CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DUFFY
I forgot the bloody tacos.
That, in itself, wasn’t even the fifteenth most terrible thing to happen to me today. But considering everything went wrong from the moment I opened my eyes—other than the proposal video disappearing from YouTube—that was my tipping point. The forgotten tacos.
I’d only noticed when I walked into my empty flat and my stomach made a sound eerily similar to a bear’s yawn.
Feed me, you daft cow.
But I had nothing to feed it with, because I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten because I’d gone to three job interviews that day. All of them ended prematurely, with none indicating any interest. Either my meltdown video had done the rounds and landed on my potential employers’ desks or nobody wanted to hire someone without a visa. Likely, it was a combination of both.
I dragged my arse to the shower. Riggs wasn’t home yet. I could only imagine where he spent his days. Probably hopping between one model’s bed to the other. Breaking our marriage vows before he’d even uttered them.
Not that I minded one bit. Not even half a bit. Not even a quarter.
Oh, but he was so lovely. So very handsome and sort of funny in his own juvenile way. And he never made me feel like he had the upper hand in our relationship, the way BJ did. Never used my weaknesses against me.
Speaking of BJ, his sister Brenda (yes, I was aware that Brendan and Brenda were the tackiest names for siblings) called me today to let me know that he was safe and sound. Apparently, he’d called his family to let them know he was okay. Well, I wasn’t okay. I was put on the back burner while he did his thing. I was starting to see that Riggs had a point. BJ was a total tosser.
The worst part was that I couldn’t channel my anger at BJ, because I had no way to contact him. He was undumpable. MIA. Which begged the question—how had I allowed myself to leave the door open for a comeback to someone who’d cut off all contact with me for six months without batting an eyelash?
Because you care about money more than you care about pride. And you care about never allowing your children to go through what you did. Walking with torn shoes to a one-hundred-K-a-year school.
Flashes of my treading through the vast corridors of Saint Anthony’s School for the Gifted in my tattered Mary Janes zinged through my mind. Back then, I had my real accent, my authentic, awkward sense of humor, and a dream to become an investigative journalist. I shook my head fiercely until the memories evaporated.
I stepped into the shower and lathered my body soap until bubbles ran down the expanse of my flesh. I turned the water to extra hot and closed my eyes, practicing deep, long breaths.
Everything is okay.
No. That seemed wrong.
Everything willbe okay.
That sounded slightly more believable.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be o . . .
A loud noise of glass smashing came from the living room. It was followed by the sound of glass crunching over the floor, like someone had stomped all over it.
Riggs had a key, so it couldn’t be him. I lived on the second floor, but my window was directly in front of the fire escape.
Instinctively, I decided the best course of action was to wrap myself in a towel and confront the intruder in my living room. After all, there was no better thing to do than to greet one’s burglar half-naked.
Why not simply stick a RAPE ME note on your forehead, Poppins?Riggs’s wry voice taunted in my head.
Still in the bathroom, I caught myself. I couldn’t go out there empty handed. I needed a weapon. Something sharp and discreet. I looked around frantically. The only thing that was remotely practical was my pink shaving razor. I pulled it from the suction holder and dashed out of the bathroom, waving the thing in the air like it was a sword.
“Who is there?” I demanded in a shrill voice before coming to a stop in the middle of the living room.
My window—my only window—was smashed. Broken beyond repair. That was the bad news. The good news was that my burglar was also my fiancé. And the man I was about to murder.
Riggs was standing in the middle of the small room, calmly tucking his photography equipment into its cases, shards of glass adorning his gargantuan booted feet.
“Hey.” He popped a cinnamon gum, not bothering to look up. “Water must be hot after today, huh?”
The water was actually lovely. It was one of the things I liked the most about summers in the city.
Focus, Duffy, focus.
“Hmm. Did you just . . . ?” I motioned at the broken window.
He raised his head distractedly, then nodded. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I smashed the tripod against it when I organized my shit. Don’t worry about it. I’ll call someone to fix it first thing tomorrow morning. Get them to install the triple-glazed stuff. You had a crack in the glass, anyway.”
How could he be so calm? This was going to cost a fortune. A fortune neither of us had. He couldn’t even pay for a subway ticket.
“Riggs, this is a rented flat!” I bellowed, balling my fists in anger. “You can’t just break things.”
