Author : L.H. Cosway 1998. Jason’s neighbours’ house was much nicer than his own. At home all he ever heard was shouting, crying, or silence. All he ever felt was the pain of his father’s fists colliding with some part of his body. One day while outside in their adjoining back gardens, he’d befriended the neighbours’ daughter. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He liked being around her because she was always smiling, a smile full of happiness and perfect white teeth. He wanted to capture that emotion, steal a little piece of it for himself. Sometimes, on the days when his father was away at work, he felt something like happiness. It would just be him, Mum, and his brother Jack. He loved them both so much that he felt he would do anything for them. They would laugh and play in the garden, and for a time forget that in just a few hours the violence his dad always brought would return. The neighbour girl would give him and his little brother food. She must have sensed their hunger, somehow known his father tightly rationed everything and his mother was powerless to stop him. He was big and strong, and his mother was small and weak. That was the way his dad liked it. His favourite thing about his neighbours’ house, though, was the television. They weren’t allowed to watch TV in his house. It was against his dad’s rules. He would only ever hear it on at night time when he and his brother had been sent to bed and his father was home from work. At his neighbours’ house, he could watch endless television. There were no rules about that. He’d been waiting in the old shed in the garden that night, knowing his father had been out drinking and would likely return home in a temper. Jason planned to stop him this time. He would do whatever was in his power to... Nor were javelinas the only creatures that roamed the night. A mountain lion or a golden bear would also probably enjoy a well-marbled Kip. A low howl cut the mist and the darkness hundreds of paces deeper into the battlefield. Kip froze. Oh, there were wolves too. How’d he forget...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 1 Prologue 1998. Jason’s neighbours’ house was much nicer than his own. At home all he ever heard was shouting, crying, or silence. All he ever felt was the pain of his father’s fists colliding with some part of his body. One day while outside in their adjoining back gardens, he’d befriended the neighbours’ daughter. She was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He liked being around her because she was always smiling, a smile full of happiness and perfect white teeth. He wanted to capture that emotion, steal a little piece of it for himself. Sometimes, on the days when his father was away at work, he felt something like happiness. It would just be him, Mum, and his brother Jack. He loved them both so much that he felt he would do anything for them. They would laugh and play in the garden, and for a time forget that in just a few hours the violence his dad always brought would return. The neighbour girl would give him and his little brother food. She must have sensed their hunger, somehow known his father tightly rationed everything and his mother was powerless to stop him. He was big and strong, and his mother was small and weak. That was the way his dad liked it. His favourite thing about his neighbours’ house, though, was the television. They weren’t allowed to watch TV in his house. It was against his dad’s rules. He would only ever hear it on at night time when he and his brother had been sent to bed and his father was home from work. At his neighbours’ house, he could watch endless television. There were no rules about that. He’d been waiting in the old shed in the garden that night, knowing his father had been out drinking and would likely return home in a temper. Jason planned to stop him this time. He would do whatever was in his power to keep him from hurting his brother and mother, even if it meant taking the beating himself. To pass the time in the shed, and to keep his mind from the pain he would soon endure, he brought some marbles and a deck of playing cards, practicing various tricks he’d made up. He always enjoyed doing tricks for people, seeing the look of wonder on their faces as he dazzled them with his skills. At school he and his best friend Jessie would make a killing. Jessie would take the bets, and Jay would wager with his classmates that he could figure out which card they had without ever seeing it. It was one of the simplest tricks, but he was always challenging himself to think bigger. To master tricks that would impress people and gain their respect. It was past midnight when he heard his dad come in. The front door slammed shut, and his father’s feet pounded on the steps as he went up the stairs. He knew that his absence would distract his dad. He would go looking for Jason, and that would keep him away from Jack and his mother. As he peered out the window, he saw the light come on in his parents’ bedroom. There was some quiet talking, and then the light went off again. Silence. Jason let out a long breath. Perhaps this would be one of the rare times when his dad wasn’t in need of a punching bag. He decided to wait for twenty minutes before going back inside. His dad would be asleep by then and wouldn’t hear him sneaking in. As he waited, he heard muffled voices coming from somewhere nearby. Peeking out the window again, he watched as three men dressed in dark clothes approached the back door. They were encased in shadow, so Jason couldn’t see their faces. Frozen in place, he saw one of them bash in the glass part of the door. Then he reached in and opened it from the other side. Jason’s heart pounded. These were bad men, perhaps even worse than his own dad. He could feel it. They were breaking into his house, and he had to stop them. Racing for the door, he entered the kitchen to find two of the hooded men staring at him, while the other walked around the room, pouring petrol over everything. “Fuck! It’s McCabe’s kid,” the tallest of the three swore. “Take care of him,” said the one with the petrol gruffly before moving into the next room. The tall one grabbed Jason, but he struggled, biting and kicking at the man. Just as he started to scream, the man stuffed a balled-up dishcloth in his mouth, preventing him from making a sound. He continued to struggle and then felt a mind-numbing pain crash into the back of his skull. That was the last thing he remembered before he woke up, smoke and flames blurring his vision. His house was on fire, and his whole family was still sleeping upstairs. He stumbled to his feet, preparing to go and wake them up, but then he heard someone shouting at him not to move. A fireman grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder. He struggled, but the man holding him was too strong. Seconds later he was outside, the fireman setting him down on a stretcher in an ambulance. “My family! I have to wake them up!” he protested hysterically, but a medic held him down. He felt bile rise in his throat, nausea overtaking him as he vomited into a bucket. “He’s got a concussion,” he vaguely heard someone say. He’d never felt more helpless in his life, staring up at his house as the fire overtook it. He tried so hard to remember what those three men looked like, but their faces were just shadowy blurs in his mind. At the hospital, a female doctor with pretty, concerned eyes looked him over. She frowned when she saw the bruises on his ribs, asking where he’d gotten them from. He told her that he’d fallen off his bike. She didn’t look like she believed him. Time was either moving too fast or too slow; he couldn’t seem to tell. Whenever he asked about his mother and Jack, nobody would tell him anything. Then a bald man with glasses came and sat down with him in the room where he’d been placed. It was full of toys for little children, but at twelve years of age, Jason decided he had no interest in toys anymore. Jason could see in the bald man’s eyes that he wasn’t bringing him good news, and that made him lash out. He picked up a bunch of toy cars and began throwing them around the