Take My Hand (19 page)

“Rachel. I
need to text Rachel,” I whispered under my breath. Dexter planted a soft,
lingering kiss on my forehead, inhaling the scent of my hair as he did, before
backing away and letting me reach for my bag behind the table.

Me: I’m staying at Dexter’s tonight.
Long story, will explain tomoz. Hope ur ok. Xxx

As soon as
I’d pressed send I realised I’d forgotten something.

Me: P.S. If ur sick on the floor u
better clean it up before I get home ;-)

I know I
had a cheek seeing as I was only a few breaths away from spewing myself an hour
or so ago. But the minute I felt Dexter’s lips brush mine…I sobered up
instantly.

Rachel: About fuckin time

Hold on -
was she
pro
Dexter again now? If I’ve
said it once I’ve said it a thousand times… I’ll never be able to keep up with
that girl.

Rachel: P.S. Piss off. I’m sleeping

Giggling
to myself while pressing the screen lock button on my phone, I turned to
Dexter.

“We’re
good to go.”

Dexter

Well
I’d
really gone and done it now. The second I tasted her I lost all control over
where ‘this’ was heading. It wasn’t down to me anymore. I had no choice. I
had
to be with her. I knew the second I
brushed my tongue over her perfectly soft lips, the very moment I got to twist
those fiery curls around my fingers, the instant I felt her heartbeat race
against my chest… that I wouldn’t be able to go a single day without
experiencing that again.

I’d had one
hit… and I was addicted.

“You feel
steady enough to hold on?” I asked when we reached my bike. I think the
concoction of water mixed with anger then stirred together with a little
passion sobered her up wonders. Nevertheless she’d had a
lot
to drink – even by
my
standards – and so the last thing I wanted was for her to pass out on
me while she was straddling the back of my bike.

“I’m good,” she
nodded – flashing that adorable smile where she gazed up at me like I was
some kind of freakin’ hero. I hope that never fades. More to the point I need
to stop
waiting
for it to fade. Emily
is like no other person I’ve ever met. There is no confectionary category for
her – she’s made up of the most delicious parts of every piece of candy
ever invented. Somehow, every second I spend with her she amazes me a little
more. I can do ‘this’ with her.

I have to.

When we got
back to my place Emily asked if she could jump in the shower to wake herself up.
I purposely ignored her. I’ve told her countless times she doesn’t need to ask
about shit like that. She got the message pretty quickly and after five minutes
or so, I heard the roar of the hot water pipes cranking to life. Feeling bad
about the way I reacted with Jared earlier I pulled my cell from my pocket and
sent him a text.

Me: I acted like a jerk b4. Sorry. Hope all
ok with ur dad

I tossed my
cell onto the arm of the couch assuming he’d be too busy playing the doting son
to reply. Guess I was wrong.

Jared: Had an angina attack whateva that is.
Apparently it’s not as bad as a heart attack so that’s cool. No worries mate.
Uve always been a twat I’m used to it

Laughing off
his reply I threw my cell back where I got it from. I was happy with the news
about his dad – it meant I didn’t have to feel guilty about feeling so
fucking unbelievably fantastic right now. The shower was still running and I
figured Emily might want to change into something more comfortable so I headed
to my room and plucked a t-shirt and clean boxers out of my drawers.

I took them to
the bathroom and tapped a light knock onto the door. She didn’t answer and I
assumed it was down to the noise of the running water obscuring the sound so I pried
the door open slowly and walked inside anyway.

“I’m not
looking!” I announced as I walked over to the small shelf above the basin. I
was lying obviously. You seriously expect me not to take a peek, knowing the
sexiest living creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on was standing dripping wet and
naked just inches away from me? Besides, I told myself stealing a quick
once-over was acceptable seeing as technically I didn’t get to see any of the
good stuff – just a silhouette. But fuck me that was one
hell
of a silhouette. “I’ve got some
clean stuff here for you to change into. I’ll leave it just here on the shelf.”
I spoke loudly, trying to outdo those goddamn rusty pipes which were screaming
in protest against the hot water flowing through them.

“Thanks! I’ll
just be a minute!” she replied, the tone of her voice so chirpy it sounding
almost like she was singing.

About five
minutes later Emily emerged from the bathroom and every drop of blood in my
body rocketed straight to the bulge in my pants. Sweet holy fuck. Emily was the
first woman I’d ever seen dressed in
my
clothes
and in that moment I knew for certain she would be the last. My favorite black
t-shirt rested just below her ass, even though she was trying to tug it down
further as she walked towards me with those easy to embarrass cheeks pinking
when she looked at me. Unfortunately, my boxers covered a little extra flesh
below that and I could only imagine (and by fuck did I imagine) what the skin
of her thighs looked like above them.

