Erotic Refugees (29 page)

Rob smelled her girl-sweat,
spicy and sweet with just a hint of smoke. On the way down his
fingers traced a line along her well-trained arm, and then slowed
to a halt by her armpit. She became stock-still, with both her arms
raised, and her breathing turned shallow and fast. Rob shifted his
hand minutely and, feeling no resistance, carefully slid it into
the armhole of her t-shirt where he traced the edges of her
bra.

“
Oh,” Annika said. She
backed into him, pressing the curve of her body against his.
“Well,” she said, sounding far from displeased.

Rob continued to trace a line
around her right breast while he brought his other arm down and
pressed it to her thigh. She broke the contact and turned to face
him. Her features betrayed a shimmer of confusion before shifting
into a teasing grin. She slipped her hands around his back and
under his shirt. Her scent was now fully in his nose and he
realised this was going only one place—her bed.

He tried to recall exactly
where that was as he sucked on the lobe of her left ear. He quickly
discovered that Annika was way ahead of him. She grabbed him by the
wrist and hauled him to the white-walled oasis of her bedroom all
in the space of a couple of urgent breaths.

“
Bad idea,” she panted as
she pushed Rob backwards. He lost his balance and collapsed across
the bed. “I think really bad.” She hauled her t-shirt over her
head, tossed it aside and straddled Rob, pinning him down with her
thighs.

Rob located the waist of her
shorts and slid his hand inside them. She exhaled sharply and
opened his shirt all the way down to his navel. As her hand
wandered down to fumble with the clasp on his belt, Rob realised,
with a sudden grin of impropriety, that this was something he would
probably regret, but definitely remember.

He also realised that the
amount of useful work he'd get done today was very likely to be
zero.

“
I should probably throw
you out now,” Annika said in a sleepy voice, her face buried in a
pillow. “My parents are coming by soon.”

“
Oh, okay,” Rob said with
a hint of surprise. He couldn't deny there was also relief in his
voice, since getting thrown out after unexpected sex was a great
way of avoiding a dialogue beginning with “so” or “now what” or
even “we need to”.

He climbed off the bed, naked
and reeking of effort, and drowsily picked up his clothes. He
settled on a chair in the hall and started pulling his things on,
beginning with the socks, as he considered this novel situation and
the strange new feelings it brought with it.

Rob was being sent away after
sex. He didn't think it had actually happened to him before, and he
realised he didn't like it. Oh sure, leaving after sex was fine,
but he wanted to be in control of it. He was a thrower, not a
throwee. This just felt weird.

And something else was weird
too, but he wasn't sure what it was. Still buttoning his shirt, he
padded silently to the door of the bedroom and peered in. He
studied Annika as she lay on her bed. Was she the weird thing? The
more he stared at her, the more he realised it was true. Something
was wrong about Annika, something large and glaring and obvious,
but he had no bloody idea what it was

He cleared his throat. “Right
then, I'm off. See you round I suppose.”

“
Sure,” Annika mumbled
from the pillow. She did a mighty stretch and sat up, making no
effort at all to cover herself. Her breasts were fantastic, tits
fit for a queen, and gravity hadn’t gotten anywhere near them. Rob
stared at them, and was tempted to have an even closer
look.

But no, damn it. Something was
still wrong with her.

“
Rob,” she said. “Don't
think this was anything, okay? It was just a thing. We're clear on
that, yes?”

“
Yeah, sure. Course!” Rob
grinned, she smiled, he winked, she nodded and then he got the hell
out of there as if his ankles were on fire.

He closed Annika's door and
traversed the hall to his own apartment, a grand journey of five
steps. He slipped inside, hung his keys on the hook and went
directly to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and locate a
cigarette. He was stirring the single teabag and looking for the
lighter when it suddenly hit him like a punch in the chest—what was
wrong with Annika. He sat down, winded, as it unfolded in his head,
all suddenly blazing clear.