room. He didn’t want to hear what the man had to say; he knew he couldn’t handle it. A few hours later he was told that his uncle from America was on his way to come and take him to live with him. Jason had heard of this uncle, his mother’s eccentric brother, but had never actually met him. In the interim, his neighbours came to take care of him. They filled the doorway of the room in the hospital: mum, dad, and daughter. She had the biggest blue eyes, his favourite eyes. They were the perfect family, and his own didn’t exist anymore. His purpose was gone now. What was the point of his life if it wasn’t to protect Mum and Jack? His body started to shake as tears fell down his face. The girl rushed to his side, throwing her small arms around his neck and hugging him tight. She whispered that everything would be okay and that he was going to come and stay with them for the next few days until his uncle got there. It took him a long time to stop crying, but when he did, he went home with his neighbours. At their house he spent the saddest three days of his life. Then his uncle arrived and told him unsympathetically that his family were dead. He took him away to a world that was nothing and everything like the one he left behind. Each day Jason thought about those hooded men, about his mother and brother, whom he couldn’t keep safe in the end, and with those thoughts came one unchanging theme. Revenge. One Present day. Matilda. Sometimes in life you just have to laugh. These last couple of weeks I’ve been making my debut into the hazardous world of online dating, and right now I’m staring at my computer screen, trying to figure out if this latest “suitor” is serious or just seriously taking the piss. What does he look like? I hear you ask? Well, I know he’s got a really nice set of particularly shiny abs, or he Googled a picture of a really nice set of particularly shiny abs and used it as his profile image. Is that supposed to be oil or sweat? I can’t tell. Anyway, his message reads as follows: Hey, pretty lady, Dayum, I am agog! Your picture caught my attention as soon as I spied it. You are soooo flipping beautiful. I really hope we can get to know each other better. Please check out my profile and write me back. If you don’t, I might just have to cry. Steve. xxxxxxx. There are so many things wrong with this, I don’t even know where to start. First of all, I have to whip out the dictionary on my office shelf to check the meaning of the word “agog.” Its definition is “in a state of eager desire,” or “highly excited by eagerness, curiosity, or anticipation.” Right. Steve’s use of the word “agog” makes me the opposite of agog. In fact, I find myself in an eager state of desire to delete his message from my inbox. Then there’s his use of “dayum.” His profile states he’s twenty-seven years old and was born and raised in North County Dublin, where nobody uses the word “dayum.” And if they do, they need a good firm talking to. Somebody’s been watching too much MTV. And the mention of crying? I have no words. In any case, my reaction to his wooing endeavours is a big, fat “no thanks.”...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 2 Rawr. Since the entrance to the building is so narrow, we have to skirt around each other. I give him a hesitant smile and a shrug. His eyes sparkle with some kind of hidden knowledge as he lets me pass, like beautiful people know the meaning of the universe and are amused by us ordinary folks who have to bumble along in the dark. I’m just about to step out the door when the tiger starts to speak. “I’m looking for Brandon Solicitors. Do you know if I have the right place?” I step back inside. He sounds like Mark Wahlberg when he’s letting his Southie roots all hang out. His deep American accent makes me want to close my eyes and savour the sound. But I don’t do that – because I’m not a complete psycho. “Yeah, this is the place. I work here, actually. I’m the secretary slash receptionist slash general dogsbody. It’s my dad’s firm,” I reply. Too much information, Matilda. Too. Much. Information. The tiger smiles, making him better-looking, if that’s even possible. And thankfully, he doesn’t comment on my fluster. “I have an appointment with Hugh Brandon at nine. I’m Jay,” he says, and takes a step closer to hold his hand out to me. My back hits the wall, his tall frame dwarfing mine. I don’t think he realises just how narrow this space is, and now I can smell his cologne. Wow, it’s not often that I get close enough to a man to smell him. And Jay Fields smells indecently good. “Ah, right. Jay Fields. Yeah, I have you pencilled in. You can go on upstairs, and Dad will take care of you,” I reply, shaking his hand and letting go quickly so that he doesn’t notice my sweatacular palms. “I’ve got an errand to run.” He stares at me for a long moment, like his eyes are trying to take in my every feature, but that can’t be right. When he finally responds, it’s a simple, “I won’t keep you, then, Matilda.” God. Why does the way he says “keep you” in that deep voice have to make my heart flutter? It’s been literally thirty seconds, and I’m already well on my way to developing a crush. He makes some keen eye contact with me, then turns and continues up the stairs to the office. I’m already on the street when I realise I hadn’t offered my name, and yet he knew it. Perhaps he’d been browsing our website. Our offices might be shoddy, but I always make sure to keep our online presence up to scratch. There’s a picture of me, Dad, and Will, the other solicitor who works for the practice, on the “About Us” page. So if he knew who I was already, why did he ask if he had the right place? Miracle of all miracles, was he actually, like, chatting me up or something? Be still my beating heart. Or is he just the friendly, chatty type? I consider these questions as I walk inside the café three buildings down from our office and order two lattes to go. I briefly think about ordering something for the tiger, aka Jay Fields, but he might be one of those picky coffee drinkers, so I don’t. When I get back, I find Dad’s shut himself inside his office with Jay, and the next appointment is already waiting to be seen. She’s a middle-aged woman wearing a neck brace. I haven’t had the chance to look at her information, but I can imagine what she’s here for. Some sort of accident claim. What I really want to know is what Jay’s here for. Yep, I’m already wondering about this man way too much. I remember him calling up last week to make the appointment, and somehow I neglected to ask him what kind of a claim he wanted to make. It’s weird, too, because I have my set spiel for appointments, and I never forget to ask for all the information I need. It’s almost like my subconscious knew I was speaking with a gorgeous man, thus rendering me double “F-ed”: frazzled and forgetful. Knowing Dad will want his caffeine fix as soon as possible, I knock lightly on the door and wait to be let in. Dad calls for me to enter and I do, opening the door with the paper coffee cup in my hand. Jay’s sitting in the seat in front of Dad’s desk, his hands clasped together over his head as he lounges back, casual as you please. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk to Dad and give him his beverage. He seems a little out of sorts, so I put a hand on his shoulder and ask, “Everything okay?” Dad looks lost in his own head for a minute, and I have to repeat the question a second time to get him to answer me. “What? Oh, yes, everything’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, chicken,” he mutters. “It might be me who’s the problem,” Jays puts in. “I just presented your old man with a case he’s not sure he wants to take.” I look at Jay now, my brow furrowing. Who the hell is this guy? What he’s said has piqued my curiosity, though, so I close the door and fold my arms. Unless I’m needed to take notes, I don’t normally sit in on meetings with clients, but Dad’s demeanour has put me on edge, my protective instincts kicking into gear. Jay grins in a way that makes me think he’s pleased with my attention. “Oh, now she’s curious.” Okay, this man might be beautiful, but he’s also kind of strange. “Did you want to make a claim against someone?” I ask, because Dad still isn’t talking. I suppose he’s still considering whatever Jay’s case is. “Nope. I want to sue someone,” says Jay, all matter-of-fact. “For what?” “Defamation of character,” he answers before pulling a newspaper out of his bag. He flips through it, folds it open to the page he’s looking for, and hands it to me. I glance down at the tabloid, scanning the bold headline that reads, “Illusionist Jay Fields Causes Death of Volunteer.” I let my eyes drift briefly over the article, which features a promotional picture of Jay holding up a six of hearts card. Oh. Now I remember where I know him from. A couple of weeks ago The Daily Post broke a story about an Irish-American illusionist with a new show coming to RTÉ. He was filming an upcoming episode when a tragic accident hit. I scan the article before me, recalling the details. A couple of hours after wrapping up the filming of an episode where Jay was paying homage to Houdini by re-creating a version of his “Buried Alive” stunt, the volunteer who’d taken part had died of a heart attack. What Jay proposed to do was to put the volunteer, David Murphy, into a hypnotic state whereby he would only breathe in very little air, allowing him to be buried for twenty-four hours in an empty grave and not suffocate in the process. An impossible feat, many would say. The volunteer was given a panic button, and if anything went wrong, he could press it, and he’d be immediately dug up. In the end the panic button wasn’t needed, and he miraculously managed to survive the entire twenty-four hours underground. However, when he went to bed that night, he suffered a fatal heart attack and died. Needless to say, the tabloids caught on to the story and began posing questions about whether or not Jay’s stunt had somehow caused David Murphy to have his heart attack. After all, being buried alive is quite the traumatic experience. The piece before me, written by a well-known crime journalist named Una Harris, who was the one to break the initial story about Jay, is certainly extreme. It delves into Jay’s background in America, where she claims he spent a year in a juvenile detention facility for assaulting a man on the street. Before that he’d been a runaway, squatting in derelict buildings in Boston. Harris poses questions about Jay’s less than squeaky-clean background. She wonders how a man who spent time in prison, even if it was a young offenders’ prison, would be given permission to carry out dangerous stunts as he had been doing in his show. She also wonders why Jay, who had been performing some very successful live shows in Las Vegas, would give all that up to move to such a small pond as Ireland to film a series that would only reach a tiny audience in comparison to the States. Overall, she basically out and out claims that Jay had shady motives for coming here, and perhaps he even intended for David Murphy to die. He did, after all, almost beat a man to death when he was just fifteen. Perhaps he’s simply come up with a more elaborate way to feed his need to harm people, Harris muses. Whoa, this woman really doesn’t pull any punches with her insinuations. It’s almost like she’s begging for a lawsuit. I mean, I’ve worked with my dad long enough to know that you should always have hard evidence before you publicly make claims about people that could be construed as libellous. And aside from a few hazy pieces of information about Jay’s teenage years, Una Harris has zero evidence. I draw my attention away from the newspaper to find that my dad and Jay had been having a conversation while I was lost in the article. “Don’t get me wrong,” says Dad. “The thought of taking on such a case excites me. I haven’t worked on anything like this in years, but at the same time I need to be selfless and tell you that there are far better solicitors out there for the job. I can even give you a few names to contact. You do actually want to win this case, I presume?” Jay...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 3 Just as I’m simultaneously organising files on my computer and agonising over my impending social doom, Will walks in the door, his wisp of brown hair a windswept mess atop his head. He was in court this morning, which is why he’s late to the office. Unlike most men, I get along with Will just fine. That’s probably because I find him about as sexually appealing as a pair of oversized granny knickers. So, when I said I’m crap with all men, I suppose I should adjust that statement. I’m just crap with all men that I fancy. Sure, I can be their friend. But their girlfriend? Well, that just never seems to pan out. My one and only boyfriend from several years ago unceremoniously dumped me by text, and that just says it all. I’m still scarred from the experience. “Morning, Will,” I greet my colleague as a folder slides out of his half-open briefcase. He bends over to pick it up, and I’m greeted with his unimpressive rear end. Two flat fried eggs in a hanky. What? I said my inner dialogue was a bitch. The important thing is that I’d never actually say something so mean out loud. We all have thoughts that we would never, ever vocalise. And people who say they don’t are liars. “Hi, Matilda, could you be a love and make me a cup of tea? I’m parched.” “Sure,” I reply. “It’s a good thing you’re a tea man, because the coffee machine’s on the outs again.” He shakes his head. “That machine is broken more often than it’s functioning. I think it’s time to retire the poor old dear.” I let out a mock gasp. “Don’t ever let Dad hear you say that. You know he never throws anything out until it’s well and truly dead.” Will laughs and walks into his office. I register the next couple of appointments as they arrive and spend the hours before lunch carrying out my usual mundane administrative tasks. I’d much rather be at home working at my sewing machine. By day I might be a legal secretary, but by night I’m a dress designer extraordinaire. I design and make my own creations, and sell them through Etsy. It doesn’t make me enough money to be a proper wage, though, which is why I work here. Before she died, my mother was a seamstress, and one of my earliest memories was of her teaching me how to sew. The hobby stuck with me, and now it’s my true escape. I find it wonderfully therapeutic to lose myself in a new design. In fact, it’s one of the only ways that I can still feel close to my mum. When I glance at the clock and see it’s almost one, I make a quick run to the bathroom to fix my hair and the little makeup I put on this morning, staring at my face in the mirror. If I’d known I’d be meeting someone like Jay Fields today, I would’ve made more of an effort. My friend Michelle tells me I have great lips and that I should try to enhance my best features. Actually, her exact words were “blowjob lips,” and I blushed like a maniac. I tend to get along with people who are the opposite of me. Confident girls who take to men and sex like ducks to water. They paddle through the lake of dating without a care in the world. Michelle is one of those girls, and I admire that about her. There’s a certain bravery in not giving a crap what other people think and simply grabbing what you want in life. I run a brush through my long dark brown hair, making sure to sweep it close to my face on the side with my scar. I almost always wear my hair down in order to disguise it. It’s just a few silver lines, and yet I’m constantly aware of their presence, hoping people don’t notice. I can barely remember his face, and yet I hate the man who scarred me more than anything else in this world. And I hate him more for killing my mother. Hate is an ugly emotion, though, so I try not to let it consume me. After swiping on one more layer of mascara to frame my light blue eyes, I pack up my handbag and walk back out to the reception. I stop in my tracks when I find Jay leaning against the wall, his arms folded casually across his chest. I hadn’t heard anyone enter the office, so I get a tiny fright, my hand going to my heart for a second. Damn, he’s got those super-silent