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His jerky movements made me jumpy. Now that our session was over, I’d become edgy. We hadn’t spoken aboutthatnight yet.
I wasn’t sure if I would ever forgive myself for sleeping with him. Orson had this charming way of making me feel special and desired. I’d always been a sucker for a compliment.
Regret sucks.If only I could press rewind.
Sheridan kept reminding me that Ethan and I weren’t together and that men did it all the time, so why couldn’t women? That was a reasonable argument. But I still felt like shit about it.
After I packed up my stuff, I joined Orson in his kitchen. He offered me a bottle of beer, which I took gladly. I needed something to drain the tension out of my body. As I sipped the cool bitter liquid, his playful blue eyes met mine. My cheeks flushed, and I turned away, unable to maintain eye contact.
I gulped down a third of the contents then cleared my throat. “Orson, what happened between us…” I paused to find the right words. “I was drunk, and well, it can’t happen again. Ethan wants us to be exclusive.”
Just saying that made the bottle shake in my hands.Are we really doing this?
I could be with Ethan as easily as breathing. But could I keep him happy?
Kinky sex, I could do. I liked it. But would that be enough? Would he want threesomes? Jealous to a fault, I could never agree to that.
He pulled a mournful, sad-clown face. “I’m broken-hearted.”
“Don’t make fun. I mean it.” My voice cracked.
“I’ll get over it.” His cocky smirk made me want to slap him.
“You know me.” He chuckled. “I’m not a one-woman man. Monogamy’s an outmoded institution.”
He pulled a box of crackers from a cupboard and dipped his hand into it. “There’s this young singer I met the other night at Blue.”
“I’m happy for you,” I replied coolly. “So today was good.” I shifted the gear back to business. “I think it turned out well.”
He offered me a cracker.
“No thanks,” I said, leaning against the kitchen table scattered with newspapers, magazines, cups, and glasses.
“I think it’s a good album, Bel.” He crunched on a cracker, as streaming sun through the kitchen windows highlighted the wrinkles around his eyes. “My lawyer will email the contract. I’ll be taking fifty per cent of royalties, as discussed.”
Orson was a professional over and above everything, and when it came to his time, he didn’t do anything for free. I respected that.
“Fine.” I rose and released a breath that helped untangle the nerves in my chest. The queasiness I arrived with had finally settled.
I was relieved that our session had ended. Even his smell, which pierced my nostrils when he hugged me, repelled me. Ethan’s scent, on the other hand, sent a warm tingly wave through my body.
I placed my guitar in a backpack case. “I need to go.”
“Ethan Lovechilde?” He walked me to the door.
“It’s a little crazy, I know. We grew up together.”
“He’s a party boy and a womaniser, methinks. Don’t let your heart get too invested.” The patronising tilt of his head made me want to stamp on his foot.
“Gee. Thanks for the advice.”
He chuckled. “Only looking after you. Although heartbreak does write the best songs.”
“Fuck off, Orson,” I said.
He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Love you too.”
My mouth tugged up at one side. I left him at his door, waving at me. I stepped onto the Chelsea pavement and glanced over at the manicured park with its velvet lawns and uniform trees. Everything looked clean and in its place. A far cry from my life.