The problem with Annika was
that she wasn't Kajsa. It was that simple. Annika wasn't Kajsa, and
all those other girls weren't Kajsa either. The only person who was
Kajsa was out there right now, sitting on a picnic blanket with
Some Guy, laughing about cock-shaped potatoes and clinking
champagne glasses together.

Rob suddenly realised it could
have been him on that picnic blanket, but he'd fucked it up. He'd
let it go on too long, being an indecisive bastard and deftly
avoiding every gesture she'd made. And now that ship had sailed.
He'd made her angry, and caused her to give their website idea
away, and now she was just getting on with things. Getting her life
moving forward, but with somebody else.

Rob lit his cigarette, and
watched the smoke curl up. That was it then. His chance was gone,
before he'd even realised it was a chance at all.

Chapter
30

Eoin groaned as he rose from
the sofa. He gripped the chair and waited a few seconds as the
world spun and skittered about. When he was sure it wasn’t going
anywhere he shuffled to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of
water. His arm ached as he lifted the glass to his face and once
again he felt very sorry for himself.

He was home and sick. It wasn't
a flu as such, just some nasty thing that gave him thumping
headaches and an occasional spike in temperature. Whatever it was,
it was sufficient to make being off work a very boring experience.
He couldn't even watch TV for more than ten minutes at a stretch
and surely lying on the sofa and watching TV was what being home
sick was all about. Damn rotten luck.

He grabbed a pill and swallowed
it with a mouthful of water, looking forward to his half-hour of
clarity. He turned and made his way back to the sanctuary of the
sofa and had just settled down on his pillow pile when his mobile
announced the arrival of a new message. He groped for the phone and
stared at it with widening eyes.

Anja. It took a while for him to coax
his finger out to press the screen.

I see you are home today. I am
not working. Can I bring your socks and toothbrush by? They are
still here.

Eoin bit his lip as he
considered this strange turn of events. First of all, how did she
know he was sick? The answer occurred to him soon enough—Facebook.
Of course. He'd posted his sick status a few hours back and he
still had her as a friend. He hadn't been sure if he should
unfriend her or not. What was the etiquette exactly? And was the
actual verb unfriend or defriend? And should you un/de-friend
somebody you were forced to stop seeing, even though you weren't
really “seeing” them in the first place? Was there a relationship
status option for an involuntary ex-lover lost through inept
subterfuge?

He never should have added her
at all, but she asked, so he accepted. Curse Facebook for making
these things far more complicated than they needed to be. Social
interaction was already tense enough without all these extra layers
of fretting.

But whatever, the damage was done and
now he needed to decide what to do about it. He carefully
considered his reply and sent it off.

Okay bring them by. I'm not the
best company right now though.

He put down the phone and
wondered what he'd say to her when she arrived. How should they
act? Were things still awkward? Would she try to continue the
verbal battering from their last meeting? Maybe Maria was secretly
coming over too so they could tie him down and extract an apology
using tights and pointy shoes?

A reply came. Good, be there in
an hour.

He put the phone down and looked
around. It might be good to get the place cleaned up a bit—put away
the dishes, water the plants, check there was toilet paper and it
was hanging the right way around. Instead he sank into the sofa
with a sigh.

What the hell, she was only
dropping off a toothbrush. He'd just take another pill, stretch out
and wait for the knock on the door.

While trying very hard indeed
not to fret.

Eoin opened the door and was
relieved to see Anja on her own. She gave a shy smile and hung up
her jacket where she usually (used-to usually) hang it. After an
attempt at a relaxed hug she ordered him to the sofa.

“
Lie down, rest!” she
said. “I fix you some tea.”

Eoin was glad to have his role
so clearly defined. He returned to his pillow nest while Anja
headed for the kitchen and started opening cupboards and rattling
around. It was strange to have her in his flat again. It almost
felt like nothing had happened between them. Except of course for
all the stuff that clearly had happened and couldn't be undone.

