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“Yeah, by the way, your face has transformed to stone.” He stops and lets out a chuckle at his pun. “You’re just as outraged as I was.”
“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” Now I have this need to go and find Charis and watch over her vigilantly, protecting her from that arsehole ex. “Anyway, I better get back. Just think on what I said. You know how to find me.”
I carry myself down the steps, and thank fuck there’s no one in the kitchen, where I have to explain as to why I’m sneaking out of Gibson’s room.
My attention is now on the lovely Charis, and as I find her sitting under one of the big tents, sipping some fruity concoction in her hands, I’m reminded of why I’ve wanted to get to know this woman. I have no doubt she can take care of herself, but at the same time, I’d love to do it for her.
* * *
My eyes wanderto Gibson from time to time. The second Charis is out of my line of sight, Simon finds his way over to me, sitting down, making himself at home, but I guess it is his home after all.
“So, you and Charis seem to be getting by fairly well.”
His tone, I know it as well as I had with Katherine. Live with a bloke for years on end, you understand their undertones very well.
“Say what you need to say, mate, I’m a big boy. I can take it.”
Simon’s eyes wander to Bridget, then swing back to me. “Not sure I can, mate. I’ve seen you get shirty with me enough. I figure what I say may make you go a bit bonkers.”
“Shirty? Hell, I’ve not heard that saying in years. Of course, live with a bunch of yanks, we start talking like them, right?” I retort.
“Yeah, you’re certainly right. Professor Maudle would be appalled at our proper British English at being in the States for a long spell.” He lets out a little chortle at his words.
“Okay, just ask what you want, Simon?”
“I saw you sneak out of Gibson’s bedroom, and because I know you, and Gibson fairly well, there was so much tension between the two of you—I’m assuming…”
He pauses, not finishing his sentence. “Do you think I’m going to tell you to bugger off, and that it’s none of your business?” I ask.
Simon tips his head to the side, as he shrugs his shoulders. “Partly, yeah, but I know you. And I know what you’re looking for.”
Simon is my only mate who knows what I want in life. “Does Bridget know?” I ask. I love the woman, she’s great for Simon, but her alliances are with her own best mates, too.
“Nah, it’s not my story to tell. She knows you swing both ways, but you don’t hide that either. However, the intensity of it, I’d never share it with her.”
“I appreciate it.” It’s all I know to say.
“So, tell me, what is it you want? Your sights have been set on Charis for the past year. And now, there’s Gibson?” he asks.
“I’m not even clear how it happened. It was one night but…” I’ll spare him all the details. “And I like Charis. It’s what I’ve wanted. You know this—a committed triad.”
He does the same head tilt and shoulder shrug. “Like myself, there are things Bridget doesn’t share with me about Charis. But she’s gone through hell and back. And I’ll mention, Gibson seems a bit besotted with her.”
Of course, he is. But she’s captivating. “It’s this connection we share. Can’t say I’m surprised. Maybe it’s fate, how both Gibson and Charis have chemistry too. I picked up on that right away.”
“Well, my friend.” I stop at Simon’s American greeting for me, and not mate. “You know how to find trouble, don’t you?”
He pushes to his feet, his attention on his girls giving their mum some grief. “I better go help the wife. But you know when and where to find me.”
Charis grabs my attention as she bends over to grab one of the twins for Bridget. She waves but places the little girl on her hip. I can’t say I’m surprised by what a natural she is with children. There’s this special way she speaks of her own daughter that makes me understand how uniquely wonderful Charis Andropolis is.
“Staring, are you?” The voice pulls me from concentrating on Charis’s breasts spilling out of her flowing summer dress. I shift my head to the familiar voice. “I mean, there’s not a better view around, so I guess you have good taste.”
I won’t piddle around the point, as Gibson makes himself at home across from me.
“You like her, don’t you?” I ask. I’m not jealous, not in the least. Because honestly, we have the same goal.
“It sounds odd, but yeah, with one encounter I felt a connection, sort of like I did with you,” Gibson explains.