ninja skills. His eyes are on me, and I know it must only be one-sided, but every time our eyes connect, I feel a fire burning low. What is it about this man? He’s incredibly attractive, yes, but there’s something else, and for the life of me I can’t figure it out. He smiles at me, showing teeth, and jangles some car keys in his pocket. “You all set, Matilda?” he asks. I take a deep breath and nod my head. Two The first thing I notice as we round the corner to where Jay parked is that he’s got a really nice car. A black Aston Martin V8. One of Dad’s favourite television shows is Top Gear, so I can’t help unconsciously absorbing useless car information sometimes. The second is that he seems to have all his worldly possessions packed in the back seat. It’s bizarre to think that he’s temporarily homeless, and yet he’s driving around in a car worth well over 100,000 euros. It just doesn’t make sense. I slide into the passenger seat when Jay opens the door for me, savouring the feel of the leather. For a second I pretend I’m a sassy Bond girl about to be chauffeured by my spy lover to a swanky hotel for sweaty, passionate, over-the-top sex. “So, where to?” Jay asks, now in the driver’s seat and waiting for my instructions. I got a little lost in the fantasy there. “Oh, our house is in Clontarf. Do you know the way?” “I know the gist of it. You can direct me once we get close,” he responds, smiling, and pulling away from the curb. As he starts the engine, the radio comes on, heavy rock music blasting from the speakers. I glance at the dash to check what station is playing, my nervous disposition urging me to fill this short car journey with some variety of conversation. “Oh, I see you’re a Phantom FM fan,” I say over the music. The sentence couldn’t have come out any nerdier, but it’s the first crappy thing that popped into my head. Jay’s eyes flick to me, then to the dash, then back to the road ahead of him. His expression is blank before the edges of his mouth curve in a smile. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he finally responds before lowering the music so we can talk properly. Oh, no, don’t do that. “They play some good shit.” “You should give Radio Nova a listen. They play some, uh, good shit, too.” Jay lets out a deep chuckle, and I resist the urge to face-palm. “Oh, yeah? What kind of good shit?” “Um, the usual rock fare. They play a lot of Fleetwood Mac. I love Fleetwood Mac.” Jay laughs some more, and I can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or laughing with me. Then he gives me this warm look that tells me it’s the latter. There’s the fire again. I really wish he’d stop looking at me like that, but asking him to stop would surely be too weird a request. “What’s a kid like you doing listening to Fleetwood Mac? Shouldn’t you be swooning over Brandon Flowers or something?” he teases, and it raises my hackles slightly. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-three, for your information.” Jay turns his head to look at me again for a brief moment. His lips curve, and it makes me realise he was only teasing. “So, Fleetwood Mac?” he probes. I shrug. “I don’t know. I just love every single one of their songs — not to mention there was this palpable angst about them back in the day. So many emotions flying around, you know?” “I get you,” says Jay, fixing his attention back on the road. “Do I bang a left here or a right?” he asks as we approach a roundabout. His turn of phrase amuses me as I respond, “Go left, then keep on driving straight ahead. Our house isn’t far. Also, on the subject of our house, why on earth do you want to rent a room when you’re driving around in a car like this? People who drive Aston Martins can generally afford to buy their own house — buy several, in fact.” Jay gives me a sneaky look. “If you really want to know the truth, I won this car on a bet.” I raise an eyebrow. “That must have been some bet.” “It was. Found myself playing poker with a bunch of guys who performed with the circus one night. Long story short, I came away with an Aston Martin, five grand, two llamas and an elephant. I was feeling generous, so I let them keep the llamas and the elephant. I mean, who has a backyard big enough for an elephant?” I stare at him, my mouth open slightly. “Is that true?” His hands flex on the steering wheel. “Of course it’s true. Why would I lie?” Laughter bubbles out of me. “You must lead a very colourful life, Mr Fields.” The way he smiles after I say it makes me think he likes that idea. When we pull into the drive, Jay gets out first, and before I have the chance to do it myself, he walks around the car and opens my door for me. I like that. I rummage through my bag as I exit, trying to locate my keys. By the time I reach the door, I still haven’t...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 4 “Cool, cool. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Hugh,” says Jay, hanging up the phone and bringing his attention back to me. The grin on his face says he’s won this round. I knew he’d managed to charm Dad earlier. “Your old man said there’s a copy of the tenancy agreement in the living room cabinet. He also said I could sign and move in tomorrow. He’ll take me on good faith for now and do the background check in the morning.” “Right, I’ll just fetch the papers for you,” I say tightly, and move to go downstairs. As I walk by him, he catches my elbow in his hand to stop me. His fingers are warm on my skin, burning a fire right through to my veins. “You okay with this, darlin’?” he asks, his voice pure gravel. The way he says “darlin’” in that accent literally kills me every time. He says it like this: “dahlin’.” God. Stupid hormones. I swallow. “I’m fine with it. Do you mind if we stop here for a couple of minutes? I have a sandwich in my bag for lunch that I want to eat.” I’m proud of that speedy subject change. He eyes me for another second before letting go. “No problem. Take as long as you need.” First I go get the papers for him to sign, and he spreads them out over the kitchen counter, reading all the small print. I sit at the table and unwrap my chicken and onion relish sandwich, taking a big hungry bite. “This is a six -month lease,” says Jay. “You think your old man might be open to extending it to twelve months? I hate moving once I’ve settled in a place.” “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask him yourself.” He nods thoughtfully but doesn’t bring his attention immediately back to the papers. Instead he walks over to the few picture frames hanging on the wall opposite him. Gesturing to a photograph of me sitting on the couch with my old cat Maggie on my lap, he observes, “Nice cat.” “She was,” I tell him, chewing. “She died last year.” “I’m sorry. You gonna get another?” I shake my head. “No cat could ever live up to Maggie. She was a feline of mystery. Every evening when I came home from work, I’d find her sitting in the back garden, smelling of lavender perfume.” “Oh, yeah?” Jay says, coming to sit across from me at the table, a look of interest on his face, so I tell him the story. “Yeah. I made it my secret detective mission to find out how she was coming to smell like that. So, whenever I had the morning off, I’d follow her. She was too quick for me, though, and I lost her every time. I never found out what the deal was until she died. An old woman who lives a few doors down showed up at the house, bawling her eyes out. She had a bunch of photos of Maggie from her house, and she reeked of lavender. Apparently my cat had been living a double life. Spending the daytime hours with this old lady and the evenings with me.” “Sounds like Maggie was one clever cat, Watson.” I burst out laughing. “Oh, she definitely was.” A pause. “Why’d you call me that?” “You know, because of your detective work. Watson and Holmes.” I wrinkle my nose. “Why can’t I be Holmes?” Jay folds his arms and quirks an eyebrow. “Because only I’m allowed to be Holmes.” “Well, he was a bit of a lunatic,” I agree teasingly. What’s this? Am I actually flirting? Jay looks like he’s suppressing a big smile. It’s enough encouragement for me to go on, “So, am I a Lucy Liu Watson or a Martin Freeman Watson?” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and bringing our faces closer. “Which do you want to be?” “Eh, Martin Freeman, obviously. That way I could be BFFs with Benedict Cumberbatch.” “But if you were Lucy Liu you could be BFFs with Jonny Lee Miller,” Jay counters. “Ugh, no, thank you. I’d have to listen to him whine on and on about missing his chance with Angelina Jolie and how it’s the biggest regret of his life.” Jay’s mouth opens as he lets out a loud guffaw of a laugh. “That was a good one, Watson!” Ignoring his compliment, I ask, “Do you want the other half of my sandwich?” My belly is too full of butterflies in his presence to eat it all myself. “Give it here.” I push it across the table to him, and he eats it in less than four bites. There’s something about watching him eat that gives me a pang of déjà vu. Strange. Jay signs the tenancy agreement and tells me he’ll be around some time tomorrow evening to move in, provided his references all check out. “Can I ask you a question?” I request shyly as he’s driving me back to the office. “Fire away.” “Did David Murphy really die because of the ordeal you put him through?” Jay’s fists reflexively tighten on the steering wheel, and he doesn’t look at me as he answers, “What am I, Matilda?” “Uh, I don’t….” “What’s my profession?” “You’re an illusionist.” “Right, and what’s an illusion?” I hesitate a moment before replying, “Something that isn’t real?” “Exactly. Despite what some of the crazies out there would have you believe, everything I do is a trick. Sleight of hand, misdirection, smoke and mirrors. I show people a table and make them believe it’s a chair. But in the end it’s still a table. David’s heart attack would’ve happened that night whether he’d taken part in my stunt or not.” “But Una Harris’ article said you gave his family twenty grand,” I practically whisper. “Yeah, I did. Because David wasn’t just some random volunteer. He was a good friend of mine. I wanted to help pay for the funeral.” “Oh.” “Yeah, oh,” Jay replies, and there’s a long silence before a small smile splits his lips. “You feeling like a bit of a shit now, Watson?” I do my best not to smile back. “Just a little.” He chuckles softly. “Good.” A minute later he lets me off at the office and then pulls away in his flashy car. I can’t believe this man could be officially sharing a house with me in only a day’s time. There are a few people already sitting in the reception area, waiting to be seen, when I arrive and hurry to my desk. As I take my seat and quickly register each of the waiting clients, something red catches my eye. Sitting atop a stack of folders that have been placed on the floor, waiting to be filed, is my phone. And quite mysteriously, resting on the screen is a red and white six of hearts, taken from a deck of playing cards. Three Dad and I arrive home the next evening at six-thirty, having taken the bus as usual. We have a car¸ but Dad says it’s not economical to drive to the office and pay exorbitant parking fees when we can simply use public transport. As it happens, Jay’s references did check out, so Dad called him earlier to give him the good news. There’s no sign of him yet, and I can’t say I’m not relieved. I definitely need some time to relax into the idea of him living here. In the kitchen I put the oven on to pre-heat, planning on cooking a lasagne for dinner. Dad sits at the table, sorting through files in his briefcase. “Put those away,” I scold him mildly. “I think you should spend this one evening work-free. You’ve been overdoing it lately.” Dad puts down a file and rubs his forehead. “I know, love. It’s just so hard to turn off these days.” “What do you think about joining that book club I mentioned last week? It sounds like fun and will give you something to do that’s not work-related.” “A-ha, but what if they’re reading a novel about a court case?” he counters, and I sigh. “Dad.” “Okay, I’ll go to the book club if it makes you happy.” “Great, the next meeting is on Wednesday.” Dad smiles at me now. “It’s funny how the roles change, isn’t it? I remember a time when I was the one who looked out for you. Now you’re the one who’s looking out for me.” I smile fondly back him. “We look out for each other, Dad. Always.” He’s right, though. Up until around the time I turned twenty-one, Dad had been very protective of me, always making sure I was safe and sheltering me as much as he could. He’d even sent me to an all-girls convent school growing up, which could be why I’m a little behind other women my age when it comes to men. Losing Mum when she was so young made Dad cling to me more tightly than your average parent. I make a quick trip to my room to change out of my work clothes and get into some comfy yoga pants and my favourite, a Game of Thrones T-shirt that reads, Stick ’em with the pointy end. If Jay’s going to be living here, then I might as well let him see the real me. I have no desire to put in the effort of pretending I go around...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 5 “My phone. I found it in the office with a six of hearts on top.” His smile brings out his dimples again. “Well, that’s interesting.” “Yeah, so why did you do it?” I dig my fork into the salad. “I didn’t do anything.” Furrowing my brow, I try to backtrack through my day. Just before lunch I’d put my phone in my bag, and then I’d brought the bag with me into the bathroom. As I was leaving the bathroom, Jay showed up in the office and we left. At no point would he have had the chance to swipe the phone. “Wow. You’re good,” I breathe. “I know you took it — I just can’t figure out when or how.” His smile grows wider as he chews on his food. Then his voice deepens as he replies, “You don’t know the half of how good I am.” Okay, no way am I touching that one. “So, uh, has your show been completely cancelled, then?” He shrugs. “It’s all up in the air at the moment. They haven’t said it’s cancelled, but they haven’t said it isn’t cancelled, either. I have a meeting tomorrow, but I doubt I’ll be given any real answers. It all depends on the case. If I can clear my name, then I’m hoping we can get back to filming. But that’s going to take forever, and even if I am in the clear, there’s still a chance it won’t go ahead. Accusations stain your rep even after you’re found innocent, ya know?” “Yeah, I know.” “I think I can convince your Dad to take the case, though,” he says then, voice low. I sigh. “Why are you so determined for him to do it?” He stares at me for a long time, so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. Then he asks randomly, “Do you know that I was raised by my uncle for a couple of years after my parents died?” “What does this have to do with…?” “He was a behavioural science professor,” Jay interrupts before I have the chance to finish. “Brought me to live with him over in the States when I was twelve. Up until then I’d actually lived here in Ireland, if you can believe it. Long story short, he was a f**king nut and would make me study college-level textbooks day in and day out. If I didn’t or couldn’t understand something, he’d punish me in various ways until I did — not letting me eat, not letting me go to the bathroom. It’s one of the main reasons why I ran away and became a street kid. But despite all the abuse, the endless studying taught me techniques on how to read people. When I look at your old man, I see the guy who’s gonna help me win this case. I don’t care about the hot shots. I want your dad, and I’ll stop at nothing until I convince him.” “Oh,” I say, hushed. “I’m sorry about your parents…and your crazy uncle.” Jay waves away my apologies. “It’s all in the past, Watson. So, you gonna help me win the old guy over?” I eat the final bite of my lasagne before answering, “I don’t think you need any help from me. But I won’t get in your way, either. Promise. Still, you’ll probably have to move out if he does agree. Living with your solicitor could be seen as a conflict of interest.” Jay gives me a thoughtful look. Getting up from the table, I go to make a start on the dishes. When I look back to where Jay was