“I said I’ll take care of it.” He bypassed me by stalking to the kitchen and filling himself a glass of tap water. He was uncharacteristically taciturn, but I wasn’t in the mood to ask how his day had gone.
“So what if you did?” I followed him, perching my fists on either side of my waist. “If something goes wrong, I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with it.”
“You’ll have a brand-new window in less than twelve hours.” He leaned against the counter and filled himself another glass. He threw open all the cupboards before rummaging through them relentlessly. “Shit. Where’s your Tylenol?”
“Second cupboard to your right,” I gritted out. He was making a right mess, and I was in the wrong mood for it.
Riggs had some nerve brushing me off. I was living off my savings, with no job prospects, in one of the most expensive cities in the world. “And do you reckon you’ll pay for that wind—”
“Duffy, just shut up for a sec, will you? My head feels like someone is trying to drill oil out of it,” he snapped.
For a moment, I was speechless. Did he actually tell me to shut up? He’d never spoken to me this way. I had two options: calmly explain myself or go mental on his arse.
Normally, with BJ, I would choose option number one and try to reason with him. After all, I had loads to lose. With Riggs, I felt confident I could be free to be who I was—whoever that may be.
Which was how I found myself flinging my arms in the air.
“HOW DARE YOU—”
I didn’t get to finish the sentence, because something terrible happened. Something so terrible, in fact, it took me a few moments to fully digest it. The first giveaway was the breeze between my legs, followed by my cold nipples. My gaze traveled south, down my body.
Yup. Suspicion confirmed. I was completely, gloriously, dreadfully naked.
My towel fell off halfway through my scream. Currently, my nipples were pointing at my future fake husband accusingly.
Oh God, my cellulitewas my first thought. He can see my cellulite. And those horrible stretch marks on my waist. Followed closely by I haven’t shaved down there in a while, have I? There was no point now, with BJ gone. This was succeeded by Duffy, you daft cow, would you cover yourself up? He’s staring!
And he was. Riggs didn’t even have the decency to pretend otherwise. He flat out ogled me, his mouth agape, his pupils dilated, his penis . . .
Don’t look at his penis!
After a few moments of channeling my inner deer in headlights, I gathered the towel and secured it around me. My teeth were chattering with adrenaline.
“Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, BUGGER.” I was running like a headless chicken now. First, toward the bathroom, before realizing I didn’t have any clothes there, then toward my bedroom. Then sensible Cambridge Duffy left the building, and the one from Tooting Broadway finally reared her head, coming back from a decade-long sabbatical. “BOLLOCKS.”
“I didn’t even see anything.” Riggs was as believable as George Clooney in Batman & Robin.
“Yes, you did.” I made a beeline to my room, slamming against the wall in the process like a fly trying to penetrate a closed window. “You stared!”
“Okay, I stared.” In a few graceful strides, he was right in front of me, blocking my way to my door. “But I don’t regret it. It was the best thing I’ve seen all year.”
Really? More than Gretchen? More than all the others?
“Please move.” I crossed my arms over my chest, mainly to keep my heart from jumping into his hands.
“No can do.” He leaned against my door, hogging all the space with his massive frame. “You’re just prudish enough to never leave your room.”
I closed my eyes, drawing a shaky breath. “I can’t believe you saw me naked.”
“Don’t be a baby.”
“You’re the one with the poop jokes!” I cried out.
“Look at me, Poppins.”
I was now covering my face with my hands, pretending he couldn’t see me, like a dog sitting under a table.
“No.”
“This is crazy.” I felt his rough, big, sexy palms covering mine, trying to peel my fingers off my eyes gently. I jerked back in horror.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Okay. But can you just listen?”
While I couldn’t listen, I could, apparently, launch into an incoherent tirade.
“What kind of perv stares at someone when they’re naked?” I bit out, my nonposh accent sneaking through. “And it’s not just you being a creep. Everything has been shite today. I failed all of my job interviews. And BJ hasn’t called since, since—you were right, he is a twat. And . . . and . . . money’s tight. I might have to sell my Equinox membership next month. And then I forgot the tacos!” I let out a pained moan. “Our tacos.”
There was a lengthy silence. Granted, six seconds seemed like an eternity after my verbal diarrhea.
“Are you done?”
“Not quite.” I cringed. “But go on.”
“I’m going to touch you now,” he said gruffly, around the time my chest stopped rising and falling like I’d just run a marathon.
