The Calendar Game (The Alpha Series Book 2) Page 6

  'What've you done?'

  Col focuses on a coffee packet. He picks it up. 'How have we ended up like this, Ronnie? In December I was imagining us living in the penthouse. Now we aren't even together and you've bought your own place miles away.'

  I shrug. 'Why don't you come and look at it? It really is a beautiful home.'

  'Tell me about it. I'll bring you your coffee. Go back through to the apartment.'

  I perch on the sofa. The fact I feel uncomfortable in Col's room is so strange.

  He hands me my drink and I tell him about my new place.

  'I'd love to come and see it. It sounds great, though too large for one person.'

  'Yes, I will be a bit like the tiny Alice in Wonderland. Drink me.' I take a sip of my drink. 'I need someone to bring me a cake that says 'Eat me.' I realise what I've just said.

  'I've missed you,' Col whispers.

  I look up. His eyes regard mine. His gaze is so intense I feel he could burn me. The next minute I find myself pressed back into the sofa. Clothes removed in a frenzy. Tongues entwined. Col’s hand moves to fondle my breast. He hesitates, seeking permission. The wait is torture. I pant. He pinches my nipple.

  'Ohhh.'

  He fists my hair in the fingers of his other hand while he continues to tweak my nipples. There's an answering pull between my legs. I murmur against him. My own hand moves lower so I can wrap my fingers around his thick length. I begin to caress him.

  'Christ, Ronnie.'

  He uses his knee to separate my thighs. His hands roam over my side and he gets hold of my pants and rips them off violently. He pushes himself into me. His nails rake over my skin as if he's trying to mark me. I rise up in elation and he carries on thrusting, and then stops. I can smell our arousal. Col lifts me from the settee and then lowers me to the floor. He positions me on my knees, so my head and top of my torso hang over the sofa. Wrapping my hair around his fingers again, he positions himself behind and begins to fuck me again. Every time he enters me he pulls on my hair. My knees move against the carpet and begin to burn. My pussy burns as he rams into me. He wraps his other hand back around my breast.

  Col pinches my nipple; harder this time. He pushes me into the sofa as he thrashes into me. I feel it all. His cock, the carpet burn, the burn at my core, the pinch of my nipple. I'm aflame. I'm building nearer and nearer to my climax and Col knows exactly how to take me there. As I begin to clench around him he removes the hand stroking my nipple and pinches my clit.

  'Aaaahhhhhhhhh.'

  A dizzy feeling overtakes me as I come. I swear I can see stars. I feel breathless, and need a minute to bring myself back down. I feel the continued pulsing of my clit.

  Col himself finishes, pumping into me several short times. A guttural cry escapes his throat.

  We collapse against the sofa, panting. Several minutes pass while we gather our breath.

  Col gathers me in his arms and rests his head against the crook of my neck.

  'I missed you, Col.'

  'I missed you too.'

  He carries me into the bedroom where I spend the rest of the night wrapped around his body.

  Saturday 8 February 2014

  I wake in the middle of an amazing dream where I'm building up towards a climax. Except as I begin to come around, I realise that Col's fingers are expertly playing with my clit and that I'm not dreaming at all. I sigh and close my eyes again, letting my body succumb to the sensations being evoked within, until a gentle climax rolls over me.

  'Mmmmmmm.'

  Col rolls me onto my side and spoons into me, entering me from behind. His fingers return to my clit. Still sensitive from the last, I can barely stand it. He strums and thrusts. I push back on him. He fills me and I can feel my wetness run down my leg as he carries on pumping. I grab my pillow as I wait for the sensations to overcome me and then it explodes, rocking my body as Col's fingers sink into my shoulders and he spurts inside me.

  We lay in the afterglow.

  'Don't you need to get to the shop?'

  'Scott's opening up today. I called and told him I'm not feeling so well, and might not get in until later… If at all.' He winks and pushes me back onto the bed.

  In the afternoon when we're both desperate to eat, we pad into the lounge. Col goes to the kitchen and fixes us tuna sandwiches. He returns, bringing a tray with our food, drinks and the morning newspapers. I've almost finished my sandwich when I remember about Wednesday's programme.

  'Col?'

  'Mmm-hmm?'