“
I'm sorry,” she said,
putting her head around the corner. “Where is the
spoons?”

Eoin pulled himself to his
feet. “I'll show you. I anyway have to get the thermometer and
check how close to death I am.”

She voiced her protests at him
getting up but he waved them away. He pulled the infra-red
thermometer from its resting place and checked both his ears.
Thirty-eight and a bit. Definite fever territory.

“
You should check me
too,” Anja said. “Just in case.”

Eoin blinked at her odd
request. She looked fine, but sure, whatever. He pulled out a new
plastic cover for the thermometer and indicated she should come
closer and turn her head. She covered the distance in two swift
steps. Her scent stirred quite a few memories.

He had to push her hair back
from her ear before shoving in the thermometer. She stood very
still as he did so. He pressed the button and read the display with
a nod. Then he looked at her as a suspicion blossomed in his
slightly fevered head.

Why was she standing so close
to him? Why was her breathing fast and shallow? And why had she
just asked him to touch her?

“
Um, normal,” he said, a
tad distracted. “Officially only one of us is sick.” She met his
gaze and gave a nod. Eoin hurried back to the sofa and by the time
he'd settled down again she had arrived with two mugs of tea. She
put one at each end of the coffee table and positioned herself at
the far end of the sofa.

Eoin looked at his tea and then
up at her. She was staring back. This couldn't drag on any more;
something had to give. So he simply blurted it out.

“
So why are you here
Anja? I mean, just arriving like this when things are like they
are. Is it for sex?”

Anja tried to look shocked but
didn't succeed very well.

“
Oh, why do you think
that? Maybe I just feel like to help you. Make you tea. Although”—a
smile flickered on her lips—“I admit it was on my mind. A
little.”

Eoin felt his whole face go
red. “Oh. Well I guess it was on my mind too. You know, a bit.”

“
But we don't have to,”
she said. “If you are not—”

But Eoin had already lunged
across the small gap between them to kiss her on the neck. Her hand
slid across his shoulder as she drew the kiss to her mouth. He
responded enthusiastically, losing himself in the surreal tingle of
the moment, and trying to ignore the fact that he was still in his
totally unsexy pyjamas.

Anja was biting his ear while
he considered if this was a bad idea. He found, as he reached down
to stroke her thigh, that he didn't care. He could just blame the
pills. Or the fever. Or the fact that it was raining outside and
that it was Tuesday.

Yes, that would do. Stupid
bloody erotic Tuesday.

They lay in bed afterwards as
their sweat evaporated in stiff silence.

“
Well,” Anja announced
after a while. “I'll have to get to my job. Okay?”

Eoin nodded as she hopped
lightly from the bed. She pulled her clothes on and went to the
hall to collect her shoes. She returned and sat on the corner of
the bed while she pulled then on. Eoin watched her preparing to
leave with a strange mix of feelings, although he knew that relief
was one of the stronger ones.

The shoes were on. She patted
Eoin's foot and stood up. “Well, see you then.” Eoin could think of
nothing to do except wave to her. She hurried out and moments later
he heard the front door softly close. He lay back on his pillows
and gave a heroic stretch, feeling a little sad but also far more
manly than he'd done in a while.

It seemed that Anja had come
round to say goodbye, in her own way. As goodbyes went, it had been
pretty spectacular, but he understood that was the last he'd see of
her. She couldn't be expected to choose a half-arsed casual
relationship with him over her friend. Things didn't work like
that. His mess with Maria meant that Anja was out of bounds
forever, regardless of what she may or may not feel for him.

And this was quite okay with
him. He was mildly surprised to discover he didn't want a
relationship with anybody. He really didn't. He had sacrificed five
years of his life to Making Things Work With Other People and had
watched it all fail, regardless of how much effort he’d poured into
it. He was tired of all that.

The last few months he’d felt
parts of himself waking up, parts he had ignored for far too long.
What had happened to all his own plans, his own desires in life?
And when had they been shoved aside by somebody else's?