‘The army doesn’t count.’
‘Of course it does. I bet you picked up enough Greek swear words to embarrass a sailor.’
‘Do I need to teach you some?’
His tone makes me overly aware of how hot his arm is as it bumps against mine as we walk. I discreetly shift, and try to think of something to say because answering his question feels perilous.
‘So, the Argentine tango,’ he says, beating me to it.
‘What a nightmare,’ I reply, relieved to be on safer ground.
‘We’re going to have to start Theo’s lessons from scratch,’ he says. ‘And I’m so tired of that bloody song. It’s in my headallthe time – at work, in the gym, in the shower.’
In the silence after the word ‘shower’, Dream Mark cuts in.
Do you want me, Nella? Do you want me deep inside you?
I flinch because, just like that, the film of the two of us going at it like animals in the shower replays in excruciating detail.
And my brain has decidedthisis the moment to furnish me with the director’s cut, packed with shiny new scenes. My legs wrapped around his waist as he slams me up against the wall; the exquisite filth he pours in my ear:I know how you need to be fucked. My breathless sobs:Oh, God, yes.
Jesus. Get a grip. He’s standingright bloody here.
He’s still talking, but I’ve missed a good portion of what he’s been saying.
‘… is very different, but the video should help at least.’
‘The video?’ I ask unsurely.
He’s looking at me intently, some might even sayknowingly.But he can’t know. Obviously.
Except my nipples are granite.
‘The clip, the reel, whatever it’s called. I can’t keep up with all the terminology.’
I’ve lucked out that he thinks I’m pulling him up because he’s not using the correct lingo.
‘Right, right,’ I add, nodding to emphasise I’m present in the here and now. And not stuck in my head, being expertly railed.
‘We can use the same choreography, and he’ll be able to watch it and practise by himself,’ he finishes.
‘There’s a lot of “we” in your calculations.’
‘Oh, come on, how’s he going to learn the lifts without you? He’ll pop a disc trying to lift me.’
The image of Theo trying to hoist Mark into the air replaces the earlier indecent one.
‘Fine, I’ll help,’ I concede. ‘I can’t have my sister’s husband waiting at the altar with a back brace.’
He pulls out his phone. ‘Stick your number in there and send yourself a text so you have mine.’
I put in my contact details and when I pass it back to him, he shakes his head.
‘You didn’t have to add your last name.’
‘I don’t know how many Nellas you’ve had.’
‘How many NellasI’ve had?’
