The Arrangement (Erotic Novella)

The
Arrangement

Olivia Fox

Published by
Olivia Fox at Smashwords

Copywrite
Olivia Fox 2013

Smashwords
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1.

As soon as I say it I want to take it back. "I'm kidding,
silly! That's not the only reason," I laugh in a way that's way too
stiff, and when he arches an eyebrow to say
go on
, I just dig my grave even
deeper. "Of course there's other stuff I love about you. I mean...
You're fucking beautiful... And..." But that's as far as I can go.
It shouldn't be this hard to tell him why I love him. I tell my
girl friends all the time. So why can't I do the same for Harry,
instead of sounding like some shallow bitch.

His face is
stony serious. Lily's squirming like she's about to make some lame
excuse and leave. And Cayley's mouth has been a perfect O shape for
the past minute, while her eyes ping-pong between me and Harry, AKA
my fuck buddy. AKA my boss.

I don't blame her. Even if she
is
starting to look like some weird
cock-hungry sex doll. She's right to be staring like that. Because
Harry never gets ruffled. Never. And it's not like I've never joked
about his XL cock in front of the girls before. In fact, the more I
think about this, the more it seems he's blowing everything out of
all proportion. I complimented his cock and he's looking at me as
though I just flipped him the bird.

Lily grabs
Cayley's wrist to usher her out of the booth. "I'll get the next
round. Cayley, come help me carry."

Cayley neatens
her already perfect hair with her free hand, as Lily pulls her to
standing. But Harry stands too. Apparently he's not going to sit
around listening to me insult him with comments about his general
lusciousness any longer.

"Let's not do this, eh?!" He claws his fingers through those
perfect floppy blond curls, pulling them taut, away from eyes that
refuse to look at me. He nods
goodbye
to Lily and Cayley, then
almost says something to me, I think, but stops himself.

And I want to
say something too. I want shout out all those things I truly do
love about him - not about his huge dick, or his crazily
heart-melting smile, or his wall-like shoulders which just seem so
strong and male and perfect. But I don't, of course. I just sit
back and watch the best bloke I know as he digs his hands into his
pockets and walks away from me.

*****

Someone's
drilling my head. And it really fricking hurts.

"Em, wake up.
You're phone's driving me nuts," Lily yawns.

Oh - right -
not drilling - just my phone vibrating and a hangover-headache
splitting my skull in two. "Urgh. Why am I on the couch?"

Lily snorts.
"You crashed out and we couldn't shift you."

We?
"Did Harry come back last
night?"

Why is she looking at me like that? Like Harry's dead and I
ought to know that but clearly I've got some kind of early onset
Alzheimer's. Or alcohol induced amnesia. Which sounds horribly
likely.
God
, is
Harry OK?!

"No, Harry left
the pub really early, hon. Cayley came back with us. She's in your
room," Lily says, her mouth twisting awkwardly like she doesn't
want to say the next bit. "I think you might want to give Harry a
call later."

"Why? Oh. God."
And now I remember. I recall the gist, if not the details. "Go on.
Tell me what I said. It was bad wasn't it? I know it was."

Lily's eyes
tighten thoughtfully like she's searching for the gentlest way to
let me have it. She needn't bother.

"Bad? It was
brutal." Cayley exclaims from the doorway, wrapped in my dressing
gown, which is about a billion inches too short for her tall lean
frame. She’s stunning. Which is yet another reason to scowl at her
when she reminds me, "You told him you only keep him around for one
reason. Because you love his huge cock."

"God, Cayley!"
Lily yells through gritted teeth. But it's too late. It's all
coming back to me. That look on his face. Totally dejected. But
surely he knew I was kidding?!

I
was
kidding
after all. I mean Harry’s the best. Really, truly, the best man
I’ve ever been in a non-relationship with. And this is exactly the
reason I don’t have relationships any more. Relationships are just
full to the brim with this kind of thing. Self-doubt,
self-loathing, bitterness, guilt… which is precisely why I adopted
my hitherto
extremely
successful casual dating style in the first place.

I shrug like
it’s no big deal, but I guess I’m not very convincing when I say,
“Sod it. Anyway, when did Harry turn into such a girl? If he can’t
take a joke I guess I’d better stop shagging him.”

They both look at me like I’ve been body-snatched, then Lily
kneels down next to me and holds my hand. She actually
holds my hand
. Like I’m
having some kind of breakdown or something. But it’s not what she
does that rattles me. It’s what she says.

“Em, honey. Harry didn’t turn into a girl. It’s you. You’ve
turned into a
ladette
.”

*****

Christ. She’s right! Well, whatever. So what if I
am
a bit
laddy?!

So what if I’m happy with sex and friendship?! What, so just
because I’m a woman I’m supposed to fantasize about netting myself
some adoring young husband to grow old and bored with?!
Please!

“Wow. She’s
right you know. When did this happen?” Cayley muses. “I mean,
you’ve had proper boyfriends. I know you have. But now it’s like…
it’s like you’re some beefy frat boy who just wants to screw chicks
and party. But - y’know - the female version of that.”

Seriously. This woman wouldn’t know tact if it clocked her on
the head with a mace. I’m so
not
the female version of what she just said. For one
thing, I’m always upfront about what I want from my
non-relationships. It’s not like I’m screwing anyone over, or
leading anyone on. Plus, anyone who called me beefy would need
their head read. I’m five foot nothing, blonde, fine boned, albeit
with over-sized boobs, but hardly anyone’s idea of beef-cake.
Though I guess that’s not really the point she’s making.

