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Faye was stirring her cereals aimlessly, groggy and lethargic. “Jesus, Andy, it’s too early for this.”
“It’s never too fucking early for a conversation like this, Faye.”
She groaned. “It wasn’t even my idea, ok? My idea was truth or dare night, it was the others that came up with the masks, Raven and Cara and Topaz, even Demelza got in on the act. They were being sweet, it’s a celebration of me being back home, so I don’t feel sad about Italy.”
“And you didn’t think to tell them this may be entirely inappropriate?”
“Wouldyouhave, if it wereyouin my position?” Her eyes were hard. “It shouldn’t be a big deal, I should be fine. I’m a big girl, Andy, I can take a few masks and feathers without hyperventilating.”
“Don’t brush this off as nothing, Faye. It’s not nothing. I read those fucking books, I know what kind of shit went down out there.”
“And I toldyouI didn’t mind it in the main. I’m not scarred, I’m not some little broken puppet that needs wrapping up in cotton wool. I’m fine.” She dumped her dish in the sink, cereals half untouched. “You need to stop harping on about those books, Andy, it’s driving me mad. I don’t need reminding that you know my seedy life story every five bastard seconds.”
“Me and the rest of the fucking planet. Sorry for fucking caring.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s how it sounded.”
She rubbed her temples, then wrapped herself tighter in my dressing gown. She’d taken a liking to it, and I’d taken a liking to her liking it, not that I’d ever fucking admit it. “Can we start the day over, please? I hate arguing with you before my brain has even booted up properly, it puts me in a bad mood all day.”
“This isn’t an argument.”
“Then sniping, knocking heads, whatever you want to call it. Can we put it to bed, please?” She put her hand on her hip, and gave me nothing short of a pout. “Please, Andy. Please don’t be a dick this morning, I haven’t had nearly enough coffee to cope with you.”
“So melodramatic,” I said, and flicked the kettle on. “Fine. We’ll start over, see if we can get through the morning without taking each other’s heads off for once, shall we?”
“Suits me,” she sighed, and there was a sparkle in her eyes.
I pointed to the corridor. “In that case, you’d better get your peachy little backside in that shower, or we’re going to be fucking late.”
***
Faye
I was nervous of our birthday bash, not because of any stupid feather masks, or truth or dare games, but because it was my chance to stamp my foot on this club again. To prove I was back, and back to make a difference. I thought it meant so much because it was a general statement, but that was inner dialogue crap. It was about him. All about him. Proving to him irrevocably that I had something to bring to the Explicit table.
And that’s why I’d kept him out of the loop on pretty much everything from the beginning.
I wanted him to be as surprised as everyone else. I wanted him to be impressed, and overwhelmed and excited by the evening just as much as everyone else would be.
Quite pathetic, I know, but the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t let up those few final days before show time. I checked everything compulsively. Drinks orders, decorations, party games, DJ playlists, lighting sequences, everything.
Our little baby was four years old, and this time it would have both parents at its birthday celebration.
If only Andy could seem as happy about that as I was.
He didn’t seem happy at all most of the time, but that was mainly just him. He buried himself in paperwork and figures, taking on all the practicalities of club management as I indulged my creativity. At least he didn’t moan about that. Not too much, anyway.
We were fucking every night, and waking up together every morning, but the wholecouplething wasn’t anywhere close to being resolved. We had an unsteady truce, but the clock was ticking, and my desire to stretch his tight little asshole was becoming too hot to handle.
I piled the cheques ready for banking, the one steady admin responsibility I’d maintained, and I watched him. I watched him brooding over some spreadsheet or another.
“What?” he said. “Don’t think I can’t see you staring.”
I shrugged. “I’m allowed to look, aren’t I?”
“That depends on what you’re looking at.”
