RageAgainstTheWashingMachine: Yas! Payback! You go get some, girl!
SashayYourWay: I’d do that man anywhere. Call me anytime, Olly, babe!
FloozyLoosie: Public sex. If you’re getting caught, you’re not doing it right.
MadShagger: Unless you’re into that. #exhibitionistrus
FloozyLousie: Got caught giving a blowy on the Tube to Cockfosters once.
HoppyGoLucky: Username checks out.
Hells.Bells: Love a bit of al fresco nookie, myself.
Slayz4Dayz: One time me n my man got frisky at St Mary Mags cemetery behind Sir Richard Burton’s mausoleum.
TrixieBits: OMG! Is he dead? RIP cheap Virgin Holidays.
Twerksneark: That’s Sir Richard Brandson. Burton is the Karma Sutra dude.
Sumin.up.rosie: I’ve done it in the bushes in Regent’s Park
Pennies4Molly: Back of Ikea for me.
Twerksneark: The Royal Courts of Justice on his desk. He even let me wear his wig
PixiChick: In a phone box
Charlie09: Up the bum!
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Chapter 35
OLIVER
We made no promises, and we swore no vows, throwing ourselves headlong into the enjoyment of each other over the coming weeks. In some ways it was inevitable. We’re like two magnets with poles that attract and repel, depending on the way they’re held. I’d like to have told her I’d hold her always, but I know I’m not worthy of the honor. She deserves better, but for now, she’ll make do with me.
I’ll admit that I half expected Mitchell to kick up a legal stink following our altercation, but perhaps he realizes the longer he chases trouble, the more trouble will hound him. Or he could just be regrouping. I don’t really care. He’s not the sole focus of my attention anymore.
That’s not to say I’ve forgiven, forgotten, or even changed my plans. I suppose I’m just much happier. It’s true that Eve is unlikely to move far from my side as I negotiate Northaby’s purchase and beyond. But she’ll be there because she wants to be, not just because she doesn’t trust me with the animals’ welfare. She’s taken an interest in the outcome, of course. It’s just who she is. She will always champion those who have no voice.
Meanwhile, she continues to frustrate and beguile me in equal measure. But I’m not alone in my suffering, as I see she’s had asimilar effect on Mandy. I find my mouth lifting reluctantly as I recall Eve’s malicious glee the morning of our very first visit. As I emerged from the walk-in wearing a tweed jacket, she laughed and said I looked like I was cosplaying a farmer. She wasn’t too impressed when I bought her a matching outfit for our next visit.But she wore it.
While I’ve more or less danced around the future of the safari park with Mandy, the old duffer seems certain that Eve will be the making of the place.
“It’s not on you,” I’ve reassured her. “I’ve promised him nothing, and neither have you. It’s not your fault he plays on deaf ears.”
She sees it. She knows it. Yet still she spends her evenings on her laptop (curled on the sofa or next to me in bed) investigating rehoming possibilities at other zoos and wildlife parks. It’s not an uncommon practice, thanks to facilities expanding to include new species or provide genetic diversity to existing ones. I think she finds comfort in that.
“They’re just preliminary investigations,” she’ll insist. “Nothing concrete. I know it really has nothing to do with me.”
But I see it troubles her. So I’m quietly conducting my own analysis for my eventual ownership.
My phone begins to ring, pulling me from my contemplation.
“It’s yours,” a gravelly tone barks down the line.
“I beg your pardon?”