I patted the
couch next to me for her to join me and after giving the t-shirt one final tug
she settled down next to me. There was too much space between us however so I
patted it again and then smiled as she shimmied nearer – never releasing
the hem of the shirt from her fingers.

“Drink,” I
ordered with a knowing smile, handing her the mug of strong black coffee I made
while she was in the shower.

“Ugh. I can’t
stand black coffee,” she grumbled.

“I don’t care.
I can guarantee you won’t be able to stand the almighty hangover you’re gonna
have in the morning even more,” I replied. “Now drink.”

Grudgingly she
brought the steaming mug to her lips and took a generous sip. Naturally she
complained when she lowered it back down but I put my hand underneath and moved
it back up towards her mouth.

“You always
roll your eyes so much?” I asked playfully when she did just that. “Or is that
something you have on reserve just for me?”

“You
and
Rachel,” she admitted. “You two are
the most infuriating people on the planet.”

“Yet you can’t
seem to stay away from us huh?”

“Yeah well I’m
all for helping out with care in the community,” she quipped. She took a couple
more sips of coffee, whining louder after each one, and then slammed it down on
the table in front of us defiantly. “I’m not drinking anymore,” she said
resolutely. “I feel fine now anyway.” I eyed her up curiously. She did look
pretty fine – and not just in
that
way
– but it made no sense how such a novice drinker could recover so
quickly. She’d downed enough alcohol to drown a small army tonight.

The silence
that followed was as awkward as it was deafening. There were things that needed
to be said which I think we were both equally afraid to say. The one pounding
in my ears however was, ‘where do we go from here?’

“Where do we go
from here?”
No freakin’ way.
Emily
asked nervously, fiddling with the hem of my t-shirt above her knees.

“Where do
you
want us to go from here?”

“That’s not an
answer.”

“Well it’s the
only one I got for you, doll. It has to be your decision.” She pursed her
eyebrows together, both confusion and frustration washing over her porcelain
face.

“And what
exactly is my ‘
decision’
?” Sighing
heavily, I wracked my mind in search of the answer I thought she wanted from
me.

“Doll, you know
I’ve messed up. You know I’ve done some bad shit but the truth is you don’t
know the half of it…” Her plump lips parted slightly and she bowed her head,
letting the wet red curls fall across her face. “And… I just can’t tell you
those things yet,” I confessed. “I know that’s selfish of me and by God I know
that you deserve more from me… but… I just can’t. Therefore if you can’t deal
with that – which I totally wouldn’t blame you for – then you
should walk away.”

“You said
‘yet’,” she replied, tucking the veil of hair concealing her beautiful face
behind her ear. “Does that mean you
will
?”

“I hope so,”
was all I could offer right now.

“Then that’s
enough for me.” But it shouldn’t be…

“No, doll. It’s
not enough. Nothing will ever be enough for you. You’re the most amazing woman
I’ve ever met and you deserve the fucking earth. You deserve more than I know I
will ever be able to offer you but I’m too goddamn selfish to let you go out
and get it. So if you’re saying we can do this? Then I’m sure as hell gonna
give it my best shot.”

“Soooo… does
that mean you’re going to kiss me again?”

Fuck yeah it
did.

Smiling so wide
my jaw almost split I leaned into her and pressed one hand against her cheek.
She’s got the softest skin I’ve ever had the fortune of touching and I doubt I
will ever tire of stroking it. I took a moment to absorb just how pretty she
was before I allowed my lips the taste they were so desperately craving –
her pale skin, her striking red hair, the small freckle just below her left
eye…

I couldn’t hold
back any longer. I brushed my lips against hers slowly, purposely… teasingly. Then
my tongue wandered slowly over the plump edges before gently manipulating its
way inside and tasting her. She deepened the kiss – exploring every part
of my mouth with her eager tongue. Every so often she would let out the most
delicious little moan and the sound of it forced my fingers into her hair so I
could pull her impossibly closer.

It was in that
very moment I realized, despite having previously experienced countless sets of
women’s lips on mine, I had never truly been kissed before now.

Things got
pretty heated pretty quickly and soon enough Emily was on her knees beside me,
tugging at my hair and eating me alive as if she was coming out of a month long
fast. I grabbed the nape of her neck with one hand and placed the other on her
lower back, pressing her tightly to me and silently vowing that I would never
let her go… that I would
never
hurt
her.

