8: In Which She Gets a Bear Hug

8: In Which She Gets a Bear Hug

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Just gave birth to a lovely baby boy – Grace

I shook my head, tapping a quick reply to my sister before grabbing my bag and heading out the station. Grace was the only woman on the planet who could text everyone she knew five seconds after pushing out her child’s head. I was quite sure that it was a ‘mass text’.

I froze in my footsteps midway to my car (which was, for the record, safely parked on the premises), swallowing hard.

“I took a wild guess that you’d leave early today,” Teddy said brightly, approaching me and pulling me into a tight embrace as if we hadn't seen each other in years. “How are you?” she asked, pulling back and flashing me a megawatt smile. “Was work OK?”

I smiled weakly. “Not really. I’m sure everyone heard that caller telling me I know fuck all about what I do.” I bit my bottom lip. “Sorry for cursing. I don’t usually do that. At least, out loud.”

Teddy waved a hand. “Don’t worry, darling. We all have our off days.”

I stuck my key into the door. “Is everything all right?” I didn’t want to come right out and ask her what the hell she was doing at my place of work. That would’ve been rude.

“Of course, sweetheart. Why wouldn’t it be?” Teddy paused, smoothing down the front of her blouse. Today, she was in favour of understated chic – a silk peach blouse and faded blue skinny jeans. I couldn’t remember the last time my own mother wore jeans but, then again, she was twenty years older than Teddy. “Ash’s birthday’s coming up and I was wondering if –”

“Oh, hell, no.” I held my hands up in protest. “I’m really not the best person to –”

“To what? Help me organise the party?” She squeezed my arm. “He hasn’t brought a lady friend over in ages, Amor. I was beginning to think he’d given up on finding the right one.”

The right one? I thought in panic, gulping.

“Teddy,” I said slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Yes, with annoyance. As do I.”

She laughed. “Is that what you think?”

I’m paying him for his company was on the tip of my tongue but of course I couldn’t do that to Ashton, much as he would’ve deserved it. Teddy and I clearly weren’t on the same wavelength.

“My sister just had a baby,” was the answer I settled for. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”

Teddy’s face brightened, like I’d not only told her that Santa existed, but that he celebrated Christmas with the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy, too.

“Is it her first?” she enquired ecstatically, clasping her manicured hands together.

I nodded. “They’ve been trying for a long time now.”

Teddy looked like she’d like nothing more in this world but to be a grandmother. Fast as lightning, she stretched out a dainty hand and patted my stomach.

“You should try, too,” she told me.

****

Patrick Milton Edgar Jackson weighed just under four kilos and had a full head of curly black hair. My ever-efficient sister looked as pristine as ever, not a hair out of place. As she handed me her bundle of joy, the faint smell of Anaïs Anaïs hit me. She’d probably doused her baby in the stuff.

“He’s gorgeous,” I said truthfully, holding him to my chest. I’d obviously come after the cleaning up. He was fast asleep, his long-lashed eyes firmly shut. Grace had told me that they were hazel-brown. He was perfect.

“He is,” Grace agreed, settling into the big, puffy continental pillows and sighing. “Milton cried.”

Of course, he did. Milton Jackson cried every time he watched Titanic. It didn’t matter that he knew exactly how the movie ended. It was as if his tear ducts were on standby until the moment Rose let Jack fall into the sea.

“Where’s Mum?” I asked. She should’ve been at Grace’s side.

Grace averted her eyes. “I didn’t tell her.”

“You what?” I almost dropped her son.

“What’s so wrong about that? I’m being released tomorrow morning so I’ll go visit, take the baby with me.” She almost shrugged. Almost. Grace Page-Jackson didn’t do shrugging.

“What’s wrong about that is that she’s your mother, Grace. It was her right to be here.”

“She’s old, Amor. How could I drag her out here and –”

I glared at her. “She’s not old. I despise the way you treat her. Like she’s an old bag who’s two seconds away from being six feet under.”

“Don’t be ludicrous. What’s gotten into you?” She reached out for her baby and I gladly handed him to her. “You’re going to transfer your negative energy to Patrick.”

“No, Grace,” I told her, grabbing my handbag from the chair. “You are.”

Milton and I bumped into each other on my way out.

“Won’t you stay for some coffee?” he asked, holding up a Styrofoam cup.

I grabbed it from him. “Thanks but no thanks.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Milton peered at me from behind his spectacles.

“Ask your wife,” I mumbled.

I suddenly felt knackered. Next stop – bed.

*

“So what do you say, Amor sweetheart?”

I nearly slammed the phone back down and returned to my TV and Zinfandel. Instead, I took a deep breath and replied, “When’s his birthday?”

If she was astonished by the fact that I didn’t know when her son was born, she didn’t make it obvious over the phone. “Halloween.”

“Figures,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What was that, honey?”

“Lovely,” I said quickly. “I’ll help.”

“Thank you, darling. We need to have a little tête-à-tête pronto.”

“Mm-hmm.” How have I gotten myself roped into organising an escort’s birthday party? With his mother, no less.

“How’s your little niece or nephew?”

“Nephew. He’s beautiful.”

I could practically see the smile on her face. “Of course. Feeling a little broody? That’s natural.”

