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“Your glass always this half full?”
“Only on mornings when I’ve had a great fuck the night before.”
He smiled. “I’ll remember that.”
“Hope so.”
I stepped over the kitchen carnage, flicking on the kettle for morning coffee. Callum began sorting the living room, and I couldn’t help laughing as Casey jumped in play, trying to wrestle the cushion stuffing from him. He was angry at first, shooing her back, but she persisted, lying flat to the floor with her tail wagging, big brown eyes fixed on his.
I watched his expression soften, eyes filled with affection for his furry companion.
He dropped to all fours, charging her, and together they wrestled, rolling around in doggy-human bliss as they played. Casey broke away and took off, charging around the room, racing past just out of his reach as he lunged after her, round and round in crazy circles. It was quite a game.
“She loves you so much,” I said. “She really does.”
“Love her, too,” he said. “She’s fucking awesome.”
I agreed with him, despite the mess. The dog was really something.
“Black fur ain’t so good with your white sofa,” he commented. “Got a hoover or summat?”
“I’ll sort it later,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
That seemed to knock him, and his shoulders hunched a little. “I’ll get my stuff together.”
“You haven’t even had coffee yet.”
“Don’t wanna outstay my time, you know.”
“You’re not.” I held out a mug, and he hesitated before he took it, but only for a second.
I dropped some kitchen roll onto a puddle that looked suspiciously like dog piss, and pulled the bin back to standing. Callum stared, dark eyes heavy with something. I couldn’t read him again, couldn’t fathom what he was thinking, or what he wanted.
“What now?” he said. “Want me to help clean up?”
I pondered awhile, excitement dancing up my spine.
“Say, Callum Jackson, have you ever watched the entire Alien Quadrilogy back to back?”
Sunday dinner with the parents was officially cancelled.
***
Chapter Eleven
Callum
I raced over to Jack Willis’ place, Casey running at my side all the way. I was late, really fucking late. Only half hour left until the Stoneys showed up and I hadn’t a fucking quid to my name. Not yet anyway.
I bashed his door like my life depended on it, sighing in relief as movement showed inside.
“What the pissing hell you doing here, lad? It’s a bleeding Monday morning.”
“Need me cash,” I said. “One eighty I’m owed.”
“One fifty you’re owed,” he said. “Only cash I got in the place.”
He was a lying cunt and we both knew it, but I couldn’t risk an argument. Stoneys would tear me a new arsehole if I turned up empty-handed. I left him to it, heart racing and not ’cause of the exertion. Stoneys don’t play nice and one-fifty was a pisstake.