Shortly
afterwards Emily reached behind her and removed my hand from her back, panting
and groaning as she did so. Then she brought it around to her front and peeled
her lips away from mine just long enough to kiss my knuckles before positioning
my hand on her upper thigh and slowly encouraging it upwards.

Firmly but
gently, I snapped my hand free and covered hers with mine– stopping her
from edging it up any further.

“But I’m
ready,” she whispered, sounding disheartened.

“Doll, it’s
late. You’re tired and you’ve been drinking,” I said. “And you might think
you’re ready but I need you to be sure – more sure than you’ve been about
anything in your life.” Gazing down to her knees, that heart-wrenching look of
rejection sweeping across her face again, she sighed. “Besides,” I added. “When
I touch you
there
I don’t want you to
just be ready. I want you to be
desperate.
By the time I get to feel you, doll, I want you aching so badly for me that
you’re struggling to walk. I want you panting so harshly you can’t form words.
And I want your mind to be so consumed by what you want me to do to you, you
can’t even remember your own name.”

Aaaaand… as if
by magic – her cheeks flushed, making her hair look pale in comparison.

Forcing her
chin up with my finger I looked intently into her eyes, silently assuring her
that I have never wanted to be inside another woman so badly. Then I twisted my
fingers into her hair, relishing the luxurious feel of her soft red curls and
holding her face close to mine.

“I
do
want you, doll. And trust me when I
say that when I finally get to have you, I will make you feel so good the neighbors
will take out a noise pollution order on me.” I winked at her and traced the
edges of her lips with my thumb. My cock was just one more throb away from
freakin’ exploding and yet here I was… being a gentleman. Aren’t you proud of
me? “Let’s get you to bed,” I said. Then, noticing one of her perfectly pruned
eyebrows shoot up I added, “to sleep. We’ve got a busy day ahead tomorrow,
doll. I want you refreshed and eager next time I let you kiss me,” I teased.

“You’re such a
loser,” she said playfully, swatting my shoulder with her hand.

She couldn’t
have been more wrong. I had never felt like such a winner in all my life.

Emily

One month later…

Today
is Thanksgiving in America and Rachel, Jared and I
were organising a surprise dinner for Dexter. He’d not even mentioned the
holiday but it’s supposedly a huge affair over there so I was sure he’d love
it. Even if he didn’t, I certainly would. Who wouldn’t want two Christmas
dinners in a year?

The last
month has been amazing. You’re going to have to overlook the fact that I’m
about to sound like a walking cheeseball and believe me when I tell you I’ve
never felt so alive, so invigorated, so… grown up. I finally feel like I’m in
charge of my own life and the future I’ve always dreamed about is no longer
just a dream – it’s really happening.

The
nightmares have stopped – just like that. I don’t know why and I don’t
care. I think they stopped coming about the time I reconciled with Dexter,
though I can’t be certain because I found it difficult to focus on anything but
him
for those first few days. Who am
I kidding? I’m still struggling to think of anything else even now.

Dexter and
I see each other every day. Usually we meet during class (if I’ve not spent the
night at his place and vice versa) then we’ll part ways while I head to
Starbucks and he goes to the pub. I still don’t feel 100% at ease there yet.
David is turning out to be friendly enough but Rachel 2 is a complete bitch.
The other day she asked everyone except me if they needed anything picking up
from the corner-shop during her break. I was standing
right
next to her and she completely blanked me!

 
If I’m not too tired after my shift I’ll
go and meet Dexter at The Blue Apple and more often than not Rachel will join
me. I’m sure that’s so she can spend time with Jared but she’d die before
admitting that to me.

In case
you’re interested, we still haven’t gone all the way in the S word department
yet. That hasn’t stopped Rachel insisting on a daily basis I get myself waxed
however – just in case. Maybe I’m being a complete wuss but the idea
scares the bejesus out of me. So for now, I’ll keep up with my usual routine of
a quick razor around the edges. TMI? Oops.

 
Believe me Dexter and I have done pretty
much everything else that doesn’t involve venturing ‘down there’ but where the
actual ‘deed’ is concerned, he’s being so stubborn about wanting everything to
be perfect. Though I can categorically confirm, my vajayjay, hoohaa, whatever
you want to call it… is most definitely NOT broken. I swear there’s a permanent
party going on in my knickers whenever I so much as catch a glimpse of him. And
don’t even get me started on how it tingles so violently down there it almost
hurts whenever I steal a cheeky lick of his nipple rings…

No way did
I just tell you that. Sorry.

