Beneath This Man

Drunken confessions.

I had beaten myself up about it for days and days, and he knew all along? Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he just talk to me instead of trying to f**k it out of me? So much could have been so very different.

His smile disappears and is replaced with a stoic expression. ‘You were drunk. I wanted to hear the words when you were of sound mind. Women get drunk all the time and confess their undying love to me.’

‘Do they?’ I blurt.

He almost laughs. ‘Yes, they do.’ He drops his eyes, ‘I wasn’t sure if you still did after…’ His teeth start a vicious workout on his bottom lip, ‘Well, after I had my little meltdown.’

I inwardly laugh. Little meltdown? Bloody hell, what would be a big meltdown? Women tell him they love him? What women and how many are there? I screw my face up in my own private disgust. I’m extremely uncomfortable with how resentful I’m feeling about any other woman having him or loving him. I need to put these thoughts right out of my mind and fast. No good could come of me knowing.

‘I love you.’ I reinforce my words, almost grinding them out, like I’m telling all of those women who claim to love him too. I feel his whole body relax over me before he continues slowly circling deep inside me.

Pulling him down onto me, I wrap my entire body around him. I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, but then it occurs to me; I’m in love with a man and I have no clue how old he is.

‘How old are you, Jesse?’

He pulls his face up and I can see the cogs of his mind start revolving. I know he’s thinking whether or not he should just tell me his real age and stop with his silly diversion. ‘I can’t remember.’ He frowns.

Oh, I might be able to play this to my advantage. I think we may have got to thirty-ish. ‘We were at thirty three.’ I prompt.

He smirks at me. ‘We should start again.’

‘No!’ I pull his face down and rub my nose across his rough cheek. ‘We got to thirty three.’

‘You’re a rubbish liar, baby.’ he laughs, nuzzling into my face. ‘I like this game. I think we should start again. I’m eighteen.’

‘Eighteen!’ I exclaim.

‘Don’t play games with me, Ava.’

‘Why won’t you just tell me how old you are?’ I ask exasperated. It really doesn’t matter to me. He’s forty, maximum.

‘I’m thirty one.’

I sag beneath him dramatically. He does remember. ‘How old are you?’

‘I just told you, I’m thirty one.’

I narrow displeased eyes on him and one side of his mouth lifts into a semblance of a smirk. ‘It’s just a number.’ I moan. ‘If you ask me anything in the future, I won’t answer – not truthfully, anyway.’ I threaten.

His semblance of a smirk falls away immediately. ‘I already know everything I need to know about you. I know how I feel and nothing you could tell me will make me feel any different. I wish you felt the same.’

Oh, that’s below the belt! It wouldn’t make a jot of difference to the way I feel about him. I’m just curious, that’s all. I wish he would just give up the ghost. I’m already distracted by him and his challenging ways and we still haven’t really talked, but I do feel so much better, not empty and hollow anymore.

‘You said before that I might run a mile if I know.’ I remind him. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

He laughs. ‘No, you’re not.’ He sounds very confident. ‘Ava, you’ve found out the worst about me and not run a mile. Well, you did, but you came back.’ He kisses my forehead. ‘Do you honestly think I’m bothered about my age?’

‘Then why won’t you tell me?’ I ask exasperated.

‘Because I like this game.’ He resumes nuzzling into my neck.

I heave a sigh and increase my squeeze around his warm, sweat dampened shoulders and my thighs around his tight hips. ‘I don’t.’ I grumble, burrowing my face into his neck and breathing him into me. I exhale in contentment and trace my fingers across his firm back.

We lay silent and completely immersed in each other for the longest time, but when I feel his body shaking, it diverts my thoughts to what lies ahead for us. His shaking body is a reminder of the hardest challenge of all.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask nervously. What should I do?

He squeezes me tight. ‘Yeah, what time is it?’

That’s a point. What time is it? I hope I’ve not missed Dan’s call. I wriggle under Jesse and he moans into my neck. ‘I’ll go check the time.’

‘No, I’m comfy,’ he complains. ‘It isn’t that late.’

‘I’ll be two seconds.’

He grumbles and lifts himself slightly to slip out of me and then heaves his body off of mine, rolling onto his back. I jump up to go and find my phone, discovering it’s nine o’clock and Dan hasn’t called. That’s a relief, but I do have twelve missed calls from Jesse.

Huh? I walk back into the bedroom and find him sat up against the headboard, brazenly naked and unashamed. I look down at myself. Oh, so am I.

‘I’ve got twelve missed calls from you.’ I say in confusion, holding my phone up to him.

A disapproving look jumps up on his face. ‘I couldn’t find you. I thought you had left. I had a hundred heart attacks in ten minutes, Ava. Why were you in the other bedroom?’ He fires the words accusingly at me.

‘I didn’t know how things stood.’ I may as well be honest.