a pubescent knightmare, chasing after a no good loser, with my
little niece by my side.

"Her first...
What?! Her first
shag
?" That's Simon again, looking slightly
embarrassed for me but amused too it seems. "I thought Brett was
her first…?"

The others look
around in agreement, all except for Brett, whose hands are in the
air protesting his innocence.

Lily looks at
me, her eyes hard with worry, and then she snaps into action. "OK,
well thanks for coming. We'll email, yeah?... Stay in touch...
Tube's on your left. Bus stop's on your right." And - God love ‘er
- she's hurrying them out the door like she's the bomb squad saving
the civilians.

Iain kisses me
goodbye and someone else hugs me I think but I'm too numb to really
take it in now. And when the blokes have gone I give Lily a look
that says
don't stop there
, and she gently asks Cayley and
Celia to go too. Which they do. But not before Cayley's had the
nerve to pat my shoulder and tell me 'well done'. I'm her little
puppy dog and I've learned my lesson like a good pooch.