11. Theo

11

THEO

The woman in front of me, Miranda, is beautiful. Every woman I've been set up with has been beautiful. Each of them unique and full of personality. All of them well-suited to someone who isn't me.

Because I'm distracted. I've been distracted from the moment I ran into Abigail Lyons at the aquarium. It'd be hard enough just to have the thought of her. To see her incidentally from time to time.

But now I see her every weekend.

I hand Bonnie over, go to work, rush through it as fast as possible, and catch up with Bonnie and Abigail in the afternoon so I can spend time with both of them. Together.

It's unspoken, the arrangement.

Abigial doesn't ask me if she should go, and I obviously don't ask her to. These few extra hours every week have made me totally out of my mind for her.

There are moments between us, tiny and unsure, that I wonder if I'm crazy or if she maybe feels the same.

Prolonged glances and subtle touches. Saying everything but what either of us mean.

I try not to linger on it for too long because even if it is mutual, which surely, it isn't, it can never be.

Of course, I see her in the interim.

Last night for instance. Family dinner at the Lyons' house. First time I was able to see Jack, meet his girlfriend, Camilla, and their new baby girl.

Everyone in the Lyons family is falling over each other in love, but Jack and Camilla are on a plane of existence I can only dream of.

I wanted Bonnie to bring Esme and me closer together. But all the complications of bringing a child into a relationship that was shaky at best didn't serve us. After the initial glow of her arrival, we were further apart than we'd ever been.

Which is why any time I wasn't looking at Abigail or checking after Bonnie, I was fixated on the new family. That's how Abigail found me after dinner when I was dissociating out of a conversation, staring at a life I would have liked to have. Would like to if I weren't so old.

"They're like a fairytale," she said on a dreamy sigh.

The mere idea that Abigail sees life the same way I do had me stupidly, ridiculously hard.

I told Bonnie it was time to leave five minutes later. It was too embarrassing. Too obvious.

She's even better up close, the times I have her alone, with Bonnie.

She's smart and cheeky, but pensive and thoughtful too. And she's never afraid to make a fool of herself which, when you're toting a child around, is a fantastic asset.

Earth to Theo. You're on a date with Miranda.

Miranda tilts her head to the side, her blonde pageboy cut sloshing like a wave.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

She smiles. Pretty smile. However, her lips are red, and I have a pair of pink ones on my mind. "How old is your daughter?"

"Oh! Oh, Bonnie. She's six."

"Six. That's a fun age," she says, although it sounds like she's just saying it to say it, not because she believes it.

"She is. Fun. Very vivacious."

"She with a babysitter tonight?"

"No, actually, she's at her very first slumber party," I say with a nervous smile.

Miranda coos, "Aw, that's adorable!"

"It is, it is."

Honestly, Id' feel better if Bonnie was at home with Abigail. In fact, Abigail offered when she found out I'd be busy tonight. It was her father who then had to go and tell her that she didn't need to worry because Bonnie was going to a sleepover, and I was going on a date.

I swore for a second Abigail looked disappointed. Just a second. But then she said, "That's nice. With whom? Where?"

Yes, it is, isn't it? Miranda. The club.

That brings me back to reality again. I pull out my phone, holding it toward Miranda. "That's her."

Miranda peers down at my phone at the latest picture of Bonnie I have as my lockscreen. Her first day of school here in the States, in her prep school uniform.

"Adorable!" she says, again, rote. "Looks like you."

I smile. "You think so?" I look down at the phone again. "I've always thought she favors her mother, but…anyway, I should put this away before I get on a subject I can't get off of."

Miranda laughs politely and sips at her cocktail.

We've commandeered a leather couch at Edwin's club. An after-work drink on a Friday.

This is my fourth first date in the past two months. And I'm tired of the song and dance.

Do we get a drink? Do we get dinner? Do we do something after? How long do we pretend before we make a decision that it's not working?

Because to be frank, I've known within fifteen minutes of each date I've had it's not going to work. If Abigail forces her way to the front of my brain, there's no way the woman before me can compare.

"All right, then what should we talk about?" Miranda shifts closer to me, laying her arm on top of mine on the back of the couch.

It's nice to be touched.

Not as nice as when Abigail touches me .

"Ah, well, how long have you been in New York?"

Miranda sips from her martini glass, looking up at me with her lashy eyes the way women look when they see something they like.

Hate that I'm going to have to let her down gently at some point.

"Ten years."

"Ah! A decade!"

"That is another way to say ten years."

"Right." I purse my lips into a line, looking down into my drink. "Forgive me, the small talk thing eludes me."

Miranda leans closer, her eyes fall to my lips. "We don't have to do the whole small talk thing. We can do big talk."

I laugh out of sheer awkwardness. "Oh? Big talk? What's that?"

She grins. "It's…"

Her words turn to mush when a flash of red moves out of the corner of my eye.

I try not to let my attention divert too obviously, but blimey, it's impossible when I know that exact shade of red.