sitting, he’s gone. Once I’ve gotten everything loaded in the dishwasher, I go to sit down by my sewing machine to make a start on the evening gown. I turn the machine on and wince at the unhealthy sound it makes. I’ve been saving up for a new one, but it’s going to be a while before I have enough money. The dress I’m making at the moment is an order from one of my regular online customers. I sit down and get right to work on it, hoping the machine at least holds out until I’m finished. I’ve been going at it for almost an hour when Jay re-enters the room, taking a big bite out of an apple. “Yo, Watson, your old jalopy doesn’t sound too healthy,” he comments, leaning against the doorframe. I frown as I run the last of the hem through. “I know. I’m hoping it’ll last until I can afford a new one.” “You saving up?” Sitting back to take a break, I nod. “Yeah.” “How much you got?” “Not much. About a hundred and fifty, but I need eight hundred for the machine I want to buy.” Jay chews on his bite of apple and mulls over what I’ve said. “What if I told you I could turn your one-fifty into eight hundred in a night?” “I’d say you were having me on,” I answer warily. “Well, I’m not. You come out with me tomorrow, and we’ll have your eight hundred by the early hours of Wednesday morning.” “Okay. But how?” A wicked gleam comes into his eyes. “Blackjack, Watson. Blackjack.” I give him a hesitant look. “Like in a casino?” “Yeah. Where else?” “I’ve never been to a casino before.” “I’ll admit Dublin’s got nothing on Vegas, but there are a few good places here. I’ll show you the ropes.” Looking back at my nearly broken sewing machine, I let out a sigh. I know I need a new one badly. Otherwise, I’ll have to stop taking orders for however many weeks it takes me to save. Jay’s proposal is certainly an attractive one. “And I’ll be placing the bets? I have no clue about playing blackjack, Jay.” “Can you count to twenty-one?” I shoot him a cynical look. “Of course.” “Then we’re off to a good start.” He walks over to throw the core of his apple in the bin. “We’ll leave here at eight. And wear something nice.” With that, he exits the room again. Four As luck would have it, my machine sputters its last breath just as I’ve finished the dress. I put everything away and then head upstairs to bed, hopeful that come Thursday evening I’ll have a brand-new machine sitting on my table. Settling myself under the covers, I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check my messages. There’s just one from Michelle. Michelle: How was your day? Xxx. She always puts kisses at the end of a message, no matter what, and ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t necessary. Matilda: Quite eventful, actually. How was yours? P.S. Stop kissy kissing me. I’m not one of your boyfriends Michelle: You think I don’t know that, lol? You give me far more affection than any of those arseholes. Mine was boring to the max. So, yours was eventful, eh? Do tell. Matilda: Dad finally found someone to rent the spare room to… Michelle: Those dots look ominous. Anyone I know? God, it’s not Larry with the big nose, is it? We put a stop to the whole friends with benefits thing a while back. He got clingy. I go on Google for a second to search for images of Jay. As it happens, there are quite a few. The best one is of him standing on a stage in Vegas wearing jeans and a Sex Pistols T-shirt, the gun show well on display. I save it to my phone and then send it so Michelle. Matilda: Him. Michelle: OMFG! You’re joking me! Matilda: No joke. Michelle: I read about him in the news last week. So hot. I refuse to believe anyone that good looking could be evil. Matilda: Eh, Justin Bieber? Michelle: Bieber doesn’t count. He’s more like a semi-pretty lesbian. Matilda: Thanks for that. Now I’m creeped out. Jay seems like a nice guy, though. You know the press is full of lies. Michelle: Yeah, you’re right. But how did this come about? Matilda: He came to the office looking for a solicitor and left with a landlord instead. Michelle: Lol. Funny how often that happens. So, when can I come over and meet him? I’ll be all like, TOLO come over here and impregnate me with your sexy magician babies. Matilda: TOLO…? Michelle: Tits out, legs open. Matilda: Okay. Sorry I asked. Michelle: Seriously, I want to meet him. I promise I’ll behave. Matilda: I believe that about as much as I believed Crossing Over with John Edwards. Michelle: Hey, that was a good night out! Matilda: Biggest waste of sixty euros I ever spent. Michelle: Such a sceptic. Please let me meet him? I’ve never met anyone famous before. Matilda: Famous is stretching it a little, but okay. I’ll ask if he wants to come for drinks with us on Friday. Friday is mine and Michelle’s regular night out. It usually ends with her going off with some lucky fellow and me going home alone. Unsurprisingly, I’ve never managed to perfect the art of the one-night stand. I should invite her to this whole casino thing tomorrow, but selfishly I kind of want to keep Jay to myself for a while. Michelle: Yay! Now I just need to figure out what to wear. Matilda: Lol. Wear the black Chanel dress. That’s always a winner. Michelle: I will. You never steer me wrong. Matilda: Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow. Michelle:...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 6 “Fuck off, that can’t be my card.” “Go get it and see,” Jay replies, gesturing for her to go forward. After hesitating for only a moment, the girl starts to walk through the club. She climbs onto the stage where the DJ’s booth is and goes to the screen, grabbing the card that’s been stuck to it. She stares down at it in her hand as she walks back, her mouth open in disbelief. “It’s my card,” she says, lifting it up to the camera to show her writing. There in a list it reads: Beyoncé “Single Ladies,” purple, and turtle. “I’m freaking out right now,” she goes on, running her hand through her hair. You can hear whoever’s holding the camera chuckling, and Jay turns to smile at them. He really does have a gorgeous smile. Jay goes to the girl and throws his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get you that drink.” The next clip is during the daytime, in a beer garden where there are a bunch of men and women wearing football jerseys watching a game. Jay stumbles through to a group of burly-looking men holding pints of beer. He’s unsteady on his feet and looks drunk off his face. Going to one of the men (the biggest and burliest of them all, by the way), he grabs the beer right out of his hand and brings it to his own mouth before downing the entire thing in one go. The big guy looks at Jay like he can’t believe he just had the balls to do that. Then his expression turns angry. “You f**king shithead, you just robbed my beer,” says the man, looking to his friends for support. “This f**k just took the beer right out of my hand.” Seeming pleased with himself, Jay sets the empty glass primly down on a table just as one of the friends grabs his shoulder. “That’s not okay, dude.” I was thirsty,” says Jay with a casual shrug, almost as though goading the man to hit him. No more than a second later he does, swinging his fist through the air, aiming straight for Jay’s face. Jay ducks and sidesteps out of the way before he’s hit. “Hey, no need to get violent. I have every intention of replacing it.” “Go get me a f**king beer, then,” says the burly one. “Okay, okay, just watch,” says Jay as he hovers his hand over the empty glass. “I bet you fifty bucks I can make your drink reappear without even touching this glass.” “Yeah, you’ll make it reappear by marching your ass over to the bar and buying me a new one.” “Nope. That’s not how I’m gonna do it. Do we have a bet?” The other men seem interested now, their attention on Jay and Mr Burly, the football game long forgotten. “You’re a nut, but fine, it’s a bet.” “Shake on it,” says Jay, thrusting out his hand, and they shake. I notice that he’s not acting drunk at all anymore, and I suddenly realise it was only an act before. Part of the ruse. The camera focuses in on Jay’s hand above the empty glass. He moves it in circles, like he’s about to