Read Online Private Research: An Erotic Novella by Sabrina Darby - Free Book Online
Authors: Sabrina Darby
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trove, yet I’d found nothing! How likely was it that I’d find another such stash of previously undisturbed artifacts? Not very likely at all.
Especially with only ten more days left in England.
I tried to put the disappointment from my mind and focus on the positives, but I heard that ticktock of the figurative clock clearly in my mind.
Ten more days.
I boarded the train back to London and pulled out my spiral notebook. Even though I had numerous such lists already, I started writing down all the leads that were left to me and any that the day’s jaunt might have opened up. There was a desperate comfort in the process. Methodical. A list to check off.
Halfway back to London I remembered my “celebratory” date with Sebastian. I fished out my phone to call him, then stared at it, the time glaring back at me. Just after seven. He’d said he’d call as soon as he was off from work, which meant he wasn’t off yet. Which meant I had time to think.
I wanted to cancel. By no means did I feel celebratory. Yet, why cancel? Every way I looked, I was finding dead ends. In the next ten days, it was unlikely anything spectacular would turn up. Why shouldn’t I at least have some hot sex?
I refused to answer my own question. There were too many reasons why I should call him and cancel. But I was deliberately not thinking.
Forty minutes later, in the cramped little bathroom of my shared flat, I stood under the tepid water, with its intermediate short bursts of hot and then freezing-cold water. What was it about water that made the tears come so easily? I reached a hand out against the tile and bent my head down.
I thought I was so in control, so able to handle everything, and yet, here I was, failing.
But it was stupid to be crying and self-pitying. Nothing ever got done that way. I took a deep breath and finished washing the conditioner out of my hair. By the time I stepped out of the shower, it was 8:30 P.M. and he still hadn’t called. He’d said sometimes he worked long hours, but now I was getting antsy. And hungry. The very least he could do was call to let me know about what time it would be. Or he could cancel.
Finally, I picked up my phone. Then nearly dropped it as it rang loudly. Okay, then.
“It’s Seb.”
“I know,” I said with a laugh. “I was about to call you.”
“I’m sorry about how late it is. Have you eaten yet?” He sounded exhausted, which didn’t bode well for a night of decadent, take-my-mind-off-my-problems sex.
“No.” But what I really needed to say was, Don’t bother coming. It’s been fun, but it’s over.
Yet I couldn’t. I wanted to see him.
“I know I promised you a celebratory meal”—I winced—”but how do you feel about takeaway? There’s good Vietnamese just around the corner from my office.”
“Actually, that’s fine.”
“Great. I’ll be there in thirty.”
The short, abrupt conversation left me feeling even more unsettled and despondent. While I hadn’t felt particularly celebratory, somehow we’d gone from Sebastian wining and dining me at the fanciest of restaurants to eating takeout in my apartment. With my flatmates watching television in the living room.
Not particularly conducive to romance. Or to sex.
Somewhat irritated, I grabbed my laptop and moved to the small, round dining table that bordered the living room.
“She’s alive,” Neil said in a stage whisper to Jens. He gave me a big wink.
“Not only am I alive, but I have company coming over in half an hour,” I said. I’d never had brothers, but I’d gotten used to Neil’s teasing in the last few months.
That got Jens’s attention, and he twisted his body toward me, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “The friend you were with the other night?”
“The same.” I stared at the television beyond them. It was some reality TV show that I’d never seen before.
“I was going to meet friends at the pub, but I think I’ll hang about a bit more.”
I laughed. Of
Especially with only ten more days left in England.
I tried to put the disappointment from my mind and focus on the positives, but I heard that ticktock of the figurative clock clearly in my mind.
Ten more days.
I boarded the train back to London and pulled out my spiral notebook. Even though I had numerous such lists already, I started writing down all the leads that were left to me and any that the day’s jaunt might have opened up. There was a desperate comfort in the process. Methodical. A list to check off.
Halfway back to London I remembered my “celebratory” date with Sebastian. I fished out my phone to call him, then stared at it, the time glaring back at me. Just after seven. He’d said he’d call as soon as he was off from work, which meant he wasn’t off yet. Which meant I had time to think.
I wanted to cancel. By no means did I feel celebratory. Yet, why cancel? Every way I looked, I was finding dead ends. In the next ten days, it was unlikely anything spectacular would turn up. Why shouldn’t I at least have some hot sex?
I refused to answer my own question. There were too many reasons why I should call him and cancel. But I was deliberately not thinking.
Forty minutes later, in the cramped little bathroom of my shared flat, I stood under the tepid water, with its intermediate short bursts of hot and then freezing-cold water. What was it about water that made the tears come so easily? I reached a hand out against the tile and bent my head down.
I thought I was so in control, so able to handle everything, and yet, here I was, failing.
But it was stupid to be crying and self-pitying. Nothing ever got done that way. I took a deep breath and finished washing the conditioner out of my hair. By the time I stepped out of the shower, it was 8:30 P.M. and he still hadn’t called. He’d said sometimes he worked long hours, but now I was getting antsy. And hungry. The very least he could do was call to let me know about what time it would be. Or he could cancel.
Finally, I picked up my phone. Then nearly dropped it as it rang loudly. Okay, then.
“It’s Seb.”
“I know,” I said with a laugh. “I was about to call you.”
“I’m sorry about how late it is. Have you eaten yet?” He sounded exhausted, which didn’t bode well for a night of decadent, take-my-mind-off-my-problems sex.
“No.” But what I really needed to say was, Don’t bother coming. It’s been fun, but it’s over.
Yet I couldn’t. I wanted to see him.
“I know I promised you a celebratory meal”—I winced—”but how do you feel about takeaway? There’s good Vietnamese just around the corner from my office.”
“Actually, that’s fine.”
“Great. I’ll be there in thirty.”
The short, abrupt conversation left me feeling even more unsettled and despondent. While I hadn’t felt particularly celebratory, somehow we’d gone from Sebastian wining and dining me at the fanciest of restaurants to eating takeout in my apartment. With my flatmates watching television in the living room.
Not particularly conducive to romance. Or to sex.
Somewhat irritated, I grabbed my laptop and moved to the small, round dining table that bordered the living room.
“She’s alive,” Neil said in a stage whisper to Jens. He gave me a big wink.
“Not only am I alive, but I have company coming over in half an hour,” I said. I’d never had brothers, but I’d gotten used to Neil’s teasing in the last few months.
That got Jens’s attention, and he twisted his body toward me, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “The friend you were with the other night?”
“The same.” I stared at the television beyond them. It was some reality TV show that I’d never seen before.
“I was going to meet friends at the pub, but I think I’ll hang about a bit more.”
I laughed. Of
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