Eventually - All or Nothing #2

27th December 2022

In a luxury hotel room, newly engaged and without the threat of kids walking in at any moment, Aimee thought she was destined for the most pleasant of wake-up calls. Maybe John's face between her legs, that thick stubble grazing against her thighs as he planted little kisses there, nipping softly with his teeth in the hope of her stirring. She didn't get that, she didn't even get a kiss, instead she is roughly woken by the sound of John moving around the room as loudly as possible; slamming the shower door, dropping his toothbrush in the sink, shouting 'Fuck' when he stubs his big toe on the side of the toilet... For several minutes she lies, with her eyes closed, the sheets pulled high on her neck, desperately trying to get back to sleep. Until she feels the weight of something being thrown on top of her. It's her clothes.

"Aimee!" John is exasperated; before he went for a shower, he had gently woken Aimee with a series of tiny kisses on her lips. As she slept, they had formed into a perfect pout, one that was begging to be kissed. He'd let his lips linger for a little longer each time until he felt her hand stroking the back of her neck in an acknowledgement that she was awake. 'We have to go home now babe, I'm going for a shower, are you up?! She had mumbled some kind of positive response and he'd gone to the ensuite, expecting to return to find Aimee out of bed, and her belongings, that were strung around the room in an impressive fashion for someone who had not even been here for 24 hours, packed. Instead, he finds that she has gone back to sleep.

"Babe, we have to leave, will you get up!?" She knows he has work today yet she's acting like she has all the time in the world. He's going to be late. He's going to have to take the entire fucking squad for dinner as punishment, as if he doesn't have enough on these next few weeks.

"What kind of way is this to talk to your fiancée?!" Aimee sits up in bed, stretches her arms high above her head and yawns. She doesn't know why he is getting his knickers in a twist; she had a shower before she went to sleep and braided her hair, all she has to do is tidy it up, get dressed and put some make up on. Packing might take a while; she remembers the clothes she wore during the day yesterday are still on the floor next to the shower, her toiletries are still scattered around the bathroom, her make up is spread across the dressing table, the outfit she wore to the ballet last night is at the foot of the bed, where John had let it fall as he had taken off layer after layer, like peeling an onion, and her underwear!? God knows where that is.

"Don't start that!" His cheeks are red, his stress evident in his tight shoulders; he looks so cute when he gets wound up like this, running his hand through his hair every few seconds as he dashes madly around the room, not quite sure what he is doing first; dressing himself, because he is only a towel, or sorting out Aimee's crap, shovelling things into her overnight bag he is now holding.

"John?!" Aimee crawls to the end of the bed, the room is a little chilly now and goosebumps form on the skin not covered by her short satin pyjamas; it was too warm last night, and they had turned the heating down before they went to sleep. "Time out!" She says in the same, almost pleading, tone she uses on the girls when they are whining over nothing, and she just wants them to be quiet.

"Come here," she holds out an arm to him and freezes, for the first time since he walked out of the bathroom.

"Aimee, why do you always have to do this!?" He sighs. "You're stressing me out." This time, he doesn't run his hand through his own hair, instead he soothes his panic by tucking the loose strands of Aimee's hair behind her ear; her braids have slackened as she tossed and turned in the night and the plaits are a little frayed.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I did! I even spoke to you!" He cries then he sighs, as he realises that bickering is only delaying them further. "You're a fucking nightmare," he smiles fondly at her; he is signing up to a lifetime of being late, he should probably get used to it.