  'My slot on Wednesday is the Valentine’s Day one. Can I mention you? In fact, would you be on the show?'

  Col pales. 'God, no. I'd be a laughing stock.'

  I look downwards.

  'Sorry, but can't you just talk about clothes or something, like usual?'

  I fix a smile on my face. 'Sure. The Researchers will tell me what they want anyway. They don't actually ask my opinion on what we’re doing.'

  'Well that's alright then, isn't it? Problem solved.'

  I fidget on my chair for a bit and look round.

  'Col. Have you ever watched me on the show?'

  'How can I? I'm always working when you're on.'

  'You could record it.'

  'To watch you talk about shoes? I have enough of that in real life.'

  We're silent for a few minutes. It's so unlike us.

  'Are you going to move into the penthouse?'

  Col doesn't move his gaze from the paper. 'I've not decided, and I don't feel like discussing it right now, if that's okay?'

  I go back to my fidgeting.

  'I've got a meeting on Monday with the lady whose garden I'm doing a design for.' I tell Col. 'Her name's Sophie. She's a widow who lives in a mahoosive thirty-five million pound house. Her husband must have been bloody well off.'

  Col now has the paper held up so I can't even see his face. From behind it come the words, 'Well that's nice. Much better than Harry Taylor. I'm glad they got you a new client.'

  'No it's not a new one. This one's my vegetable project. Harry's is the flower border one.'

  Col drops the paper. 'You're still doing Harry Taylor's garden?'

  I cross my arms over my chest. 'Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?'

  'What was tonight and this morning all about? Us being back together? I thought you'd realised your mistake about Harry Taylor.'

  'I came around last night for Sam. I didn't know we'd end up in bed.'

  'So it wasn't just an excuse to break the ice? You actually wanted me to pretend to Sam that we were together?'

  'Yes.'

  'Fucking hell, Ronnie. So you're still seeing Harry then?' Col's jaw tightens.

  'To do his garden, yes.'

  He waves his hands in defeat. 'Nothing’s changed then.'

  'Are you being serious?'

  He nods. 'I am.'

  I shake my head, 'I don't fucking believe this.' I stamp my feet. 'I don't let Harry give me rocking great herculean orgasms. I don't let Harry Taylor tie me up. He hasn't seen me naked and on my knees waiting for his cock to be put in my mouth.' I start screaming. 'You are a ridiculous, pathetic, juvenile, jealous fucking moron.'

  'Can you stop shouting?'

  'No! In fact, yes. I will take my shouty fucking self to my own fucking apartment and you can fuck off!'

  I slam the door so hard I hear something fall off the wall. I'm shaking with anger. I've shouted so loud that it's not just between my legs that's sore.

  That's it, I'm done. In a few months’ time Col and his coffee shop will be far away from me. I go grab my gym kit and get rid of some aggression on the treadmill.

  Monday 10 February 2014

  My vegetable plot project takes me back to Hampstead. However I start to feel a lot like how a hobo in Harrods must. My taxi driver has to press an intercom button for the gates to open, and then I'm driven down a long exclusive road towards what resembles a brick built Barbie super-mansion. I depart the taxi, making sure I remember to take out my folio. I'm dresse
d in black slacks, a Temperley London Catroux top and a short black jacket today. My hair is curled but pulled to one side in a long ponytail, while a pair of gold hoop earrings complete the look. My Giuseppe Zanotti Waterslai High Top Sneakers don't quite match the rest of the ensemble, but they'll have to do as I'll be walking around a garden.

  I ring the doorbell. A woman answers the door. I would estimate she's in her early fifties. She has good skin and short light brown hair.

  'Good morning. I've come to see Sophie Weston.'

  'Yes, you must be Ronnie?'

  I nod and she holds out her hand.

  'I'm Sophie Weston.'

  I put my hand to my chest. 'Oh, I do apologise. My parents live in a house much the same size as this, albeit not in this area and they have staff.'

  She laughs. 'As do I, but I saw you arrive and wanted to greet you myself.'

  She escorts me inside. The first floor is totally open plan. It's white with black accents. There's a large balustrade running around most of the second floor. A huge chandelier from the ceiling looks like it's pouring out diamond water droplets. Water based artwork is all around the home. Ariel the Mermaid would happily live here as a Disney Princess.

