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13
“I'm going to miss you.” Alex is playing footsie with me beneath the table. His expression is soft, his eyes softer. We've got through nearly a bottle and a half of red wine and it's made my focus a bit hazy, like one of those 'tasteful' photo shoots where your friends dress up like hookers.
“You won't have time,” I reply, scooping the last spoonful of honeycomb ice cream. “You'll be too busy strutting across stages and being awesome. Not to mention fighting off groupies with a baseball bat.”
He reaches across the table and grabs my wrist, circling his fingers around my skin. He has that look on his face, the one that hooked me, reeled me in and turned my life upside down. The one that makes me feel like the only woman in the room.
“You're the only groupie I want.”
I can't remember the last time we went out for dinner. Alex has chosen a tiny trattoria in Hoxton. It's surprisingly unpretentious; the wait staff, who all seem to be genuine Italians, don't blink an eyelid at his ripped jeans and tattoos.
I stare back at him, trying to memorise the contours of his face. The curve of his lips, the slight bump on his nose. There's the smallest sliver of a scar on his left cheek from an accident when he first started shaving. Being the only male in his house growing up meant he was self-taught.
In spite of the copious amount of food and drink I've forced inside it, my stomach tightens. He's been so sweet these past few days, so caring, it's breaking my heart to say goodbye. Yet, tomorrow morning at six a car will pull up outside our flat and he'll climb inside and head for the airport, leaving me and his son behind.
I swallow hard, remembering Stuart's words. Don't make it harder than it has to be.
“I'll be your groupie when you get back.”
Slowly, he shakes his head. A smile ghosts across his lips. “Tonight.”
The waiter chooses this opportunity to hand over the bill. Alex glances at the paper then hands his card over, fingers keying in his pin. All the while he presses his foot to mine, nudging me. A physical reminder of his words.
When we step outside, the cool night air doesn't sober us one bit. Instead I stumble into him, and Alex steadies me, grabbing my waist with his strong, rough hands.
A jolt of desire shoots through me, making me light headed. Alex pushes me onto the wall behind us, his body pressed to mine, head dipping to run his lips down my neck. The hair on my skin stands up and I shiver in spite of the body heat covering mine.
When his lips reach the corner of my mouth I'm so ready for him. My breath has already shortened in anticipation, making my chest move rapidly against his. A moment later he lifts his hand to my face, cupping my jaw, angling me until our lips meet.
When he kisses me it's hard and fast, enough to turn the bones in my legs to jelly. I clutch his shirt, feeling the muscles in his back ripple as he hitches one of my legs around his hip.
It's a quiet road, but I'm thirty-one, not sixteen. I pull away, laughing softly. “I know I said I'd be your groupie, but this is a little too public, even for me.”
He slides his palms down my back, following the curve of my spine. Reaching my behind, he digs his fingers in, moving them in slow, teasing circles. “There's nobody here.”
“Yet...”
There's a hint of cockiness to his smile. “You're not being a very good groupie.”
I bark out a laugh. “They chucked me out of groupie school. I failed the blow job in an alley class.”
He inclines his head to one side. “Yeah? I beg to differ.”
He's remembering... oh God I really did that, didn't I? My skin heats up as I recall that night, not long after we met, when we ended up lost in Shoreditch, barely able to keep our hands off each other. Somehow we found ourselves in a dead end, kissing and sighing and groaning. Then I sank to my knees, unzipping his jeans, slowly running my finger down the hard ridge of his cock.
“I passed?” I ask softly.
“Every fucking time.”
In the end we make it home with our virtues intact. I regain my composure enough to make small talk with Alex's mum before he bundles her into a taxi, shoving a wedge of notes into her hand.
By the time he gets back into the flat I've moved away from the window and am checking on Max, standing in the doorway of our bedroom, staring into the gloom. As I watch the blankets softly falling and rising, I feel Alex behind me, his breath hot on my neck. We stand there for a little while, silent, unmoving, watching our son sleep. I try not to acknowledge how bittersweet it all feels, knowing this is his last night, that tomorrow I'll be doing this on my own.
He'll be surrounded by people, by musicians and fans all out to party. And though I trust him, I still hate the thought of anybody trying to touch him, to get close to him. Maybe he senses my change in mood, because he's gentle as he pulls me away from the door, his fingers slowly sliding down the straps of my dress until they're resting on my upper arms. He's still behind me, his hot breath whispering against my spine.
“I'm going to remember you like this.” He slides my zip down, a single finger tracing down my back. “Your perfect skin. The way it's so fucking soft.” His lips graze my back, then he falls to his knees, pulling my dress with him until it's a pool of silk at my feet.
Taking me by the hips, he turns me around until I'm facing him, wearing only my underwear and a pair of stupidly high heels. Neither of us says a word as he runs his hands up my legs, his fingers ca
