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She slapped my arm. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my bits, Callum Jackson.”
“Take your word for it,” I smiled.
Vicki’s eyes were all over me, following the line of hair down from my belly button. “Where’s she dragging you to this week? The bloody Ritz?”
I shrugged. “Wherever she wants, she’s paying.”
“Wish you didn’t have to go, Cal.” She folded her arms. “She’s after summat. A shag probably.”
“Doubt it. Ain’t likely to be her type.”
“She’s yours, though, ent she? Now you’re into blondes.”
I moved back to the mirror, checking out my reflection. Would have to do. I picked up a can of deodorant, sprayed under my arms as she watched. “It’s a job. Stoneys want their cash.”
She came inside, closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry, Cal, ‘bout all this.”
“We’re mates, yeah? We look out for each other.”
“Mates. Yeah.” Her smile was sad. I hate that smile. I reached past her for my clothes, and she made no move to leave. “When this is all over, maybe me and you could go down Scotty’s, get some more ink.”
I turned my back to her, pointed to my shoulder. “I want a picture of Case done, here. Gonna draw one. Tribal, like.”
“Sweet.” She pulled her top down, showing me way too much tit. “I want something here. Draw something for me, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I yanked a t-shirt over my head, then pulled my jeans on quick, showing her my ass but not much else. “Gotta go, Vick. Don’t wanna be late.”
I grabbed my hoodie on the way out.
“You look good, Cal,” she smiled. “I’ll see you later.”
My stomach churned. Guilt. “Nah, Vick, don’t wait up. Dunno how long I’ll be.” I pulled her into my side, ruffled her hair. “Look after Case, alright.”
She grabbed hold of me, arms around my ribs.
I felt so fucking tight for pulling away.
***
Sophie
I walked quickly, thoughts racing as the hotel came into view. My suitcase rumbled along the pavement, making it so bloody obvious I was coming.
I wondered if he was there already, watching. All week I’d been thinking about him. Literally, all fucking week. His eyes as he’d sprung from the shadows, so wild, like he’d tear me limb from limb. He could have done, could have snapped my neck in a heartbeat, thrown me to the ground and kicked the shit out of me. Or slammed me into the wall and... and...fucked me... really fucking hard.
I was officially crazy. Even Raven said so. I smiled at the memory, of her untangling the Roger-Callum threads over wine at hers.
Let me get this straight. You’re using Mr Dangerous to bait Mr Super-fucking-dangerous? You’re crazy, baby. Make sure this shit doesn’t end in the wrong kind of tears.
She knew where I was headed, had extracted promises upon promises on pain of death that I’d check in when it was over. Taking address details, and times, and even bookmarking Roger’s Edgeplay profile on her mobile. She’d be at Explicit, she said, phone close by, where I’d be too if I had any sense.
Roger had taken some convincing, not entirely game for another session after the washout last time. I’d offered to beg and no doubt he’d hold me to it. I owed him a good time, he said. I imagined he’d tan my backside good and proper for my cheek.
I waited outside the main entrance, eyes scanning the edge of Kensington Gardens. Callum Jackson didn’t approach from that direction this time. He stepped out of the shadows at the side of the building, towering over me without warning.
“Thank you for coming.” My voice was too bright, and way too professional.
“Same deal, yeah? We go up, he comes in.”
