Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders by Cheryl R Cowtan

Author:Cheryl R Cowtan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Cheryl R Cowtan

CHAPTER 15: A GENTLEMAN’S KISS

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ANGUS HADN’T TAKEN HIS EYES from mine, and I was tumbling backwards into a hopeful and foolish belief that maybe, this time I could have a real relationship. Then the kettle let out a half-hearted whistle of warning, busting through my fuzzy moment, and freeing me to turn the element off.

My back to Angus, I wrestled with conflicting emotions. What was I, twelve? I was acting like a groupie, hanging on his every word, melting away inside until I was a puddle of stupidity.

I could feel his eyes on my back, as I fumbled with the tea bags.

Red Rose tea, a man, a woman, and a little chitchat. It should have been a comfortable moment. Yet, like a virgin about to be sacrificed at the volcanos’ edge, I could sense the precipice dangerously close to my feet.

Did I dump the tea and tell him to leave? I was no different than a humble village girl. When faced with the hot, mesmerizing lava below, a simple girl would forget about escaping back to the village. Gods were like that. They hooked you in. Made you think you had control until you were free falling into the flames.

I convinced myself I was in control. The meds were making a huge difference. Instead of sabotaging myself by jumping right into the sack, I was making Angus work for it. Almost as if I was worth more than just sex, maybe even worthy of a relationship. Was I ready for a relationship? Sex I could do, and hell, I could do it well. But nursing “togetherness” outside of the bedroom? I didn’t even know how to make conversation that wasn’t flirty, teasing, or caustic.

Chewing on my fingernail, I decided I was medicated enough to try.

Picking up the pot and a cup, I turned to face him with false cheer. “Only in Canada”.

To my surprise, he hadn’t been looking at my ass. He was looking at his watch, which was a little insulting. He lifted his eyes and said, “What?”

“You know, only in Canada.” I put the teapot down onto the 1930s, grey linoleum table. “Red Rose tea? The commercial?”

I poured a bit of steaming, rich liquid into my cup to check the colour.

“Is that why the wee rose?” He traced the red rose painted on my table top.

“There’s a rose on the table because my granny liked roses.”

Angus tipped his teacup and drained the cold tea from breakfast, then held out his cup for a hot refill. After pouring, I sat opposite him, wedged in between the table and the fridge.

“An’ what dae ye like?” he asked.

I checked to see if he was mocking me, but he looked genuinely interested. I couldn’t recall any man ever asking me what I liked, at least not outside of the sheets. I didn’t have an answer.

“Ye like reading,” he said, as if it were a great secret.

I succumbed to flirting. “I like it when you trill your tongue like that on your ‘r’s.”

His eyes darkened, and he rubbed his thumb across the tips of his fingers.

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