It’s sweet
really, Dexter taking it slowly – he isn’t leaving anything to chance
when it comes to us being together. He’s so intent on making sure I know what I
want and that I understand what I’m getting, even though I’ve never been more
certain of anything in my life.

Of course,
Rachel’s got him blacklisted as a closet homosexual. Do I even need to bother
to tell you how many times I’ve rolled my eyes at that comment? Didn’t think
so.

Dexter
hasn’t had anymore ‘slip ups’ since the ‘night we broke up even though we
weren’t even together’ night. I’m not trivialising it by referring to that
night as a slip up – I just don’t know what else to call it. But believe
me I’m not walking blindly into this. That doesn’t mean I know what to expect
because I don’t. I have no idea what Dexter’s kind of history does to a person
or whether they can ever stay ‘on the wagon’ so to speak. All I
do
know is that Dexter is one of the
most amazing people I’ve ever met and I can only vow to
try
to be there for him if ever he needs me. No matter how much
that thought scares the hell out of me.

We’ve
talked so much this past month - for hours on end some nights – but I
still don’t know who that phone call was from the previous night or who he was
‘losing’. He hasn’t volunteered the information and I haven’t been brave enough
to ask for fear I’d lose him again. That makes me naïve I know it does. When
you bury your head in the sand the chances are you’ll end up being suffocated,
which is why I know we need to have that conversation eventually.

Just not
yet.

“So you
sure we got the right stuff?” Rachel said, trying to figure out which end of
the turkey to shove her hand in. I should note here, that in buying said turkey
I managed to cross off Number 14 on the New Life List – after a hefty
squabble with Rachel I might add.

·
Do something reckless :-)

Now,
Rachel’s argument was that by reckless she meant something exciting - something
daring and uncharacteristic of me. My defence? How more reckless can you get
than spending twenty-five pounds – yes… TWENTY-FIVE Great British Pounds
– on a dead bird?

“I think
so,” I shrugged. “According to Monica anyway.” Good ol’ Monica Geller. Today’s
menu is based entirely on the episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S where Brad Pitt comes
for dinner. I wasn’t expecting the cooking to be too difficult - I’ve watched
my mum cook a turkey – albeit reluctantly – every year since I was
born. From what I could gather, wash, stuff, and shove in oven was all there is
to it.

But then
there’s the pumpkin. After Googling Thanksgiving I discovered pumpkin pie is
like some kind of tradition, but seeing as I’ve only ever used one to hack out
its guts, carve a face and put a tea-light in it, this was going to be a
problem.

“Right so
the lid’s off – now what?” I asked, staring blankly into the orange mush
and regretting the whole pumpkin pie idea already.

“You’re
asking me?
Seriously,
Ho?” Yeah she
had a point. Rachel’s culinary talents rested at re-heating day old pizza, and
she’d even been known to burn that on occasion.

“This is
going to be a disaster,” I groaned, pulling out my phone to Google the recipe
for the fiftieth time. When I swiped across the screen, a text was waiting for
me.

Dexter: Coming over in an hour. I have
something for u ;-)

“No no
no!” I thought out-loud without realising.

“What’s
wrong?” Rachel asked in a panic, pulling her hand which was now dripping with
turkey slime from the back of the bird.

“Dexter’s
coming over. This is supposed to be a surprise!” I said, waving my hand over
the pile of food on the countertop beside me.

“So tell
him he can’t,” she answered simply. I knew Dexter too well though – he’d
just turn up anyway. “Or tell him you’re out.” Hmm, that might work. Nodding, I
started typing.

Me: I’m shopping with Rach. Come over
about 2 xxx

Dexter: I can’t wait that long. I miss u

And that
right there is why I love him. Although I haven’t told him that yet. Well,
actually I did a couple of weeks ago – it sort of slipped out while we
were… doing stuff. But he either didn’t hear me or didn’t feel it too because
he didn’t say it back. Therefore I’ve not been brave enough to repeat it, and
have been trying extremely hard (but not always succeeding) in trying not to
obsess over whether it’s the second reason.

Me: Miss u too. C U at 2 xxx

Dexter: Or before x

Damn you,
Dexter Michaels!

“Get Jared
over here. We need more help,” I snapped in a fluster. There was no way this
dinner was going to be ready in time. We only had four hours and Rachel still
hadn’t plucked up enough courage to remove the turkey’s giblets.

“Quit
worrying. Who needs food anyway?” she teased, reaching for her glass of wine
and toasting it in the air. I silently hoped she and Jared didn’t get
too
drunk – even though the past
month has taught me that had about as much chance of actually happening as
Santa coming to help prepare this meal.