Abigail has just waltzed in with Bridget.

Bridget's a friend of the family, getting married in January down in the Keys. She invited me, spur of the moment last night, which is funny considering at Sonia and Edwin's wedding, the two of us walked down the aisle together as part of the bridal party.

C'est la vie , I suppose.

Abigail is dressed in a long, simple black dress with a mock turtleneck and no sleeves. Her nipples press through the thin fabric, and I can make out the shape of her hip bones.

Bollocks. Double bollocks.

She throws her gaze my way and…is that a smirk on her lips? A narrowing of her green eyes? Is she doing this on purpose?

Miranda's breath lands against my jaw. "How does that sound?"

"Huh?" I turn my face quickly and nearly give her a black eye with my nose. "Shit, sorry, I'm–ha! I didn't know you were so close."

"No, you didn't, did you?" she mutters.

I glance back at Abigail briefly before zeroing my attention in on Miranda. "Big talk. Like philosophy and politics and religion, yes? Like that?"

"Like that, sure," Miranda says, allowing my closeness again.

My heart is beating like a hammer, knowing Abigail is so close. She knew I'd be here tonight.

And she walks in looking like that?

Nonsense. She's just out with a friend. Dressing the way she'd like. Not to get my attention.

But maybe to get someone's attention.

Jealousy flares inside me.

"We could talk about lots of things," Miranda says. "If you could hold a conversation."

I pull at the collar of my shirt. "Sorry, sorry, I'm… Are you hot? Is it hot in here?"

She smiles devilishly. "Am I making you nervous?"

Before I can answer, Bridget's voice interjects. "May we sit with you? There aren't any other free places…"

I look up at the dark-haired woman and smile. "Bridget, what a pleasant surprise and…" I can't even bring myself to take Abigail in this close. "Abigail. Yes, of course, please–"

I gesture toward the sofa opposite ours. "By all means."

Abigail and Bridget sit side by side on the sofa opposite us.

"Um, Miranda, this is–"

"I know Abigail and Bridget," Miranda says with a smile. "Hi, girls."

Bridget smiles. "Girls? You're, what, ten years older than me?"

"A decade some may say," I say under my breath.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to infantilize you," Miranda says, shifting away from me and smoothing out her skirt.

Abigail does not do the polite thing, not at all. "Been a while since we've seen you down here."

Miranda deflates slightly. "Yes, well, I–"

"Things didn't work out with Rodney?"

Miranda gawps, glances at me, then back at Abigail before laughing. "No, they didn't. But that's how it goes. Can't roll over and die."

"No, of course not."

"Your father set us up," I say to Abigail.

I couldn't care less about a woman's dating history. It has nothing to do with me. As long as she's faithful. Learned that the hard way.

Abigail blinks, her lashes slicked with mascara. "Oh right, I forgot you were going to be here tonight."

Sure, she did .

I would laugh if I weren't confused. She seems chilled. I thought we got past that a month ago when she expressed her wariness of me. I thought we broke through that layer of ice. A thick layer that she chose to thaw.

But now she's sealed it again. Against me.

And I can't believe I am, but I'm hurt.

"No wonder you suggested the club," Bridget says. "It must have been something psychological. He mentioned it and planted a seed."

"Must be," I say in a grave tone.

Bridget's brows jerk downward.

Bollocks. I've probably made her think I'm annoyed with her.

"Well, we don't want to interrupt, we'll just talk between us and let you–"

Abigail doesn't let her finish. "You two having fun?"

I resist giving her what she wants. A reaction.

Abigail loves a reaction and, most of the time, I love it. I love giving her exactly what she wants. Love the thrill of her laugh when she realizes she's "won," whatever that winning is.

It's different when it's just us two. Or three, I should say, since we've never been alone together. Never wholly alone. We've always been with Bonnie or surrounded by her family.

Right now, I'm supposed to be on a date, and she's supposed to be having a drink with a friend, except she's inserted herself into the gray space between these two separate interactions.

She did it with Lourdes. That time, she was trying to protect her friend.

But why now? Is she trying to protect me?

"Yes, we're getting on just fine." Miranda leans herself into me.

"That's good," Abigail says with a placid smile. "You're lucky the dungeon is just over there if the getting on gets past fine."

Bridget gasps. "Abigail!"

"What? I'm just joking," she says with a flippant shrug.

Her eyes meet mine, a vise I haven't known before. Holding onto me.

I get to my feet without thinking. "Abigail. A word?"

I don't wait for her to reply. She'll follow. And if she doesn't, Bridget will pull her away.

The latter would be better for both of us, though my insides want to keep her close. It would be better if she left. Ignored my wish for conversation.

I exit the main room into one of the red carpeted hallways, the quiet one that leads to the library and the like. It's empty, thankfully.

