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Dirty Bad Strangers(7)

By:Jade West


“Who’s who?”

“The fucking tramp on the fucking phone, Jason,” she scowled. “It’s that bitch from the VIP box, isn’t it? I knew it, little skank.”

“When did it become your fucking business?”

“Um, when we got fucking married.”

I laughed at her nerve. “You are joking? Like my love life means shit to you anymore.”

“Love life? More like seedy-fucking-pervert life.”

I gritted my teeth. “I leave you alone, keep my nose out, just like you want. Why the double fucking standards?”

“We’re still married, Jason. If you want to change that you can sign the fucking divorce papers, until then everything you do is my fucking business.”

I reassembled my handset. “I’ll sign the fucking papers just as soon as you give me something fucking reasonable to sign.”

“I’m asking for what’s mine.”

“Yeah, and everything else your greedy little mitts can get hold of. Get Fabien to buy me out if you’re that desperate to keep hold of the rest.”

“This has nothing to do with Fabien. It’s between us.”

“Makes a fucking change.”

She rolled her eyes. “Neither of us have been saints exactly, Jase.”

“I always wondered, did you still have the taste of his prick in your mouth when I gave you our wedding kiss?”

“Don’t play injured party. It would’ve made you hard, you filthy freak.” I watched the pretty line of her lips turn down. “Want a scandal, is that it? Want to make a fool of me? That little cow will sell you out in two seconds flat, don’t think she won’t. And then what?” She gestured aimlessly around the room. “And then this, this, this, everything we’ve worked for, all fucking gone.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“Don’t believe me?! Ask your agent. See what he has to say about another scandal. You can wave goodbye to your cosy little sportswear sponsorship, the fucking deodorant ads as well. You’ll be washed up, forced to sell your seedy fucking life story to the lads’ mags to put clothes on your back, is that what you want?”

I brushed past her. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. The future’s bright.”

“It’s true.” Then came the trembling lip. I hate it when she pulls that shit. “You dislike me that much that you want to ruin everything for me? Drag my name through the mud?”

“Always so much melodrama...”

“You want to see the world laughing at us, is that it? Pitying us.”

The word pity stung. It stung hard. “Nobody is going to be pitying us, April.”

“She’ll blab, Jason. She’s that type.”

I smiled. “You seriously think I’m calling the girl from the game last week? She was in my eyeline for two minutes tops.”

Her eyes widened. “Then who? Please, God, not Celia Matherson... I have a charity fundraiser with her next month... or, wait... it’s not Kaylee Ryan, is it? Is it Kaylee?”

“It’s no one.”

She pursed her lips like she does at her tacky photo shoots. “Didn’t sound like no one. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the calls, Jase. I’ve fucking noticed.”

“Trust me, it’s no one that will cause any problems.”

She closed the gap between us, frosty blue eyes glaring. “Everyone is out to cause problems! They just want the right fucking price!”

“Not this time.”

“How can you be so sure?”

I tossed her the phone, admiring her expression of shock as she scrolled through the premium rate numbers. “Because she’s a fucking chatline operator.”

April’s eyes narrowed to slashes of venom. “Chatline?! You’re getting your kicks on fucking chat lines?!” She laughed. A cold, hard, nasty laugh. “Then you’re an even bigger fucking loser than I thought.”

I snatched my phone back and made my exit.

Stupid, nasty, gold-digging fucking bitch. Only this time maybe she was fucking right for once.

Chatline wouldn’t cut it, not forever. I wanted that girl for fucking real.







April rapped at my bedroom door. I checked out the alarm clock with bleary eyes. Nine a.m.

“What?” I groaned.

She flounced her way in, hair extensions bouncing around her tiny waist. “Peace offering.” She placed the mug on the bedside table and perched herself dangerously close to me.

I eyed her suspiciously, waiting for her to speak.

“You do remember, don’t you?”

I took a swig of coffee. “Remember what?”

“The gala for the homeless this evening.”

So much for my pissing rest day. “No, I don’t remember.”