I just
didn’t feel comfortable around alcohol anymore – especially with Dexter
in the same room. Not because I worried he would relapse, I have complete faith
in him – just because I liken it to eating a Big Mac in front of someone on
a strict diet. I’ve no doubt it’s
my
issue
and not Dexter’s. He works in a pub for crying out loud.

Also, it
becomes kind of awkward when Rachel starts pressing him for an answer as to why
he doesn’t drink – or as she usually puts it, why he’s such a ‘miserable
sod’. I haven’t told anyone about Dexter’s problems. People judge – it’s
human nature. And I don’t want anyone judging Dexter when he’s worked so damn
hard to overcome his issues. Besides, even if it was anyone else’s business,
it’s not my secret to tell.

Jared
arrived within the hour carrying a crate of beer. As he lowered it onto the
round pine table at the end of the kitchen I idly tried to remember the last
time he arrived without one… I couldn’t.

“I’m no
chef, but shouldn’t that be in the oven?” Jared said sarcastically as he nodded
his head towards the naked turkey. Without hesitation Rachel grabbed the
nearest tea-towel and launched it at him. “What the fuck?” he blasted, tugging
at the hem of his pale-cream jumper. The tea-towel in question had previously
been used to mop up the contents of a cracked egg from the floor. I’ll let you
imagine the vast array of colourful words Rachel chose to use in that moment. “This
is brand fucking new!” Taking another tea-towel from the countertop he started
dabbing at the stain which was already setting in. “Is this egg? Does egg come
out?”

“Was it
expensive? The surgery I mean?” Rachel interrupted, causing confused
expressions to appear on both my and Jared’s face. “Oh sorry. I just assumed
you’d had a sex change. What with you acting like a giant fucking woman and
all.” I chewed on my lip to stop myself from laughing and Jared gave Rachel his
best evil glare. “Don’t know why you’re whining anyway. Just cry to Mummy and
she’ll get you a new one.” I don’t know much about Jared’s parents – only
that they’re loaded. It seems to be all everyone else knows about them too
given the fact that Rachel and Dexter tease him relentlessly about it.

“Oh come
on, guys! Forget your stupid squabbles and help me out here. There’s so much to
do and it’s all going wrong,” I spat, feeling the threat of tears tickling the
corners of my eyes. It was only a meal – I knew that. But it was a meal
I’d had planned for weeks in my head and in my imagination everything was
perfect.

Looking at
the bombsite I called a kitchen right now however, I doubted even Gordon Ramsay
could make this meal perfect.

**********

It was
12.30 PM when Dexter’s knock graced the door. I knew it was him because he uses
the same knock wherever he goes – tap, tap, ta tap tap…tap tap. It didn’t
matter that he was early because the whole thing was a disaster anyway.

“Hey,” I
muttered glumly when I opened the door.

“Glad to
see you too, doll,” he replied playfully.

“Happy
Thanksgiving,” I added with a pout. He raised an impressed eyebrow and I knew
that would be the first and last of the day when he saw the state of the
kitchen.

“You know
it’s Thanksgiving? That’s so sweet, doll.” In that moment an almighty crash
resounded from the kitchen. For a split second Dexter looked alarmed but then
he heard Jared’s distinctive laugh follow shortly after. “Jared’s here?” I
don’t know why he sounded surprised. Jared is always here lately. He and Rachel
are so into each other and everyone knows it – everyone
apart
from them.

“Yeah well
I had this big Thanksgiving dinner planned for you. But it’s not quite turning
out as planned,” I confessed dejectedly.

“Seriously?
You did that for
me?
”

“I just
wanted to make you feel at home. But now it’s ruined.” Dexter looked around the
room, bowing and raising his head exaggeratedly, confusing me in the process.

“Where the
hell is it?” he muttered, still searching the room with his eyes. “Oh, here it
is,” he said assuredly, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking straight
into my eyes. “Right here. I’ve got everything I need to make today special
right here. If you’re here, then I
am
home,
doll.” Melting into a puddle at his feet, an involuntarily smile crawled onto
my face, betraying the bad mood I was supposed to be in.

“Hey it’s
the birthday boy!” Jared sang, raising an almost empty lager bottle in the air
when I led Dexter into the kitchen. It was lunch time and the pair of them were
already wasted.

“It’s
Thanksgiving not his birthday, nob cheese,” Rachel interjected.

“But we
don’t have Thanksgiving,” he slurred, confusion sweeping across his face as he
ran his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. Jeez, he really was wasted.
I’ve been banging on about Thanksgiving for weeks.