“Enough to give you a bloody fucking nose if you keep it up.”
He laughed his head off, slapping me on the shoulder with massive meaty paws. “Alright, Jase, alright. Time and place?”
“Steve’s barn. I’ll let you know when.”
His pirate eyes glinted like dirty glass. “Can’t fucking wait.”
Gemma
Dirty Angels had been awesome, just the break I needed. Laughing and dancing and planning out moves with Cara. She was fun, so much fun. I walked on back home from the tube with a spring in my step. Life in London was turning out to be pretty damn sweet, all things considered.
And then my phone pinged.
Jason: I want to see you. Tonight?
I had work from ten p.m. and a super sore pussy, but still my heart sped up. Soon. So soon.
I’ll check on Tessa. Think she’s working. I’m working too, though. xx
Jason: You can still take your calls. Could be fun, eating your gorgeous pussy while you talk another guy off.
Yes. Yes, it could.
I’ll let you know. I’ll be home in ten. xx
I was walking up my street when the phone pinged again.
Jason: I hope you can still feel me. I hope it aches. I hope you played with that sore little pussy and thought of me.
Burning cheeks. I was getting used to them.
May have done. xx
My phone rang. I answered with a smile.
“Hello, Mr Stranger.”
“How many times, dirty girl?”
“A few.”
“Are you sore?”
“I can feel it...”
“Tell me.”
I could hear traffic at the end of the line. “Are you driving?”
“No. I’m parked. Close enough to be at yours in twenty minutes. Tell me about your sore pussy, dirty girl.”
“I’m walking down the street, Jason,” I hissed. “Anyone could hear me.”
“Tell me about your pussy, Gemma. Now.”
“Yes, I’m sore. Yes, it hurts. Yes, I want you in twenty minutes, I want you to open me up where it hurts and make me feel all better again.”
“Fuck, yes, dirty girl. Call me when you’re ready, I’ll be right over.”
Crazy. Fucking crazy. But I was still smiling when I let myself in, bouncing on through the living room to check Tessa’s schedule. Except I didn’t need to. Loud dramatic sobs, and Tessa’s soothing voice sounded loud from the kitchen.
“It’ll blow over, I’m sure it will.”
“No it won’t! I’m a laughing stock, a big, stupid joke.”
Chelsea.
I groaned inside.
I joined them in the kitchen, and sure enough there she was. Sat up on the worktop with her eyes screwed shut, her face a blotchy mess of smeared make-up.
“Shit, what’s happened?”
Tessa answered my question while Chelsea went in for another round of sobbing.
“The papers have photos of Jason Redfern leaving the club, alone. His wife says he was home with her from two a.m.”
I fought back the urge to say I told you so. It’s never attractive, not even when it’s warranted.
“Oh dear.” I congratulated myself on my lame-arsed response.
“They all hate me!” Chelsea cried. “Everyone’s laughing at me.”
“I’m sure you’re not the first,” I said. “And you certainly won’t be the last.”
“My career is over. Blown. Finished. I’ll have to crawl back to Hatfield with my tail between my legs.”
Tessa stroked her hair like a real mother hen. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“I will! Reporters are outside my door and I had to turn my phone off it was ringing so much.” Her eyes widened in horror. “What if they want their money back?! I don’t have it!”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens,” I said.
She half-snotted, half-sobbed into her hands. “You don’t hate me?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. Of course I don’t hate you. I think you’ve been an idiot, but we all have our moments.”
Tessa locked me in an apologetic stare. “I’ve got to go to work, I’m sorry. I said Chelsea could have my room tonight.”
My heart sank. Shit.
“I’ll go,” Chelsea bawled. “If you don’t want me here.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “I had plans.” I pulled her into a hug, after all, that’s what friends do. “Of course you can stay.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m really grateful.”
I damn well hoped so.
Jason
Gemma: Change of plans, sorry. Chelsea sobbing over footballer-gate. Can’t throw her to the wolves. xx
They would be wolves as well. Didn’t I know it. I was more pissed off than the situation warranted. Balls fucking aching and fists bunching at the steering wheel. I forced myself to reply.