conjure a rabbit from a hat (or beer from a glass, in this case). Slowly, something brown starts to appear, and then liquid is rising from the bottom of the glass, moving upward. The men around him let out a whole bunch of expletives as Jay proves that he could do it. He just made the drink reappear, seemingly out of thin air. Now the glass is full again. “You’re joking me,” Mr Burly exclaims, rubbing at his head, a confused look on his face. “Ah, shit, I’ll give you fifty bucks and a beer,” says one of the others as he steps forward to slap Jay on the back. “That was amazing.” “Do you do parties?” a woman, presumably one of their wives, asks. Jay gives her an arch look and shakes his head before all the men start crowding around to congratulate him on his trick. Mr Burly chuckles. “Okay, you win, but I ain’t drinking that beer. That was f**king freaky.” The video ends and I sit back, a big stupid smile on my face. There are more videos that I could watch, but I decide not to, knowing I’ll be up all night if I do. Instead I do a quick read-up on how to play blackjack before passing out cold. My alarm springs to life with its peaceful morning sounds and I wake up, having dreamt of Jay shrinking me to the size of a penny and dropping me into a pint of beer. I don’t think I’ll be finding any interpretations for that one in a book. I hear the shower come on in the spare room, so I know he’s just woken up, too. There’s something exciting about knowing we’re going to be living our lives side by side for the next couple of months. I go grab a shower, and by the time I’m dressed and ready for work, the smell of bacon is drifting up from downstairs. Dad never cooks breakfast; he always just grabs something easy, so I know it has to be Jay. My heels click on the wood floor as I walk into the kitchen, wearing a plain black shift dress and a cream cardigan, my hair down. I’m wearing minimal makeup, mostly just some concealer over my scar, lip gloss, and mascara. I’m not a great fan of applying makeup in the morning. Or ever, really. I think that when you have to put it on to cover something up, it becomes more of a chore than an enjoyment. And then you’re always worrying if it’s rubbed off and people can see what you’ve been trying to hide. When I was fifteen I had a crush on this boy who lived down the street. When I tried to talk to him one day on my way home from school, he pointed and asked me what was wrong with my neck. It wasn’t so much what he said, but the disgusted look on his face that made it a horrid experience. Ever since then I’ve always tried to cover it up. In the kitchen, Jay’s standing by the cooker with his back turned to me, while Dad sits at the table, happily reading the paper and eating bacon and eggs. I admire the sexy, muscular lines of Jay’s back and get a fright when he asks, “You hungry, Watson?” How did he know I was there? It must have been the telltale click of my heels. Dad chuckles at the nickname, getting the meaning right off the bat. Ever since I was a child I’ve had a curious nature, always wanting to figure out mysteries, not that I’m really any good at it. Dad used to call me Harriet the Spy, but I always hated it. I like it when Jay calls me Watson, though. It kind of makes me feel like I could be his sidekick. And that makes me cool by association. “A little,” I answer as he turns around and puts some food on a plate for me. “I figured I’d pay you back for dinner last night,” he says, setting the plate down as I pour orange juice into a glass. “That was thoughtful of you. Thanks,” I reply with a smile. “I hear you two have a night of gambling planned,” says Dad, folding his newspaper and putting it away. “I used to love the slot machines when I was young. Never won much money. I don’t have the luck for it.” “Luck has nothing to do with it, Hugh. You’re playing poker, you learn how to read your opponents. You’re playing roulette, you weigh your odds. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” “I’m afraid I’m going to be disastrously bad at blackjack,” I put in. “Isn’t there some easier game I could play?” “You can watch me play a few rounds first. You’ll pick it up quick,” Jay reassures me with a warm smile as he takes a bite of toast. “I’m not so sure, but I’ll take your word for it,” I say modestly, and Dad gets up from the table, done with his breakfast. “I’m going to catch the earlier bus, Matilda, but I’ll see you at the office.” He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and then goes to grab his coat and briefcase. I eye the battered leather, thinking I could get him a new one for Christmas. The front door opens and shuts. “You look nice today,” says Jay, and I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I focus on eating. “Thanks,” I mumble, brushing my hair close to my neck. “You do that a lot, you know.” Now I glance up. “What?” “Your hair. You run your hand through it a lot, moving it to hide your scar.” “Oh.” Crap, he noticed the scar. I suppose he saw it when I’d had my hair up in a bun last night. “Yeah, it’s unconscious most of the time.” I shrug. “I could teach you how to stop. It’s pretty easy.” “That’s okay. It’s not like one of those awful habits, like biting your nails until they bleed or something.” Biting your nails until they bleed? Lovely imagery, Matilda. Jay nods, still watching me eat. Right now I’m wishing I were anywhere but here. His attention is exciting, yet unnerving. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.” A moment of silence elapses. “You’re not going to ask how I got the scar?” I say quietly. “That’s your business. Though if you wanna tell me, I’m all ears.” I give him a grateful look, not saying anything more. I’m not fond of reciting stories about myself, so in this case I don’t want to tell...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 7 When I arrive home, I pop a ready meal for one in the oven, since Dad’s working late in the office with Will and then he’s going to the book club. When I go upstairs, I pass by Jay’s room and see the door’s wide open. He’s sitting on the floor, messy stacks of books all around him and dozens of sheets of paper with indecipherable handwriting spread out on the wood floor. The bin is full to the brim with crumpled papers and his laptop is open, playing a video of a surgeon carrying out some kind of operation. Quite bizarre. I’ve always been squeamish about blood, so I look away. “I didn’t realise you were home,” I say, standing in the doorway. His head comes up, his eyes meeting mine as he scratches his jaw. His hair is all dishevelled, which for some reason makes me want to touch it. “Matilda. How was your day?” he asks, shoving some of the papers aside and pressing “pause” on the video. I take one step inside the room. “Good. Can I ask what you’re doing?” “Ah, just working out some new tricks.” So he’s not studying to become a surgeon, then. “So you’re definitely not quitting?” I ask, curious. He shoots me a wry look and laughs harshly. “What, because some bitch who doesn’t even know me decided to sit at her computer and rip me a new one? Hell to the f**k no. It’ll take a lot more than a few articles to put a stop to me.” I don’t know what to say to that. In fact, his passionate anger puts me a little on edge, even though it isn’t directed at me, so I change the subject. “Do you want dinner? I’m just making something quick.” “No, I’m good. I already ate.” The flat tone and faraway look in his eyes give me the impression he’s somewhere else right now, so I quickly take my leave. “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” “Be ready for eight,” he calls after me, his eyes returning to the laptop screen. “Will do.” I close the door and go to my own room. Jay’s demeanour seemed different just now, mercurial somehow. Granted, I’ve only known him a day, so I’m sure there are many more sides to him than the witty charmer I’ve known him to be. I eat dinner in front of the TV. Jay doesn’t come down at all, still up in his room doing his research, or whatever it is he’s doing. A while later I’m in the bathroom, putting the finishing touches to my makeup, when there’s a tap on the