Read Online Things We Never Say by Sheila O'Flanagan - Free Book Online
Authors: Sheila O'Flanagan
Ads: Link
the lips this time. ‘What about the night you brought your managing director to the house for a drink? That’s cocktail glam. Or the day we met your friends for lunch at the yacht club? Smart casual but not too casual. Or the night we went to dinner in the flashy restaurant? Sophisticated. Or the day we did the charity walk? Sports casual.’
‘I know you need different things for those events,’ conceded Donald. ‘But there’s not that many of them.’
‘What about when I go out with my friends?’ she asked. ‘I have to look good. I have to let them know that in marrying Donald Fitzpatrick I made the right choice.’
‘Of course you made the right choice,’ he said. ‘I love you.’
‘And I love you too,’ she said as she nuzzled his ear. ‘I want you to think you made the right choice too. I want you to be proud of me when you see me beside all those other women.’
‘Oh, I’m proud of you all right.’ Donald gave in to the allure of her body. ‘How could I not be?’
‘How could you not,’ she agreed as she set to work to help him forget about the credit card bill and remember why it was that he’d fallen for her in the first place.
Zoey had met Donald at a low ebb in his life. He was going through a bad time personally and professionally, and (as he said at the time) the sharp pain in his tooth was the final straw. She was the receptionist in the dental surgery but she’d never seen him before. He confessed, as he cradled his jaw in his hand, that he hadn’t been for his yearly check-up in, well, three years, so it was probably his own fault. Zoey, however, gave him a sympathetic look and told him that nobody ever did what they were meant to when it came to their teeth but she’d find out if Mr Johnson could see him straight away.
‘I reckon you have an abscess,’ she said.
Afterwards, Donald told her that she’d been like an angel, fussing over him, comforting him, calming him. He hated the dentist, always had, hated the noise of the drill and the helpless feeling as he lay back in the chair; hated too the way the dental nurses and receptionists always made him feel like a naughty schoolboy for not looking after his teeth properly.
‘In fact you hate everything about it,’ she said as she keyed in the details of his follow-up appointment. (She’d been right, it was an abscess.)
‘Except you,’ he said.
A week after he’d had his check-up, he’d phoned her and asked her on a date. She’d been surprised and then doubtful because he was way older than her, but she wasn’t seeing anyone herself at the time (having dumped her most recent boyfriend for being a total bore) and she reckoned that it might be a nice night out.
Donald had taken her for a meal at a top city restaurant, followed by a drink in a quiet bar – although she’d nearly bailed out before the drink because he’d mentioned his ex-wife, Deirdre (afterwards often referred to by Zoey as Disgruntled Deirdre), and his two daughters, both in their late teens, who were placing enormous demands on him. The demands were for money, in the case of all three, who seemed to regard the bank of Donald as pretty limitless; and for his time, at least as far as Deirdre was concerned. Donald’s soon-to-be-ex-wife hadn’t seemed to grasp the concept that their impending divorce meant getting out of each other’s lives, and would ring him up whenever she had a minor problem, which she expected him to solve for her immediately.
Zoey wasn’t keen on going out with a man with a money-grabbing ex and teenage daughters, but Donald was good company and far more mature than the guys she normally dated – well, he
was
more mature, she reminded herself; he was in his forties after all! Nevertheless, she enjoyed being with someone who was confident, who wore nice clothes (she was fed up with guys who thought ripped jeans and a rugby shirt was actually dressed up) and, above all, who treated her well. If Donald said he’d call, he
‘I know you need different things for those events,’ conceded Donald. ‘But there’s not that many of them.’
‘What about when I go out with my friends?’ she asked. ‘I have to look good. I have to let them know that in marrying Donald Fitzpatrick I made the right choice.’
‘Of course you made the right choice,’ he said. ‘I love you.’
‘And I love you too,’ she said as she nuzzled his ear. ‘I want you to think you made the right choice too. I want you to be proud of me when you see me beside all those other women.’
‘Oh, I’m proud of you all right.’ Donald gave in to the allure of her body. ‘How could I not be?’
‘How could you not,’ she agreed as she set to work to help him forget about the credit card bill and remember why it was that he’d fallen for her in the first place.
Zoey had met Donald at a low ebb in his life. He was going through a bad time personally and professionally, and (as he said at the time) the sharp pain in his tooth was the final straw. She was the receptionist in the dental surgery but she’d never seen him before. He confessed, as he cradled his jaw in his hand, that he hadn’t been for his yearly check-up in, well, three years, so it was probably his own fault. Zoey, however, gave him a sympathetic look and told him that nobody ever did what they were meant to when it came to their teeth but she’d find out if Mr Johnson could see him straight away.
‘I reckon you have an abscess,’ she said.
Afterwards, Donald told her that she’d been like an angel, fussing over him, comforting him, calming him. He hated the dentist, always had, hated the noise of the drill and the helpless feeling as he lay back in the chair; hated too the way the dental nurses and receptionists always made him feel like a naughty schoolboy for not looking after his teeth properly.
‘In fact you hate everything about it,’ she said as she keyed in the details of his follow-up appointment. (She’d been right, it was an abscess.)
‘Except you,’ he said.
A week after he’d had his check-up, he’d phoned her and asked her on a date. She’d been surprised and then doubtful because he was way older than her, but she wasn’t seeing anyone herself at the time (having dumped her most recent boyfriend for being a total bore) and she reckoned that it might be a nice night out.
Donald had taken her for a meal at a top city restaurant, followed by a drink in a quiet bar – although she’d nearly bailed out before the drink because he’d mentioned his ex-wife, Deirdre (afterwards often referred to by Zoey as Disgruntled Deirdre), and his two daughters, both in their late teens, who were placing enormous demands on him. The demands were for money, in the case of all three, who seemed to regard the bank of Donald as pretty limitless; and for his time, at least as far as Deirdre was concerned. Donald’s soon-to-be-ex-wife hadn’t seemed to grasp the concept that their impending divorce meant getting out of each other’s lives, and would ring him up whenever she had a minor problem, which she expected him to solve for her immediately.
Zoey wasn’t keen on going out with a man with a money-grabbing ex and teenage daughters, but Donald was good company and far more mature than the guys she normally dated – well, he
was
more mature, she reminded herself; he was in his forties after all! Nevertheless, she enjoyed being with someone who was confident, who wore nice clothes (she was fed up with guys who thought ripped jeans and a rugby shirt was actually dressed up) and, above all, who treated her well. If Donald said he’d call, he
Similar Books
