Page 27 of Total Creative Control
“That’s it,” Lewis confirmed.
She read it back to him. “I enjoyed our time together, but I don’t want to take things any further with you, so we should both move on now.Have a great life. L.” There was an uncomfortable pause, and when the woman spoke again, her voice was distinctly frosty. “Is that correct?”
“Yup.”
What more was there to say? Mason wanted to know ‘why’? Well, that was the reason. The words were blunt, and certainly not the most elegant he’d ever written, but they were true.
The womanhmmmd. It sounded like a judgmental sort ofhmmto Lewis, and a pulse of embarrassed resentment ran through him. What was the point in sugar-coating it? The message would be the same in the end. Besides, it wasn’t his fault Mason was being so difficult to shrug off. Aaron was right about one thing: Lewis needed to be crystal-clear with the guy if he wanted Mason to stop pestering him.
After he had the flower order sorted, he shovelled down a microwaved pasta thing for dinner, then got back to work. By the time he finished his markup on the script, it was midnight, and his shoulder was throbbing. He didn’t feel the least bit tired, though, despite having gone into the office early. The Amy-Skye-Faolán triangle was an insidious itch at the back of his mind that wouldn’t let him alone. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Or about the looming weekend at Safehaven.
Or the fact that Aaron was going to be there.
He needed to get some sleep, but he felt restless and wired. Even a long, hot shower and a wank didn’t help.
A drink was what he needed, he decided, padding through to the kitchen in his underwear. He opened a bottle of wine, grabbed a glass, and took them through to the living room.
Deciding that some music might help distract him, he shuffled through the vinyls in his record box, finally settling on a Dolly Parton album. Carefully taking it out of its sleeve, he set it on the turntable and dropped the needle. The speakers hissed and crackled as the needle passed over years-old scratches, and then the music started.
The album had been his mum’s. Owen had let him have all her vinyls. There weren’t that many. Dolly, ABBA, Culture Club, Whitney Houston, some old hits collections from the seventies and eighties. Nothing that really went together, just a random selection of stuff that she’d liked or that someone else had thought she might like. She’d definitely liked Dolly. He remembered her playing those ones a lot, and singing along.
Settling on the sofa, he tried to let the music do its thing of chasing his tangled thoughts away, but it wasn’t working tonight. His body relaxed, but the itch in his brain wouldn’t let up. Toni had been right earlier. Faolán’s relationship with Skyewasimportant to him. He just couldn’t put his finger on why, and it was a thought he couldn’t let go of.
He let both sides of the record play out and drank most of the bottle of wine, but eventually, he couldn’t resist any longer. He grabbed a spiral notebook off the coffee table and started scribbling notes, a twisting, tumbling stream of consciousness about Skye and Faolán and all the threads that connected them. It was only once he’d begun pouring all of it out onto the page that the tension began to leave him. But even then, he still felt that he was missing something. Something important that he needed to get straight before he started brainstorming with Toni and Aaron tomorrow. Something that would help him explain to Aaron the compromises that needed to be made.
At some point, he realised his eyelids were finally drooping over his hot, gritty eyes, and then, quite suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a dragging wave of tiredness that had him yanking the sofa throw off the back of the couch, pulling it over himself, and finally falling into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
He woke to the sound of someone hammering on his front door.
Confused, he blinked, then lurched upright, only then realising where he was. “What the—?”
The hammering started again.
“All right!” he yelled. “I’m coming.” Stumbling off the sofa, he immediately tripped over the throw tangled around his legs and sent the open bottle of red wine on the floor flying. He didn’t think he’d left much in there… but it looked a lot when it was sprayed all over a cream mohair rug.
“Fuck!”
More hammering.
Cursing, he tore his gaze away from the horror of the rug and stalked to the front door which he yanked open violently. “What the fuck do you—?” he began, before breaking off and saying stupidly, “Aaron?”
And then it came back to him—Safehaven, the weekend, the car that Aaron had booked.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said. “I only got to sleep a few hours ago—bad night. Am I late?”
Aaron was staring at him in what appeared to be stunned silence. His mouth was open, but no sound came out, and his grey gaze was fixed on Lewis’s chest.
Sudden colour flooded Aaron’s cheeks, and unbidden, Lewis’s cock stirred, taking interest.
Shit. They hadn’t even left London yet, and already lines were being crossed.
“Um, Aaron,” he croaked.
Aaron’s gaze shot up, his expression guilty, cheeks pink. “What? Sorry—I mean, yes, you’re late. The car got here ten minutes ago. I tried your phone, but it must be off. We’re supposed to be picking up Toni at eight.”
“Shit, I switched my phone off last night,” Lewis said, turning around to shield his swelling crotch, in case Aaron’s gaze dipped again. “Come in and text Toni while I get dressed and pack a bag.”