  'So, Mrs Weston…'

  'Sophie. Please.'

  'Sophie. Would you like to show me the space you have in mind for the design?'

  Sophie gently touches my arm. 'Oh, let's do that in a while. You must be thirsty. I'll get Mary to fix us some coffee.' She looks at me. 'You do like coffee don't you? I can ask for tea?'

  'Coffee is fine. I'd love one.' I remove my shoes in the hallway and take a pair of ballet slippers out of my bag.

  Sophie tilts her head back. 'I'd love to have you work on my garden, Ronnie.'

  My forehead creases. 'But you haven't seen the plans yet.'

  'I will look at them, but the fact you just removed your shoes and put on slippers in order to not damage the flooring in my home, tells me all I need to know—that you'll take care of my property.'

  'Of course I will. You have a beautiful home. Well I'll look at the plot after our drink. I'll take some measurements while I'm out there, get your opinion on a few things and then I'll email you a provisional design, if that's okay?'

  'That'll be fine, Ronnie. Now why don't you tell me what's behind the bloodshot eyes you've done your best to cover, probably with touche eclat. I've had enough of them myself since being made a widow. Let me guess… a boyfriend?'

  I blink at her. 'How did you know?'

  'It usually is at your age. Want to tell me about it?'

  We walk through into her lounge. I get very nervous when I see it's furnished throughout with white carpeting. Please don't let me spill my drink. She pats the seat next to her on the beige sofa. I am thankful for her direction. Due to the vastness of the room, the adjacent sofa is a postcode away.

  I love this woman already. For someone sat in a castle, she's no Princess. She waits while Mary pours our drinks.

  'Do you want to talk about it?'

  'There's not really much to say. It's all going to sound so stupid.'

  'Arguments usually are.'

  I fill her in on my argument with Col over Harry. She sits, lips puckering as she considers my rationale, and occasionally interrupts to ask me questions.

  'I don't think you should be too hasty with this Col. He does sound like a keeper. Stubborn, but a keeper.'

  'He can't tell me what to do though.' I pout.

  'I don't think he's trying to Ronnie. Reading between the lines, he just seems very concerned for your welfare. If you've had some tough times in the past, his concern makes sense. Though it does sound like he's going about it entirely the wrong way.'

  'I just want him to trust me.'

  She clasps my hand, 'I'm sure he does. Anyway, sleep on it a few days, things always seem clearer after some time apart.'

  I nod. 'I miss him already, the, ah, idiot.' I just stop myself from calling him a fucktard. 'Could I see the garden now?'

  The piece of garden I'm being given is thankfully near to the kitchen area. Given that Sophie has over an acre of garden, I may have needed public transport to get to the plot otherwise. It's clear to see that a potager will fit right in with the rest of the landscaping, and I get excited thinking about how to pull it together. I extract my tape measure from my bag and take some measurements, dashing across the space imagining what I could put there.

  I see Sophie smiling at me.

  'Sorry. I get a bit overexcited.'

  'You look like a different person, Ronnie, to the girl who came in an hour ago. You've lost all the tension you were carrying around.'

  'I love it.' I spin around, letting the fresh air sweep over me.

  'Quite.'

  Ooops, think I've got a little carried away.

  I gather myself together again in what I hope is a professional stance, as if I didn't just twirl in her garden. I tap my pen against my folio. 'Well that's all I need for now, Sophie. I'll let you have the plans to look at. If you're agreeable, and my tutor signs the plan off, I'll be in touch to discuss the next steps.'

  I put my shoes back on near the doorway and wait for my homebound taxi.

  Sophie holds her hand out towards me and I shake it.

  'It's been lovely meeting you, Ronnie.'

  'You too. Thank you for listening to me moaning about Col.'

  'Yes. I hope everything works out for you.'

  'Me too.'

  It would have been a beautifully orchestrated exit had I not fallen over the lip of the doorstep and landed on my knees. Luckily the taxi driver helps me up and I give Sophie a quick wave and tell the driver to hurry. Unfortunately he takes this literally and tears up Sophie's driveway like he's Lewis Hamilton on crack. So much for looking professional.