I felt Riggs’s hands prying my fingers from my face gently. He kept my palms in his, rubbing circles with his thumb over a sensitive spot between the base of my thumb and my index finger. He waited patiently until my eyes had fluttered open. I couldn’t look at him, even though he stood directly in front of me, only a couple of inches away. His body heat rolled against mine, making my skin prickle everywhere.
I very maturely kept my gaze stuck on the ceiling.
Riggs cupped my cheeks. My body temperature shot to a dangerous degree, and an invisible string under my belly button clenched and tightened. I had to remind myself he was just Riggs, the friendly roommate who joked about having sex with me, without ever actually initiating anything. The same Riggs who didn’t have a penny, didn’t want children, and didn’t even own a bicycle.
“You had a crappy day, Poppins. It happens. Bad days will keep happening. You’ll just have to brush them off.” He was staring into my face, and I felt more naked than I had a few moments earlier, when I was actually naked. “I’m sorry I was snappy. My headache was no excuse. Now, go get dressed, and I’ll get us tacos in the meantime. My treat.”
My mouth fell open.
“Your treat?” He’d never offered to pay for anything before. I’d never even seen his wallet.
“Yup.”
“But you don’t pay for anything. Ever.”
“I’m a fan of trying everything at least once.”
“Can you afford it?” I demanded. “I don’t want you to go hungry tomorrow or something.”
Now that I was a little less angry about the window, I begrudgingly admitted to myself I didn’t want to put him in an awkward position. What if he was skint because he was paying for huge medical bills or something?
He gave me an exasperated look. “I can pay for a few tacos.”
“You sure?”
“Eighty-three percent positive.”
“Where are the remaining seventeen percent?”
“On the floor. You shaved them with the razor you intended to use as a vicious weapon.”
“All right.” I reddened with mortification. “Cheers, I suppose.”
He grabbed the key and pocketed it. “This is to ensure you don’t lock yourself inside for eternity, just in case.” He stepped around me as he strolled to the door. “Oh, and don’t expect any guacamole. That stuff costs extra.”
Half an hour later, after I’d collected the broken glass and the remainder of my self-esteem from the floor, I was completely and blissfully dressed, eating tacos (with guacamole and queso; Riggs was apparently feeling extra generous), and sipping one of his beers. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d consumed so many calories, but everything tasted so good that I couldn’t even feel properly guilty about it.
“I can’t believe you’re eating carbs, Poppins.” Riggs wolfed down a shrimp taco. Salsa ran down his chiseled chin. If he ate his women out like he ate his tacos, he’d most definitely be the eighth wonder of the world. Although, to be fair, I didn’t need to see the way he ate to know he was a good shag. There was something wanton and blithe about Riggs that oozed mind-blowing sex and guaranteed heartbreak.
“I can’t believe that either,” I murmured around a small piece of fish. I still hadn’t looked him in the eye.
“Why’s that?” He threw a tortilla chip between his lips, chewing loudly. “Were you attacked by a carb when you were young? Stabbed with a baguette? Roped to a tree with spaghetti?”
I giggled, surprising myself by opening up to him. I suppose it was fair that he knew why I was so horrified by the scene earlier.
“Growing up, I was a bit of a plump kid. I’d struggled with my weight my entire life, trying every diet under the sun—Weight Watchers, Atkins, Jenny Craig, South Beach . . . ,” I admitted quietly, swirling guac from a plastic container and sucking on the pad of my thumb. “I never quite managed to drop the weight, which was dreadful news for my social life, since I was already the poor kid in the posh, rich school. But it was hard, with my family only able to afford frozen food from Aldi. I lived off fish-and-chips the first decade and a half of my life.” I let loose a tense breath. “The summer before I started uni, something just clicked. I managed to stay on the wagon and lose about a stone, which was enough to push me into the Fit Girl category.”
Riggs stared at me intently, waiting for me to continue.
“That summer was a great time to reinvent myself. Different accent. Different wardrobe. Different manners. That first year at uni changed me. I’d become popular for the first time in my life—or at least, not unpopular. No more sticking gum in my hair, laughing at my torn shoes, pouring piss into the cracks of my locker.” I licked my lips, frowning at the coffee table, laden with our leftovers. “I met BJ. After years of swimming against the stream, struggling to get somewhere, I felt like a wave had been carrying me to my destination. I guess I linked my trim waistline and fancy accent to my new fortune. Thus my weight became an obsession.” Right along with having money. I was beginning to realize I was obsessed with shallow things, because I thought they’d guarantee I could keep the important ones.
