Meh. Lust or pity, it was better than sitting here by myself.
‘So, you’re from Scotland, right?’ I asked as I sat down.
‘Edinburgh. Have you ever been there?’
‘I’ve never been anywhere,’ I said. ‘Well, I did go to New Zealand with James last year, but I don’t think that really counts.’
‘You must go to Europe.’ Chris’s face was earnest. ‘It’s amazing—the culture, the food, the people. I travel as often as I can, particularly to Rome. It’s my favourite city. I’ve got a friend in Testaccio who I stay with.’
‘Testaccio?’ My lips and tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar syllables.
‘It’s a working class district near the Tiber River. The food is out of this world, like nothing you’ve eaten before. And the best thing is you can go there and be completely anonymous. There aren’t many tourists so you can live life like a true Roman.’
His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and I couldn’t help feeling a little affected myself. I was lucky to get a weekend in Sydney once a year.
‘And how does a true Roman live, exactly?’
He smiled. ‘Espressos in backstreet cafes. Long, slow lunches with as many bottles of wine as there are courses. Shopping with the locals at the Mercato di Testaccio. There’s something about the place I never get tired of.’
‘Hopefully one day I’ll make it there. Maybe once I’ve knocked off this mortgage. In a gazillion years. Oh, Christ,’ I groaned, putting my head in my hands. ‘I can’t believe how depressing that sounds.’
Chris patted me on the leg. ‘Have another drink. Always good for shutting out the real world.’
I glanced at him through the curtain of my hair. ‘The problem with the real world is that it’s still there when the hangover wears off.’
‘In that case, why don’t you come back to my hotel room and we’ll see if we can come up with some other ways to ignore reality?’
I started. After a year and a half in what I’d thought was a stable relationship, I wasn’t used to things moving so fast. We’d barely even touched each other (well, not counting my accidental ball grope) and he was already propositioning me. I was about to politely rebuff his offer when the image of my big, empty house flooded my mind, and before I could think it through I found myself following him out of the bar without even saying goodbye to my friends.
We didn’t speak much on the walk to his hotel. My mind, addled with grog, tried and failed to make sense of what I was doing. I didn’t owe anybody anything. Except myself, and what I needed right now was a no-strings-attached good time.
I was surprised when he led me into the opulent lobby of a boutique hotel. ‘Five star? Nice!’
He threw me a smile as we stepped into the lift, but didn’t comment. His room was on the top floor with a balcony and a view towards the city lights of Melbourne. It was impossible to ignore the enormous king size bed that took up most of the room, a reminder of what we were here for.
I babbled to cover up my nervousness. ‘How does a starving musician afford a king suite at the Lyall?’
Chris stepped towards me and rested his hands on my waist. ‘Do you really want to talk about this right now?’ He bent his head to kiss me.
OK, so no small talk then.
He was a good kisser—not out of this world, but it was nice to feel a man’s arms around me again. I allowed my body to relax into his as his hands moved up under my shirt to caress my back. His phone began to buzz with an incoming call, but he pulled it out of his pocket, rejected it without checking to see who it was, then threw it onto the chair beside the TV.
He grinned. ‘Whoever it is can wait.’
He pulled my shirt over my head and threw it on top of the phone before covering my mouth with his own again. I pushed his battered jacket off his shoulders and we parted for a moment so he could pull off his own shirt. He was very tall and it was difficult to continue kissing with him stooped over and me on my toes, so he guided me to the bed and we half fell onto it.
I fingered a large purple patch of skin below his ribcage. ‘What’s this?’
‘Birthmark,’ Chris said. ‘I hate it. I’d get it lasered if I could, but it’s too big. You have the most beautiful eyes.’
He pulled my hand away from the birthmark and up to his chest, then bent his head to kiss my breasts, one hand inside my bra. I sent a mental note of thanks to Lana for her insistence on the push-up bra. My hands explored his muscled shoulders. He had a nice body, even if he did obviously wax his chest.
And then, as I abandoned myself to the sensations his hands and mouth were sending through my body, I made the mistake of closing my eyes. There, in my mind’s eye, was James. James, with his enormous triangular physique that had always dwarfed mine, his sandy blond hair, his clear blue eyes. Sweet, gentle James, always such a considerate lover, always pausing to make sure I was enjoying every caress, every kiss.
I broke away from Chris and sat up, tears burning behind my eyes.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I don’t think I can.’
He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Just got socked in the eye by reality after all.’
‘Ah. Your ex?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Damn.’ He gave me a wry grin. ‘That’s too bad.’
‘Sorry,’ I said again.
‘Sarah, I was kidding. It’s OK. Believe it or not, I don’t usually do this.’
The chair beside the TV began to buzz. We both