  Wednesday 12 February 2015

  Holy Guacamole! It's the Valentines Day slot. They've prepped a table with Valentine's Day paraphernalia and Nino the Chef is going to cook and serve the food. The Researchers asked me yesterday if I had a boyfriend so I had to say no. How sad is that? The table is set for two, for myself and Nino. I've been over my script. It's the usual rubbish about engagement rings in drinks. I've to invite the public to tell us their most romantic stories. At least I get to drink the champers, which is real. They've set it up for me to do a taste test. While they were finalising the lighting I may have consumed all three 'tasters'. I need to know how they taste before I 'officially' taste them don't I? Otherwise I might grimace or splutter on screen which wouldn't be becoming. I'm surprised to find they all taste pleasant, as they aren't my usual Cristal. The food technician passes and looks towards the table with a frown.

  'I thought I'd filled those.'

  I shrug my shoulders. 'I've not seen you do so.'

  She huffs and gets someone to refill them.

  I'm starting to feel better already. I check that no-one is looking, and take a swig out of the Moet bottle. By the time my segment starts in twenty minutes, I'll be ready to face the (romantic) music.

  Time passes. Make-up is touched up. They've put me in a red bandage dress with a huge bow on the back. I can hardly sit on the chair. I have to perch on the end.

  The music comes up.

  'So it's over to Ronnie Huntington-Jones. Today she's all set for a Valentine’s Surprise. Good Morning Ronnie.'

  I look to camera. 'Good morning Gil. Yes, today we will be focusing on what is supposed to be the most romantic evening of the year. Valentine’s Day. Now, before Nino serves me a delicious Valentine’s Menu, I have Andrew Cooke here to present some champagne options to accompany your meal.' I turn towards Andy, who has been moved into position at the back of the table.

  'Hi Andy. Thank you for joining us.'

  'It's Andrew, actually, but never mind.'

  'We're having a Valentine's Day drink together, Andy.' I nudge him, 'Don't be going all formal on me now.'

  He introduces each drink and I have a good swig of each and make the appropriate noises and
suggestions. If I was ever invited to Mastermind I could do champagne. I talk about putting the ring in the champagne glass and invite the audience to call in or tweet their stories. I'm told in my ear to think up something else as the phone lines and Twitter are dead so far.

  'So Andy, would you like to join me for my Valentine's dinner?' I wink. 'By the way, are you?'

  'Am I what?'

  'An Andy Cooke? Hahahahahahaha.' I get the champagne and pour myself another.

  I turn to the camera. 'So actually I'm single right now, ladies and gentlemen. How many more of you are spending Valentines evening alone, where the only flower will be the self-raising type in the cupboard? The only chocolate the extra-large bar of Galaxy you've bought to stuff in your depressed mouth? The only ring the scummy one around the bathtub? Tell us how you're really going to spend your evening. I'm going to spend mine with my B.O.B. I'm calling two thousand and fourteen Vibrator Valentines.' Then I hiccough.

  'Ronnie… Stop!' is shouted through my ear. I smile sweetly at the camera. 'Or maybe you could just buy some Ben and Jerry's, if Bob's not your guy.'

  They cut to adverts and I drink some more champagne while they set up, ready for Nino's cookery section. Nino camps up his cameo, walking over to my Valentines table and declaring in his Italian accent. 'So ba-yoo-ti-ful, Ronnie. We were sad you were all alone for Valentines. So we get you a boyfriend… Mister Harry Tay-lorr.'

  My face scrunches up. 'Go with it Ronnie.' The voice bellows in my earpiece. It's a surprise for you. Statistics show the public want you and Harry together.'

  Bastards. They knew I wouldn't go for this. Now I'm live on TV and stuck with it.

  I flash my teeth to camera. They cost enough. I clap my hands together. 'Oh, what an amazing surprise.'

  Harry walks in. He's wearing a black suit and tie. He carries a red rose, which he gives to me. It's so pathetic. I pull the head off and throw the petals over our heads. 'Look confetti. I'm surprised they haven't married us, live on TV.'

  Nino rushes back in and serves an unoriginal prawn cocktail to start. 'This-sa takes hardly any prepara-shun.'

  I lift a prawn to my mouth and then put it back down and eat some of the shredded lettuce with Marie-Rose sauce instead.