Wait...
Have I got woman problems?
14
It wasgood to spend time with the boys somewhere other than The Manor for once. Really good. We tucked into a takeout dinner, talked like women, and laughed. Their help in distracting me was more appreciated than they’ll ever know. Or perhaps they do know. Of course they know. But alcohol isn’t the only thing I’m trying to avoid. I’m also trying my fucking hardestnotto call Ava. I wouldn’t want her to think I can’t let her breathe.
I could tell both Drew and Sam were itching to get their deprived arses to my place of pleasure after a few hours of humoring me in my new home, so I drove them over. I didn’t go inside. I dropped them off in the driveway and got my backside away from there before any more women came crawling out of the woodwork. I may have driven past Ava’s place on my way home. I may have stopped and looked up at the window where the light was on. I may have imagined her in bed. Was she in bed? What was she doing? Surely being cuddled up with me would have been better.
You cuddle now, Ward?
I drove back to Lusso with a moody face and fell into bed. And I stared at the photograph of the boats for an eternity, constantly wrestling with my mind’s demand to call her. Just call her. Or text her. Text her and tell her you’re thinking of her.
I fell asleep with the soft sound of her laugh haunting my dreams.
On Monday, I wake up in a foul mood. Yesterday was pure hell, spent kicking my heels around my new place, constantly fighting with my swaying mind. Call her. Don’t call her. Text her. Don’t text her. Honestly, it could have driven me to drink. If this is her playing hard to get, I fucking hate it. It’s stupid. And pointless. So today things change. She’s had enough breathing space. And since, apparently, I need her to keep myself breathing comfortably, I’ll be seeing her today, whether she likes it or not. I’d rather she likes it, of course.
After my morning run, I shower, change into my finest gray suit, and take myself to the bookstore I googled earlier. I pay, then take myself to the nice florist lady. I write a note, smiling the whole time, and give her specific instructions and an address. I leave feeling rather pleased with myself. See? A gentleman. Romantic. I can do that.
When I arrive at The Manor, I find John in the bar. He looks like he’s about to go on a slaughtering mission, his face cut with irritation. I’m almost afraid to ask. “All right?” I say lamely as I perch on a stool next to him.
“Fuck you, motherfucker.” He necks a water, turning to face me, and looks up and down my suit as I balk at him. Then he jerks his head in the general direction behind us. I crane my neck and find Coral on one of the bench seats, her face squished into the plush material. “Sort it out,” he hisses. “Because I ain’t fucking here to deal with drunken love sick women.” He slams his glass down, and I flinch. “If you don’t revoke her membership, I will.”
Well, welcome back to The Manor.
I exhale tiredly, slumping over the bar. I need to stay away from Coral or she’ll get the wrong idea. I look back again when I hear stirring from behind me. Shit, she’s waking up. I can’t be here. I get up and hurry out of the bar, hearing John cursing his arse off behind me. “Sorry, mate,” I mumble. I’m very fucking tempted to let Sarah loose on Coral if this carries on.For fuck’s sake.I reach up to my forehead and rub away my frown lines. I must have aged ten years in the past week, and aging isn’t something I need to be doing anytime soon when I’m trying to woo a twenty-something woman.
I see Sarah at a table in the summer room with another lady, looking over some brochures. “Ah, here he is,” she says, jumping up from her chair.
“Indeed he is,” the woman muses as she gets to her feet, her tits definitely pushing out, her smile coy. “Mr. Ward, what a pleasure to see you again.”
Again? I’ve never seen her in my life. Sarah must catch my frown because she saves me from insulting the woman, who looks pretty fucking delighted to see me. “Chrissie helps me plan the anniversary party each year.”
I still don’t recall her. Jesus, I really am looking at the world through new eyes. Sober eyes. “Nice to see you again.” I blast her with my smile. Literally. She staggers back, taking hold of the edge of the table. “I’ll be in my office.”
“I have piles of contracts I need you to sign.”
“I’m only here until five,” I call back, having decided to collect Ava from work. Like I said, enough is enough. I’m going stir-fucking-crazy. Friday night feels like it was another life ago. “Make the most of me until then.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
To heaven. “Home.”
If Botox weren’t a thing, Sarah would be scowling right now.
By five, I’m both relieved and agitated. Relieved it’s time to go pick up Ava, even if she doesn’t know I’m picking her up, and pissed off because the florist confirmed delivery of my gift and I’ve not heard one peep from Ava. No call to thank me. No text. Nothing.
I drive back into the city like a madman, my foot naturally heavy on the accelerator, my Aston beautifully responsive.Bundle her in my car. Take her home. Get her into bed. Ravish her.
I pull up down the road from her office, having to double park with the lack of spaces. I’m not driving around the block; I might miss her leaving. I’m about to cross over to go meet her when a bright pink van virtually shakes its way past me. I’d recognize the redhead behind the wheel anywhere. Fuck me, the fumes coming out the exhaust pipe choke me. I cough, flapping a hand in front of my face to waft away the smoke.
It stops outside Ava’s office, and the next thing I know, she appears. “Ava,” I call, but a dickhead in a Merc zooms past, honking his horn, and I jump out of his way.What a cock.
By the time I can cross the road, Ava is clambering into the passenger side and the pink thing is banging its way up the street. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, watching as it takes a turn onto Berkeley Square. I run back to my car and jump in, pulling off fast, earning a collection of hand gestures and horns from various motorists that I cut up in my urgency. “Fuck you,” I hiss, skidding away. “Fuck you all.”
I spot the pink monstrosity on the other side of the square, its indicator blinking to take a turn.
I have absolutely no shame or regard for my fellow drivers. NowI’mthe cock, as I undertake them, weave in and out of them, all the while wondering where Ava and her friend are going. That damn van looks like a death trap. She better have her seatbelt on.