He pulls her blouse open, and his lips trail down her sternum and explore the flesh around the cups of her bra. The desperation to feel him everywhere engulfs her.
‘Scott.’ Her strangled whisper is interspersed with the ping of a message. His or hers? It’s definitely his. Ignoring it, he reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra so that her freed breastsswing towards his lips. He’s taking her nipple in his mouth and she’s gasping with ecstasy when the next ping pierces the air.
‘Do you…?’
‘No.’
His tongue circles the most sensitive area, and Heather’s almost completely under his spell. Almost. Another text.
‘Scott. Do you think you need to…?’
It’s almost an affront to speak, an even greater insult to suggest he moves away from her, even for a millisecond, to check. But it could be one of the …
‘We need to let them go. We can’t jump whenever they shout,’ he says as his thumbs rotate over the surface of her now-hardened nipples.
It’s ringing now. A loud, insistent peal which shatters their sanctuary of two.
‘For fu—‘
Scott stands. His erection is visible through the fabric of his trousers, and Heather’s mouth gapes as she tries to reconcile herself with the broken connection between them. He grabs his phone and cancels the call. He’s back between her legs within seconds, his hands stroking her inner thighs, and she’s back, back, back when another insistent, unignorable bellow comes from his phone. This time, he takes the call.
‘No, Lorraine, I wasn’t aware and no, Lorraine, I don’t want to,’ he says angrily into the microphone.
He’s back by the bed in a moment. And he leans in to kiss her, but there’s a new rigidity to his lips.
‘Lorraine?’ she finds herself saying.
Scott pulls back, scrutinises her face. Suddenly, his body goes taut.
‘No. No. No. Not like that,’ he says, shaking his head in a panicked manner.
‘But it’s someone, right? It’s something?’ The silence pools between them, heavy and thick. She reaches around her back, re-attaches the hooks in her bra and begins to re-button her blouse. A low, familiar ache replaces the burn in her body. ‘What’s going on, Scott? You’ve got to admit this is strange, even for you.’
He stands abruptly and paces the room, his hands clenched and tapping against his hips.
‘I’m sorry, Heather. Truly, I am. That call. It just reminds me.’
‘Reminds you of what?’
She’s standing beside him, her hands out, touching his biceps.
‘I tried to tell you this morning.’
She remembers Brianna’s call interrupting them earlier.
‘Okay.’ She frowns, her heart pounding. ‘So tell me now.’
She squeezes his arms.
‘There’s something I should have told you a while ago … and definitely before this.’ He indicates the messed-up sheets of the hotel bed, which Heather will most definitely feel compelled to smooth out later. She reaches up and holds his shoulders to pin him in one position for a moment.
‘Scott. Neither of us are brand new to this. We’re two middle-aged, single parents of freshman children. Just tell me.’
She moves her hands and places them on the dimple in his chest. A perfect fit.
‘I don’t do relationships,’ he says, ‘not after …’
His dead wife’s name isn’t vocalised, but seems to float in the air between them, nonetheless.
