Netta laughed. ‘I reckon we’re safe.’
‘Just making sure.’
Netta directed him to sit on the closed toilet lid and straddled him, enjoying his hands on her hips as she kissed his neck, feeling him harden beneath her. She moved her mouth to his and kissed him but he pulled away.
‘We’d better make this brief,’ he said. ‘I don’t want the kids waking up and finding us in here.’
‘Okay.’ Netta lifted herself off his lap and let him ease her pants down, stepping out of them as she took her T-shirt off to stand completely naked in front of him. Pete lifted his butt from the toilet seat, slid his pants and undies down to his ankles and sat down again, running his hands up the backs of Netta’s thighs, gently pulling her back. His mouth closed briefly around her left nipple but he took it away all too soon, distracted, presumably, by Netta lowering herself onto him.
‘Oh, God,’ he whispered, clutching at her hips, his eyes closed. ‘Oh, God.’
Netta rode him, once, twice, three times, holding his head to her chest with one hand, the other pressed against the wall to steady herself.
Pete released a deep moan and his hands slipped from her hips, his head now heavy on her chest.
Netta looked down at a close-range view of his bald patch, his back rising and falling with his ragged breath. ‘Already?’
‘Sorry.’ Pete tipped his face up to hers, his mouth slack. ‘Did you …?’
‘No. Not quite.’
‘Do you want me to, ah …’ He waggled his fingers at her, his eyebrows raised in query.
Netta shook her head and stood. ‘Nah, I’m alright.’ Was she, though? Sex with Pete had never exactly been Olympic level but it had always been nice. Always satisfying, if a little predictable. And it had never been as fast asthat.She’d had sneezing fits that had lasted longer.
Pete stood and pulled his pants up, dropping a quick kiss on her forehead. ‘That was amazing,’ he said, already reaching for the door. ‘I’ll let you get dressed.’
Chapter Four
MO
‘It’s been shared about a squillion times on social media, Mo. Not to mention the videos of the incident with the pap. It really doesn’t look great, does it? Especially given the rebrand we’re trying to do.’
Mo looked from his agent’s exasperated face, illuminated by the outdoor heaters in his gazebo, to the magazine on the table in front of him, and back again. ‘Well, no. It doesn’t. Obviously. But surely nobody believes anything in this piece of shit, Rhona.’ He paused to refill her tea cup. ‘Everyone knows the stories are all made up. Total fiction.’
He read the headline again. MO-DELISERMAPLESTONEBACKINBUSINESS.Not a bad play on words, he could give them that. The double-page spread included photos of the photographer he hadn’t actually shoved looking theatrically forlorn alongside images of Mo with Rachel at the pub. Photos he didn’t even remember being taken, let alone smiling for. As he scanned the article for a second time, he had to admit that while the exaggeration was next level, this particular story wasn’t ‘all made up’. Hehadgone out with Mav in the wake of his moving-out bombshell and had too much to drink. Hehadgone home with Rachel-who-was-probablya-model. He hadn’t pushed the photographer, but hehadlet the little prick get a rise out of him. The reporter’s embellishments were wall-punchingly annoying but at its core, the story was true. Glossy, full-colour proof that he was still bound to the same bullshit patterns of behaviour. A psych would have a field day with him.
Rhona took a sip of tea. ‘Don’t be deluded, darling. Whether the magazine itself is a piece of shit or not is entirely irrelevant.’ A faded Edinburgh accent clung to her words, her narrowed eyes framed by electric-blue glasses. ‘Drunken photos of you with some twenty-something model off her tits at a pub? Morrison Maplestone getting agro with a pap? Of course it’s believable. And given the reputation we’re trying very hard to reframe, this—’ she jabbed a varnished fingernail at one of the photos, ‘—was all a big mistake.
‘And I know I don’t have to explain to you that the record company is watching you closely. They’ll pull the pin on the new album likethat—’ she snapped her fingers, ‘—if they think you’re still a media nightmare. Pushing a photographer over was stupendously thick, given the circumstances. You need to learn from your mistakes, Mo.You have to play the game this time. And play it nice.You wanted this comeback, remember? And not just for your ego, you need it to fund the Play On expansion. True?’
‘I know very well what’s riding on it, Rhona,’ said Mo, exasperated. His secret charity, Play On, was his baby. He’d grown it from an idea to a fully-fledged operation that donated instruments and music equipment to under-funded schools. It was a cause he was hugely passionate about. Playing the guitar had been one of his only solaces as a kid—a place to escape to—and he wanted to pass that on in any way he could. His money was the backbone of Play On’s success but if he wanted to make his big dreams for an international expansion come true, he needed the cash injection from the new album. ‘I really didn’t shove him, you know. How can we smooth it over?’
‘Look, you’ve got the Christmas Eve Gala coming up in a few weeks.’ Rhona’s magenta hair flapped around her face in the cool breeze. ‘I think it’d be a good idea to take a date. Someone lovely and wholesome. Show yourself as being a stand-up guy. Why don’t we start there?’
‘I’m taking Mav,’ said Mo. ‘He’s pumped about it.’
Rhona shook her head. ‘Not this time, Mo. This time you need to turn up with an actual date, not your little brother. Someone real and age appropriate. Someone your female fans would like. Someone who shows them that you’ve evolved past this,’ she said, prodding the photo again.
Mo sighed. ‘Where am I supposed to find someone like that, Rhona?’
‘Honey, you’reMorrison Maplestone.’ She waggled her fingers in his direction. ‘Use all that man-magic of yours to find someone a bit different this time. Not a glamour girl, just someone nice and normal to show the world that you’ve hit Mo 2.0. And maybe stop abusing photographers in the street in the meantime.’
‘I told you I didn’t— Ergh. Okay, fine.’ Mo closed the magazine and slapped his palm over the cover. ‘I’ll find a date. I’ll also continuenotphysically assaulting photographers.’
Rhona patted his arm with one hand and prised the magazine from his grip with the other. ‘You don’t need to keep looking at this rubbish. I’ll take it home for the cats to piss on, hey?’
Mo couldn’t help but laugh. Rhona didn’t have any cats. ‘Seems like too good an end for it if you ask me,’ he said. ‘But sure, take it. I’ve seen enough.’