I nearly choked on my wine. “What?”

“It’s normal for you to feel a little wistful, you know. Hell, I’m envious of your sister but I wouldn’t know if my biological clock’s battery has died or not.” She laughed. “Not that I’m not trying.”

I was mortified. Ashton’s mother didn’t understand the meaning of ‘too much information’.

“Um, Teddy? I’ve got to go. I’m in the middle of making… a soufflé.”

“How lovely. Have a good night, Amor.” Thankfully, she hung up.

And I began to bite my nails. It was a nasty habit I’d thought I’d grown out of in primary but there I was, nibbling away at my nails and ruining the coat of nail polish I’d reapplied that morning. A knock at my door tore me away from my task and I grudgingly got up to answer it.

The fact that it was Ashton standing outside my door explained my clairvoyant reluctance.

“What do you want?” I snapped, ready to slam the door in his face. But he pushed past me, ignoring my question.

“What do I want?” he exploded, turning to look at me once I’d closed the door. “What do you want?”

“I’m not in the mood to play a guessing game with you, Ashton. Spit it out.” I hugged myself.

“I’m crossing the road to get to my car, which – incidentally – is parked in the same spot yours was all those nights ago…and what do I see?” He paused for dramatic effect, I was sure. “My mother having words with you in the parking lot. Now, pray tell, dear sexy Amor, what the hell were you doing with my mother? Didn’t we agree that –”

I tried to stifle my laughter and failed dismally. For some reason – probably attributed to way too much alcohol – I found his rage hilarious. Here he was, unwittingly yelling at me for conniving with his mother for his birthday party.

“Did I say something funny?” His eyes were slits as he frowned at me. “Do I look like Comedy Central?”

“Wine?” I offered, striding past him and going into my living room.

Ashton followed me. “Ah. Mystery solved. You’re drunk.”

“No, just a little happy.” I emptied my glass down my throat and refilled it, handing it to him.

Gingerly, he accepted it. “I know you’re drunk because you don’t realise that you’re half-naked.”

My eyes travelled down my body. Sure enough, I wasn’t wearing any pants. I thanked my lucky stars that I was at least wearing black lace panties. My granny panties had long been banished to the rubbish bin since I’d started sleeping with Ashton.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might just not care?” I asked him, watching him swig down his wine. There was something very sensual about him putting his lips to the glass where mine had been only seconds before.

The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. “Well, we shouldn’t waste this sudden feistiness, should we?” he said dangerously, setting the glass on the table. “Got any music? And I don’t mean your bullshit Mozart, Amor.”

“Mozart’s not bullshit,” I objected. Turning on my heel, I grabbed my iPod from the display cabinet and set it on the docking system. “But if you insist, I won’t play anything classical.”

“Play something dirty.”

I almost bit my tongue. Dirty dirty dirty…

Dirty dirty dancer…

The song came to life and I turned to face the man sitting on my couch. He was probably right. I never knew when I was drunk but I sure knew how to deny it either way. But Enrique’s voice was going to give me courage.

Normally, I would’ve complained about how stupid I felt dancing half-naked for a guy in my living room but under the influence, it felt liquid and carnal. Ashton’s unblinking eyes were trained on me as I moved. Whatever had possessed me at that moment – again, definitely the wine – was making me undress. Slowly, my two-sizes-too-small T-shirt came over my head and I tossed it to the carpet, giggling like a school girl.

Ashton shifted in his seat, the bulge in his pants so obvious it was all I could do not to jump him. He beckoned me to come closer and I did, now hovering over him. Turning around, I lowered myself over his groin, brushing it lightly with the curve of my arse before really grinding against it. At some point, Dirty Dancer had ended and Birthday Sex came on. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Ashton’s hands were magical against me. They danced along the smooth arch of my back, goosebumps dotting the skin because of him. Fingertips teasing the elastic of my underwear, he slowly pulled the lace down and fondled the globes of my rear.

I couldn’t take any more, and neither could he.

My hands were clumsy and Ashton shoved them away, choosing to unzip himself. I turned to face him now, straddling him and clenching my thighs along his sides. The hardness of his c0ck impaled me and I cried out loud. He seemed bigger than the last time but when his hands gripped my waist as he thrust inside me again, I hissed with unadulterated pleasure. The memory of his teasing and tasting and sheer animalism was becoming more and more beautiful each time our bodies found each other. The music was blocked out, shut out, and all I could hear was the sound of my own blood pounding to my head; the sound of Ashton’s ragged breathing; the sound of mine, and the noises we made when we were nearly there.

I was overcome by the frenzy to simply come that I threw my head back in sheer abandon, releasing myself to my most primal need. Ashton was more than enough for me and extremely generous with the pleasure he dished out. His hands kneaded my swollen breasts and his mouth kissed them, worshipped them. I was senseless after that and, when I finally climaxed, only his name was on my lips.

When it was over, he flipped me onto my back and slowly, almost painfully, began to make love to me. Making love was a whole different ball park, as opposed to having a really brilliant fúck.

Our eyes were locked as he gently pushed himself into me repeatedly. He leaned in and kissed me, my lips parting for his seeking tongue.

I fell asleep in his arms.