“Do you think BJ wouldn’t have dated you if you were a few pounds heavier?” Riggs asked seriously.
“No,” I snorted out. “Nor would I have expected him to. He has a certain type.”
“Malnourished and a doormat?” he asked wryly. “Weird taste, but to each their own, I guess.” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “You’d look beautiful no matter your weight. Just so you know.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.” I felt his eyes, ablaze with scorn, heating the side of my face. “It’s a stated fact. And if he was too dumb not to notice—”
“We have no way of knowing he wouldn’t have dated me.” I lifted a hand up, stopping him. “Remember you took the piss out of me for being a bad feminist when I said I wanted to marry BJ? Here’s another something you can toss into my Bad Feminist pile. I’m obsessed with my weight and allow the scale to alter my mood.”
His eyebrows pulled together, his face clouding further. I stared down at my hands, wringing my fingers together. The engagement ring still felt weird and heavy, but it was so deliciously perfect that I was already wondering if I could buy it off Riggs when this charade was over. He needed the money, and I’d need the memory.
“I don’t keep tabs on your shortcomings, Duffy.” There was a beat. “And for the record, you shouldn’t either. But if it’s worth anything at all, seeing as it’s coming from me and not from Cocksucker—you will always be beautiful in my eyes. Thin, big, and in between.”
“You can’t possibly—”
“I can,” he said, cutting me off, dead serious. “I just fucking did. And meant every word of it.”
“Bugger off. You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. Up until recently I didn’t like you, either, but I think I’m beginning to understand you.”
I wanted very badly to laugh this moment off, but something in the intensity of his voice made me want to fall apart in his arms like a sinner pardoned. To confess to him that this was what I had always wanted to hear. That it killed me that, when I’d told BJ about my weight loss when we’d first started dating, he’d responded with a callous, “Good work, Duff. Make sure you’re on top of it. You know how easy it is to pile on the pounds.”
I pressed my lips, staring at the floor. My feelings were all over the place. A mixture of elation, pain, and hope.
“So.” Riggs snapped us out of the moment, standing up and then gathering the rubbish on the coffee table. “What are we gonna do about the fact you can no longer look me in the eye?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I protested, rushing up and helping him clear the table. “That’s not true.”
“Do it then.” He swiveled, crowding me with his body, his gaze drilling into my face. “Let’s see.”
I shifted my stare to the kitchenette, laughing. “Christ, Riggs. A bit aggressive, don’t you reckon?”
“Coward.”
“Give me some time. I’ll get over it.” I dumped our leftovers into the bin.
“No, you won’t. There’s only one solution.” He flicked on the faucet and started doing the dishes.
“Kick you out of my flat?” I asked hopefully, leaning against the counter, facing him but concentrating on a spot behind his head.
“I see we’re still doing this thing where you pretend not to like me.” He turned off the tap and wiped his hands with a kitchen towel. “Get even.”
Our bodies were angled toward one another. My heart felt like it was about to burst through my skin and roll at his feet like a stone. What did he mean by that?
“Even?” I stared at his prominent Adam’s apple. Anywhere but his eyes.
“You showed me yours . . .” He took a step in my direction, and just like that, the oxygen had dispersed from my lungs. “It’s time I show you mine.”
“Your . . . ?” I suspected my eyebrows hit the ceiling in that moment.
“If we both know what the other looks like naked, there’s no awkwardness. Tit.” He pointed at my breasts. “For tat.” He pointed at his knob.
I could really use a rock to crawl under right now.
“So what do you say?” he probed.
“I say no.” I marched toward my room again. At least my mouth said no. Every other part of me screamed yes. When was the next time I was going to see a deity naked, up close?
Riggs followed me. “Too bad. It’d solve all of our problems.”
“Not the most pressing one,” I pointed out, “of you being mentally sixteen, and my not wanting to take advantage of a minor.”
“For your information, I’m mentally eighteen, which means I’m game in all fifty states.”
I stopped in front of my bedroom, pinning him with a glare. “Cheers for the offer, but I’m good.”
“No, you’re not. What’s more, you should say yes just to get out of your comfort zone. Loosen up a little.”
“No, thank you. I like being wound tight,” I maintained, but I didn’t enter my room either.
Get inside, you silly cow. Before he gets completely naked and you do something weird, like lick his nipple.
