He held me. He held me in our old bed like it was old times, smoothing the hair from my sweaty face like he’d done a thousand times. I rolled into him and pressed my cheek to his chest, listened to his racing heart.
And then I felt the dampness under my ass. I squirmed away enough to pat the sheets and they were soaked, ridiculously soaked. Embarrassment flooded worse than I had, but he brushed all that away when he pulled me back into his arms.
“I made a mess,” I whispered.
“A hot mess,” he whispered back. “It’s a good mess, Jo, believe me.”
He tugged the bedcovers from under us and shifted us into a sleeping position.
“I’ll take the wet patch,” he said.
I grinned.
He left me long enough to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, then settled back into bed and pulled me against him like he always used to do.
“We’ll have to be up in the morning,” I said. “Before the girls… before they…” I lowered my voice. “Can you set your alarm?”
He nodded. “Already done.”
I smiled. “Goodnight then,” I whispered.
“Goodnight then,” he said.
Only it wasn’t.
We were kissing again before he’d even got the lamp.
I watched her all night. Well, what was left of it. She rolled over in her sleep and wriggled herself against me, just like old times. She stole most of the duvet and it ended up piled up on her side, just like old times. She’d stick her feet out of the covers, then press them to my calves to warm them back up, just like old times.
That soft grunty snore she does, then swears blind she doesn’t. Her hair in my face, the smell of her, the bliss of her skin next to mine.
The smell of sex hanging in the air.
I hadn’t had a woman in my bed since Stacey, not all night. Twelve months that lasted, limping on another couple as she got the message that it was really fucking done, that I was really fucking done.
Lucky man, they said. Wouldn’t mind waking up to that every morning. She’s a fucking catch, mate.
Hard to feel that lucky when you’re saying goodbye to your kids at dinner time every fucking night and wishing you weren’t. Hard to feel lucky when you’re seeing your forever every fucking day as you hand your girls over and knowing you fucking blew it.
Stacey made the right move at the right time, that was all. Rocked up in the Drum for a hen party, made a play at closing and didn’t let it go after. It seems that silence is all the affirmation some people need. Drinks in the Drum tonight, babe? I’ll call in at the yard at lunch, babe, I’m passing anyway. I’ll be over on Friday night, babe. I’ve bought you some beers in, babe.
Fuck me, babe. Fuck me harder, babe. You make me so fucking horny, babe.
And then the L word. Jesus.
I let it slide, and why wouldn’t I? A hot, horny body next to mine every night, a pussy that wanted me every fucking night. A pair of eyes looking into mine that didn’t see a long list of every fucking mistake I’d ever made.
It was fun for six months. Drink, laugh, fuck. Repeat. And then the questions came, questions that didn’t require just silence as an affirmative.
Shall we get a place together, babe? How do you feel about more kids, babe? I’m thinking of going part-time at the salon, babe, maybe I could work part-time at yours, in the office? Make it more ours…
I’ve seen just the dress I’d like, babe. Ivory satin, beautiful train, babe. Do you want to see a picture, babe? What do you think, babe?
I pulled Jodie tighter to my chest and she sighed in her sleep.
The kids liked Stacey. Said she was fun. My parents liked Stacey. Said she was a nice girl. The lads liked Stacey. Said she was a hot piece of snatch.
I liked Stacey, too. Just not enough. Not nearly enough.
I thought maybe it could be enough, maybe if I just gave it a bit of time. Maybe if I stuck with it I’d grow to care, even grow to love her.
But then the temper tantrums started, spoiled little blow ups with a healthy side of silent treatment. I don’t think you’re even planning to propose, babe. Have you even looked at rings? Have you even thought about a venue? Are you even bothered, babe?
No. No, I fucking wasn’t.
I said it, too.
Give it a rest, Stace. Just chill the fuck out a bit, Stace. Drink your wine and stop with the fucking sulking, Stace.
I’m not about to walk up the fucking aisle, Stace. I’m happy living here, Stace. I don’t need any help in the office, Stace.
Thanks but fucking no thanks, Stace.
Maybe not the words I should’ve said, but I’ve never been good at that.