I'm not sure how much longer I can stew in this fantasy. The one I think about late into the night when I need something to hold onto. Not just the idea of her body on mine, but the whole shebang of every domestic thing I can think of. I've imagined all of it with Abigail.

Her footsteps are measured and quiet, but I hear them. "Yes?"

I turn to face her. Alone. We are alone . And yes, anyone could round the corner and see us, but the isolation is not lost on me. The quiet.

"What are you doing, Abigail?"

She glances back over her shoulder, folds her arms right below the small swells of her breasts.

Jesus Christ, does she know what she's doing?

"Making conversation? Is that all right?"

I stare at her.

"If you wanted to be alone, you should have just–"

"You knew I was on a date, of course I'd want to be alone."

Her composed exterior falters. "Do you like her?"

No, but I can't have the person I want by my side.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I've spoken with her for less than two hours, how the hell should I know if I like her?"

"She's chased plenty of men at the club," she says. "You wouldn't be the first. She's after money, that's all."

"Oh, Abigail…"

She grips her hands at her sides. "It's true!"

"Why do you care? You drove Lourdes off, didn't you?"

She takes a step closer to me. "I apologized for that."

"Yes, I suppose you did, but I thought that meant you'd be backing off," I say, holding my hands up flat and pushing at the air. "Because you shouldn't be bothered with my love life."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

I scoff. "Why should you be?"

"I asked first!"

"We are not going to do this immature song and dance."

Abigail furrows her brow. "I'm not immature."

"I didn't say you were immature, I said that this banter is–"

"Why shouldn't I care about you?"

I hesitate. "I didn't say that."

She takes another step toward me. "I take care of your daughter. I care who you bring into her life."

"So do I. Obviously."

"You shouldn't be with someone who is only going to use you up for your money. That's what got Bonnie hurt in the first place."

I flinch. "You can't assume what happened between me and my–"

"Fine! I won't assume. But I won't let you waste your time with women like that."

I look down at Abigail who stands barely a foot away from me now. "Abigail, I'm two decades older than you."

"So?" she challenges.

"So, I don't need you to police my love life, all right? I'm a grown man." That's a reminder for both of us. I narrow my eyes in hers. "Are we clear?"

Abigail looks down. I know I've scarred her, making her feel like a child. But if that's what I need to do to keep her at bay, then that's what has to be done.

If she doesn't let me date, if she doesn't let me just bloody try, I won't be able to forget about her .

I start past her, to return to Miranda.

But her hand latches onto my forearm. "Theo–"

"Christ, Abigail, what?" I snap.

Abigail grabs on tighter. And she's closer now. Against me.

"Abigail," I say her name because it's the only thing in my brain. Has been since that moment in the aquarium.

My heart has been beating for her. Each breath has been hers. I am physically owned by her.

The only thing keeping me safe has been her distance.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

She holds tighter. Her eyes glimmer in mine.

"Abigail, walk away from me right now."

"Why?"

I grit my teeth. "Walk away now, or I'll do something we'll both regret."

She shakes her head. "I won't regret it. You might, but I won't."

"Your father–"

"Isn't here."

Fear grips me by the throat. Lust, by every other part of my body. "You don't know what you're doing."

"I do." She lifts her hand to my cheek.

I want to pull my own skin off, her touch is so wonderful.

Her pink lips part. "I want you."

A simple three words. Ones she knows mean everything to me.

Abigail looks down at my mouth and whispers again, "I want you, Theo."

Primal aggression surges through me and, in an instant, I have her pressed up against the wall, my mouth on her mouth.

I do not start out easy or light because she has plagued my every waking thought to the point that without her, I think I might die. Without every inch of her, I might cease to exist.

Abigail welcomes my tongue into her mouth and my hands on her body, pulling me even closer so my front is flush to hers.

It's better than my fantasy. I could never have imagined just how good Abigail would feel.

"Is this what you wanted?" I growl into her mouth. "Say it. Tell me."

"This is what I wanted." Her hand travels down to my crotch and grips me. "This is what I want ."

I hiss in a breath and pull her hand away from me. "Not here, god, not here."

"My dad–"

"He may not be here physically, but that doesn't matter to me." I search her face for a sign of rebuttal, but all I see is the most exquisite beauty.

Her eyelids are low, mouth wanton. Her freckles look like constellations of stars across her cheeks.

I want to pull her hair out of this ridiculous clump of hair and let it free. Want to tear this dress to shreds and get a look at the body I've felt shame for imagining.

And I want to ask why.

Why me?

Why now?

Abigail pulls on the lapel of my suit jacket. "Take me where we can ."

I should end it here. All we could have is a night. Physical indulgence. Nothing more.

Perhaps it would help. Get her out of my system. One night would be better than none, right?

"Under one condition, Abigail."

Her mouth moves into a swooning smile. "Yes, Theo ."

"Don't mention your father. My conscience is guilty enough as is."

She lifts her mouth toward mine. "Whatever you say…"

I black out from ecstasy when she kisses me again.