Cayley, as usual, is oblivious to the fact I’m imagining
slapping her too-perfect face. “Is that really how you want to be,
Em?
Really?!
I mean
- how far have you gone with this ladette thing? Please tell me you
don’t have some little black book with blokes’ numbers and stuff in
it. You haven’t, have you?!”

I glare, and
it’s a good mean glare, but she’s largely immune to body language
so it doesn’t have the deadly impact it should. “No, I don’t have a
little black book for fuck’s sake. Can we drop this now?” I say
because she needs my mood spelt out for her.

“It’s yellow,”
sighs Lily. My supposedly supportive, best mate, Lily. “The book,”
she says, in answer to Cayley’s confused expression.

“Thanks, dude. Remind me to repay the favour some time,” I
huff. When did this become
gang up on
Emma
day? So there’s a book. I’m practical.
What of it?!

Cayley’s
thinking. I can almost see the cogs whirring behind those
scrutinizing eyes of hers. I hate when she does this. It means
she’s planning or plotting or considering saying something lethally
offensive in her matter-of-fact nonchalant way.

“What?” I ask. “
What?!
Spit it out!”

“Nothing,” she says, but clearly there’s
something
. “It’s just… Brett was a
nice guy, right? You know - Brett, the nurse? Brett with the
piercings?”

Jesus, does she
really think I need a memory jogger. It’s not like I’ve slept with
so many blokes I can’t remember their names. “Yes, Brett. Nice guy.
And?”

“Well… it’s
just, you clearly liked him, but you always...” she stops herself,
showing uncharacteristic self-control. Too bad it makes me want to
slap her anyway. “Oh, and then there was Rich - the pianist - the
one with the orange Beetle and the monotone voice that used to send
you to sleep. Remember?”

“Cayley,” Lily
warns, seeing as I’m about to blow steam out of my ears. “She
remembers her exes, OK. What’s your point?”

Cayley perches next to me on the sofa, ready to impart her
next gem of idiocy. “Well, he was boring. Sorry, but he
was
. And you were - well
-
normal
with him -
like a normal girlfriend.”

“Oh, is that right?!” I yell. “Whereas most of the time
I’m
ab
normal? Is
that it?! Or are you saying I only like shitty, boring men?! Which
is it, Cayley? What’s your fucking point?!” I pull myself upright
and grab my phone, ready to storm out.

Cayley contorts
in on her stupidly-perfect self, looking all meek and delicate, and
Lily’s eyes are closed like she can’t bear to witness the murder
I’m about to commit in our flat.

“Sorry,” Cayley
sighs. “I just care about you, Em. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch.
Honestly.”

And my reply flies out and stings her before I’ve even had a
chance to process the words I’m saying. “No, Cayley. You
don’t
need
to
try.”

*****

I’m out of the flat within ten minutes, following an
inordinate amount of door slamming. I barely had time to wash and
pull clean clothes on, but I need some distance between me and
Cayley.
I just care about
you
… did she really just say that?
Sure
, Cayley. Sure you
do.

I’m just some
dumb, blonde, silly thing to Cayley. Too loud. Too impulsive. The
opposite of the poise and elegance she’s always projected. Lily’s
the glue that holds our little threesome together. Without the
Lily-glue we’re just two random girls with nothing in common.

I catch the bus, not the tube, because I need a bit more
thinking time before I see Harry. Which reminds me… someone was
calling me earlier.
Please be Harry… please
be Harry…
I think as I fish the phone from
my black glitzy bag. It’s the bag I had last night, and it looks
stupid with my slummy teeshirt, but screw it.

Missed Calls 4
, my phone tells me. But
none of them is Harry, and my heart sinks a little. It’s Celia
instead. My fucked-up little niece, who I love to bits but
man
does she drive me up
the wall! I cringe as I check my voice-mail, dreading some new
catastrophe. What’ll it be? Stomach pumped? Shoplifting? Aggro
boyfriend? …Oh, the possibilities are endless. But it’s none of the
above.

She’s getting help, her message tells me. She’s going to group
therapy. That alone is enough to leave me breathless, but the next
thing she says nearly stops my heart:
“Thing is, Em, I’m meant to see all the people I’ve hurt. So
that’s you, for starters. And… fuck it. I need to say sorry to
Lily.”

Damn right she does. Celia betrayed Lily in the worst way -
sleeping with her
then
-boyfriend, Tom. And so far, all she’s offered Lily is a
giggled, drunken
‘sorry’
. But I’m hopeful. Even though she’ll probably screw up, I’m
always hopeful with Celia. I have to be. Because I love her, and
because I’m all she’s got. So I text her,
Meet u tomoro. Flying Pig? Lunch not booze x

2.

I've never felt weird about having keys to Harry's flat
before, but I feel weird about it now. Harry lives above
Thrills and Frills
, the
Soho-based lingerie store he's owned with his brother ever since
their grandparents died, leaving them a tonne of dosh. His flat has
always been like an extension of the shop, so I usually don't think
twice about letting myself in. His spare room is basically a stock
room, and I'm in and out all the time for one reason or another.
Plus, when we exploit the benefits of our
friends with benefits
arrangement,
it's generally at his place. I've even been known to hang out there
after work and lie in wait for him, naked and wanton in his big,
sturdy, king-sized man-bed. So why now am I so uneasy sliding the
key he gave me into his lock?