“If not for your self-growth, do it so you can shove it in BJ’s face when he comes back,” Riggs coaxed, his slow, sexy smile on full display now.
“You really want to get naked, don’t you?”
He put his hand on his chest. “Nudity is my passion.”
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “Take off your bloody clothes already.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
“I literally wasn’t askin—oh.”
He tugged off his shirt and was now standing shirtless in front of me. I’d seen him shirtless before, but not this close. He was naturally smooth and cut sharper than cheddar cheese. And lickable. So incredibly lickable.
I swallowed audibly.
“Now off go the pants.” He hooked a thumb into the edge of his Dickies. “You may wanna clutch your pearls.”
With one go, he took off his trousers, standing in front of me in a pair of briefs only.
This sight is surely more pleasurable than watching your firstborn making their first steps.
“You purchased a new pair.” I was openly staring at his willy now. And we both wanted it to be free. I’d never achieved this kind of intimacy with BJ.
Which is a good thing. BJ is a sane, reserved man. Not the lust child of Johnny Knoxville and Tarzan.
“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.” Riggs chuckled, and as he did, each individual muscle in his six-pack flexed. “Ready for the money shot?”
I couldn’t breathe and speak at the same time, so I simply nodded. He slid his briefs down inch by inch, until his cock bounced out, bobbing up and down. He was hard. So hard. And beautiful. So beautiful. And I was screwed. So . . . well, you know the rest.
It was the first time I’d found a cock to be aesthetically pleasing. Normally, they looked like inside-out socks. Riggs had a long, thick ridge, a prominent vein, and a perfect crown. He had the Rolls-Royce of knobs. Twelve out of ten. Inches, probably.
“You can pet him if you want,” Riggs cooed, holding himself by the root.
But again, I couldn’t find my voice to offer him a snarky reply. We just stood there, me staring at his member, him staring at my face.
“That thing should not be petted. It should be put on a leash,” I finally managed.
“Now you’re just threatening me with a good time. Better?” he asked on a smirk, his voice raspy and thick. My eyes traveled up, meeting his. Purple on blue. I’d never had a one-night stand before. Not even a half-night stand. I’d only been with three men, one of them BJ. This was the first time I had genuinely contemplated such a thing.
“Ah . . .” My throat tingled. “I think so.”
“You’re looking me in the eye,” he observed huskily, eyes half-lidded. “Told you it’d work.”
Riggs’s eyes darkened, becoming stormy and full of intent. So this was what smoldering meant. I’d always wondered while bumping into the bloody word. My body tipped forward despite my best efforts, seeking his touch.
Don’t do it. Remember the house rules. No pets. No hookups. No fraternizing with your spouse.
He dipped his head, closing the distance between us. He was so close I could see the individual stubble on his jaw. His magnificent, nibble-worthy jaw. His lips nearly brushed mine. His breath—of beer and cinnamon and pine—tickled at the column of my neck. A kiss from him was going to annihilate every past smooch I’d ever experienced. Still, I couldn’t stop what was about to happen, even if I wanted to. My body felt boneless as I melted against his broad chest and burrowed into his warmth, his steady heartbeat, his drugging scent.
Show me what I’ve been missing all this time I’ve been busy being a presentable, serious, marriage-worthy woman.
“And now . . . ,” Riggs announced suddenly, ripping himself back from me at the speed of light. “I’m hopping in the shower to flog the log.”
For the first time, he looked flushed and disoriented, not his usual playboy self.
Where was the snog his body had promised me?
I stumbled backward, bumping against my door. I put my hand on my cheek. It was hot enough to fry an egg on. “Is that code for . . . masturbation?”
“Yes, Poppins. Yes, it is. See now?” Riggs tromped around the flat and grabbed his towel from the settee. “That wasn’t so har—fuckkkkk.” His toe smashed into the leg of the settee. I let out a surprised giggle. He was one of the most elegant creatures to grace the earth. Was he actually affected by this? By me?
The thought made me flush with pleasure. I couldn’t wipe the foot-long grin off my face.
“Everything all right?” I purred.
“Peachy.” He slapped the towel over his shoulder, marching to the bathroom. Nestled between his thighs was the barrel of a tank. “Never been better.”
I kept gawking at the spot where he’d been long after he’d closed the bathroom door.
One thing was for sure: I found my fiancé tragically attractive.
There was only one thing to do: avoid him as best I could and hope it’d all go away.