Abbey staggered up the stairs, clinging to the railings and dragging her increasingly heavy legs to the bathroom, not entirely sure she would make it. She stumbled through the door and fell at the feet of the toilet, firmly gripping the basin as the contents of her stomach erupted from her mouth. Tequila tasted just as unpleasant on the way out as it did going in, only without the benefit of a citrus chaser it burned her throat. She felt a hand brushing the back of her neck as someone pulled her hair out of the firing line.
‘It’s OK. I’ve got you.’ She was too queasy to be surprised to hear Christian’s voice, but was grateful for the intervention. Well aware that this was probably the end of any future between them, she figured he was more concerned for his bathroom than he was about her. He helped her to her feet and passed her a towel.
‘Thanks,’ she barely managed to mutter through her embarrassment.
‘Hey, it happens! Here, you can use my toothbrush if you want, I have another one anyway.’
There’s something strangely intimate about letting someone watch you brush your teeth. She couldn’t help feeling vulnerable and exposed, like this meant something. Abbey had never been good at reading signals but this felt so definite, the way he watched her, it wasn’t the concerned look of a friend, it was something else, something far more significant.
Abbey lay down on Christian’s bed, he had pointed her in the direction of his bedroom while he fetched her some water and paracetamol to relieve her throbbing head. He had no posters and a sparse minimalistic room, there was very little to indicate that anyone other than a methodical and organised person lived here. Abbey was surprised at the lack of personality the room displayed, she didn’t know what she had imagined but it wasn’t this impersonal and cold space. She must have dozed off. She awoke to find Christian sitting on the side of the bed holding a glass of water and pills, and she sat up and drank thirstily, washing down the tablets.
‘Feel better?’ Christian brushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled warmly at her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
‘Sorry, I don’t usually drink tequila.’
‘It’s good to see you let go … and you look amazing tonight.’ His hand trailed down her back, fingers barely touching her skin. ‘You’re actually quite pretty.’ He leaned forward and kissed her, mouth slightly parted, just enough for her to feel his hot, wet breath against her lips. What about Dani? she thought as she kissed him back. Was she still asleep? Was this a dream? Was he really kissing her? She held her eyes closed tight for fear that if she opened them his mistake would be realised and he would pull away, disgusted.
His hand was on her knee now, her instinct was to clamp her legs shut so that it could go no further but something inside her stopped that gut reaction, and as his hand travelled up past her thighs she just allowed it, despite every fibre of her being telling her to stop him. Dani would get over it, wouldn’t she? Would she hate her? Blame her? Would she even find out?
The Trick
Kevin Hart stared down at his wedding ring as he pulled at it, it was dull and scratched. The faded gold band had sunk between the swollen ridges of his fingers. He was much heavier now than when he had got married, years of wining and dining had taken their toll on his body, a fact he was able to ignore until he tried to remove the ring. It caught the hair between his knuckles as he dragged it over them and slipped it in his pocket. He reached for the whisky as the pink lights thumped against the back of his brain and washed down some of his migraine pills.
Kevin was a familiar old face among the fresh meat on offer. He would sit in his private booth at the end of the bar and peruse the drunken young men as they danced together on the floor in front of him, scanning the crowd for the stragglers, the ones who struck out and were feeling down on their luck. Don the barman was accustomed to Kevin’s playbook, aware of Kevin’s type. Occasionally, when a young desperado would slump against the bar, Don would glance over at Kevin and wait for the green light. Kevin didn’t have what these young men had, he didn’t have youth on his side, or even looks, but he had money and he had power; both far more valuable in this game.
Kevin watched as a shiny peacock dominated the floor, turning heads, each pose he struck designed to attract maximum attention and it worked as some of the men turned away from the less interesting ones, trying to catch his eye. A sweaty young buck wrestled his way out of the horde, defeated after losing his companion to the show; he shoved his way to the bar and ordered himself a drink. Don looked over to Kevin who was staring at the new prey eagerly, Kevin raised his little finger off the glass as he took a swig, and Don knew the score.
‘Paid for by the gentleman in the VIP section,’ Don said as he placed the drink on the bar, motioning towards Kevin. The young man instantly straightened up and puffed his chest out, knowing full well the booths were only ever occupied by the men with the moola. Kevin signalled to the empty seat beside him and his new friend wandered over.
‘Martin,’ the man held his hand out. Kevin ignored it; he didn’t like to put them at ease. Martin was still curious enough to sit down even with a little bit of wind knocked out of his sails, the smile wiped from his face. Kevin wanted Martin to know he had no upper hand here; his youth and beauty were not enough to hold Kevin to ransom. Kevin wanted Martin to hang on his every word and he knew that in order for that to happen he would have to use those words sparingly.
‘Would you like to earn some money?’ Kevin eventually said.
‘Oh, I’m not a pro … I mean, I’m not … I don’t …’ Martin sputtered.
‘Relax.’
Kevin knew that everyone had a price, for everything. Years of business negotiations had taught him that you could get a person to sell you their first-born child if you knew what they really wanted. Martin was well dressed but the frays on the seams of his designer jeans and the bobbling on his high-end T-shirt had betrayed him. Martin yearned for a sugar daddy, that’s why he had sat down in the first place, and at least temporarily, Kevin could be that person. Martin would be easily pleased.
‘I’ll pay you two thousand pounds to spend the weekend with me.’ Kevin reached for the bottle of scotch and poured himself another, he could feel Martin’s quandary as he held the bottle out to him, their eyes fixed on each other, searching for a clue about who the other man was. That was part of the fun for Kevin, part of the game; the mystery, anticipation and fear of the unknown. When Martin finally took the bottle from Kevin they both knew it wasn’t the scotch he was accepting.
The key clicked in the door and Kevin pushed it open, allowing Martin to step inside the apartment first, it was dark but Kevin saw how Martin smiled to himself as his eyes adjusted to the light. The room was illuminated by the lights that bounced off of the imposingly decorated Gothic cathedral that directly faced it. The men he brought here always admired the sleek lines of the masculine furniture, the bay window overlooking the cathedral square and the smell, the smell of Egyptian cotton and stainless steel. Kevin knew that Martin would be impressed, this was a sought-after location and added to the image that he wanted to portray – that he had money, that he had power. This was Kevin’s sanctuary, his home away from home, a place for him to be himself, to do the things he needed to do to feel sane. Kevin’s wife, Mary, was used to his weekend absences, she liked the finer things in life and Kevin knew he was safe from her prying as long as the money kept coming