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Now he was gone, and it was her fault.
Sipping the rum, she wiped away the tear burning her cheek with the side of her hand.
Angela didn’t buy the act for a second. “God, what’s with you?”
“What?” Vickey asked, avoiding the redhead’s scrutinising stare.
“What?” she parroted, then arched a long elegant brow. “Come off it, Vick. Don’t give us that load of old pony. You never go out with a guy for more than a handful of dates before cutting him out of your life. Then this guy comes along, and you’re suddenly attached to him at the hip. You sicken us with a routine that would make Shakespeare tom and dick. Then you break up with him out of the blue. Now I have to drag you out by your hair just to get you to come out for a drink on Christmas Eve.” Her smirk dropped. “Seriously, what is it about this guy?”
“It’s nothing.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Really? Because I could have sworn that was The Only Way is Essex you were watching when I came home.”
“I like-”
“You can’t stand soaps,” Erika countered, cutting her off before she could even finish the lie.
“It's entertaining.”
“It's shit.”
Vickey shot her another glare but made no effort to defend the program further. A veteran of all things soap, reality, and celebrity T.V.. If Erika said it was crap, then there was no argument.
She sighed and put her glass down, defeated. “It’s nothing. He’s… different.”
“Different?” Angela asked. “Different how?”
Vickey shrugged. She couldn't explain it. Jake wasn't like other men. Not the kind her friends understood. He was dark and dangerous. Full of that confidence which bordered on arrogance but with that sexy, irresistible bite. Dominating, but not overbearing. Scary without terror. He was a complete enigma. Even to her. “Just… different.”
Erika and Angela shared a look that made Vickey’s belly somersault. She knew that look.
“So, what does he do?” Erika finally asked, taking a long draw on her cider, watching her across the glass.
Vickey blinked. “I… I don’t know.”
“He didn't tell you?” Angela leant forward, scrutinising.
“I never asked.”
“But how come?”
And there it was, the question that she dreaded. How could she tell them she was afraid to ask? Afraid of what his answer might be?
Vickey wasn’t a liar. She’d grown up with liars. She’d learnt to lie before she could walk. She was possibly one of the greatest liars who’d ever lived. She’d seen the hurt they caused. She hated lying. She certainly didn’t want to lie to two of the only true friends she’d ever had, but she'd seen the truth.
Jake never made a big deal about her finding it that time, but it was there.
Stashed away in his drawer, between a packet of paracetamol and a box of condoms.
A SIG Sauer P226.
Only certain men carried those. And none of them worked jobs that made good gossip. Good, healthy gossip anyway.
“It just never came up,” Vickey shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “But he works a lot of strange hours and keeps himself in shape. Not very toned, but healthy, like he does a lot of running. And his stamina is amazing, so maybe he’s a personal trainer.” That at least was a half-truth. She’d never liked those muscle-bound guys. They were so heavy and slow, all show and no bite. Jake had been just her type, tall and lean but with muscle in all the right places.
Erika shot Angela a knowing sideways look. “Maybe he’s married.”
The words were like an icy shiver down Vickey’s spine. “What?”