door. “Knock, knock, can I come in?” Jay asks from outside as I clip a strand of hair at my temple. I get a momentary jolt but then realise I’m decent, so I say, “Sure.” Still, I find it a little odd that he wants to come in here. He steps into the small room, casual as you please, wearing a dark shirt and slacks. The first button of the shirt is undone, showing a hint of the tattoos at his collarbone. He lets out a low whistle, and I can’t help but blush. “You scrub up well, Watson.” I focus on putting in my contact lenses as his eyes trail down my legs to my feet. “Nice shoes. Real nice. They make up for the conservative neckline.” “Uh, thanks. I think.” I have my contacts in now, and his eyes are still on my shoes, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he swallows. What the hell is he thinking about? I brush on some lip gloss and I’m done. Jay’s still standing behind me, but now his eyes are on my face. I can’t really decipher his look, since I’ve never had a man stare at me like he is. The only way I can describe it is somewhere in between hot and smouldering. Yikes. I find it difficult to believe it’s directed at me, but it must be. I mean, there’s nobody else in the room. I cough. “Are you driving?” He shakes his head, and his expression clears. “Nah, I think we’ll taxi it. After we get you your eight hundred, we’re going to want to celebrate.” He flashes me a wide, toothy smile. “Right. I hope not too much. It’s a work night,” I say, unable to help myself. And I had almost pulled off cool. Almost. Jay’s hand moves to rest on my shoulder, his voice unexpectedly soft. “Don’t worry, Watson. I’ll have you home and tucked in bed by one.” If I were a provocative person I might say something sassy, like, “Oh, yeah, and are you going to be the one doing the tucking?” But I’m not, so I don’t. Jay says he’ll wait downstairs for me and leaves me to it. Dad’s coming in the door just as we’re leaving, the taxi idling by the side of the road. He tells us to have a great night, and then Jay’s ushering me in the back of the taxi. I’m nervous on the ride, while Jay makes boisterous small talk with the driver. I check to make sure I brought my hundred and fifty with me several times. Then I check to make sure I brought my I.D., since you’ve got to be twenty-one to get into some of the casinos. Jay pays the fare when we arrive in the city a couple of minutes later. I look up at the sleek black front of the building with the flashing sign above the entrance. There’s a bouncer on the door who’s about as wide as he is tall, and I can’t tell if it’s muscle or fat. He’s wearing a suit and has an earpiece. Unexpectedly, Jay slides his arm around my waist as we approach, pressing the side of my body flush to his. Okay, this is new. I haven’t been this close to a man in quite some time. He looks down at me for a second, and I think I see his gaze zone in on my lips, tracing the lines of my mouth. And now I think I just came. I really need to get a handle on this crush of mine. The bouncer lets us in right away, no asking for I.D. It must be Jay’s confidence that got us through without incident. Right now Jay’s hand is resting on my hip, and I can hardly concentrate on anything else. It feels so warm and tingly and good. He shows me how to exchange my cash for chips, his arm dropping and my expectations dropping with it. I put my chips in my bag, and then Jay’s gripping my chin with his fingers, bringing my eyes up to his. “Okay, Matilda, you’re making me anxious just looking at you. Let’s go get you a drink first to loosen up.” “I’m not nervous,” I mutter as he guides me to the bar and I slide my bum onto a stool. He shakes his head and nods for the bartender to come over. “What’s it going to take to get you to stop lying to me?” “I’m sorry. It’s kind of my default setting,” I reply quietly. “I don’t lie because I’m being duplicitous. I just lie because I don’t want people to know when I’m, like, scared and stuff.” Whoa, that was quite honest. His smile when he looks at me is warm. “I know. But you don’t have to lie to me. Plus, I can tell when you’re scared and stuff anyway.” Well, there is that. The bartender arrives, and Jay asks for a J.D. and Coke. I’m in the mood for a cocktail, so I scan the menu above the bar. Damn, why do the cocktails that sound the best always have the most embarrassing names? Fuck it, I might as well order what I want. Jay will probably be able to tell anyway, what with his psychic body-language-reading skills, or whatever it is you’d call them. “I’ll have the Porn Star Martini, please,” I say decisively. The bartender doesn’t even bat an eyelid as he goes off to fetch our orders. “Brave choice,” says Jay with a smirk. “You fixing to get drunk, Watson?” “Hmm, not until after I win my eight-hundred…or lose my one-fifty. Either scenario will call for alcohol, I’m guessing.” He touches my elbow for a second. “You won’t lose your one-fifty, I promise.” “And you have no idea how bad I could be at this.” Our drinks arrive, and I delight in how there’s an actual passion fruit floating in the yellow liquid. Whenever I see there’s champagne in a cocktail, I just have to have it. My brain tells me it’ll be classy. I suck it up through a straw (not so classy) and find that Jay was right — it is loosening me up. The place isn’t too packed, since it’s only a Wednesday night, but there are a reasonable number of people around. My attention is drawn to a balding guy who’s swearing like a madman at a slot machine. “He does realise the machine can’t swear back, right?” I whisper to Jay jokingly. “Gambling crazies. There’s always one.” Jay orders another drink and brings it with him as he leads me through the casino. I look around, taking it all in. When I spy the roulette table, I hurry on ahead, eager to see what it’s like. A middle-aged man in a suit makes a bet, and the wheel spins. When he wins, he gets a satisfied look on his face as his businessmen friends congratulate him. I can certainly see how this stuff could become addictive. When we get to the blackjack table, there’s a guy in his twenties and a woman in maybe her early forties playing. The woman has platinum-blonde hair and is wearing a lot of gold jewellery, a look of faded...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 8 He lifts his head to her slowly, almost like he’d been in a trance, watching the old guy. “What?” he clips out. I haven’t heard him be short like this until now. She stares at him for a long moment, her body tense, then says, “Quit eye-fucking the businessmen. You’ll make them nervous.” Jay lets out a breath and looks away, picking up the cards she just dealt him. “I was just taking in the scenery,” he mutters. “Sure,” says Jessie, then in a barely audible voice, “Tell that to the white shotgun look in your eyes.” I momentarily wonder what she’s talking about, slipping my phone out and covertly looking up what “white shotgun” means. Turns out it’s a mob term for killing someone in such a way that they vanish without a trace. Okay, that’s not weird at all. Or disturbing. In the next game, Jay wins by the skin of his teeth with eighteen, trumping Jessie’s seventeen. After seeing him play a number of times at this point, I really am impressed. If I were Jay, I’d almost have enough for my new sewing machine right now. Soon the young guy leaves and then the blonde does, too, but not without slipping her number to Jessie before she walks away. Jessie smiles to herself as she shoves the piece of paper in her pocket. Jay glances at the blonde’s retreating figure. “How’s that working out for you?” he asks curiously. Jessie cocks an eyebrow. “How do you think? She’s got a bangin’ body.” “Yeah, and enough jewellery to sink the Titanic.” Jessie snickers. “So, any more gambling for yourself tonight, sir, or are you done?” Jay’s gaze lands on me. “I’m thinking we’ll give our little virgin a chance to play.” I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m still not entirely certain of the rules.” “We’ll go slowly,” says Jessie. “Like any good de-flowerer,” Jay puts in. “I’ll have you know I was de-flowered quite some time ago,” I blurt humorously while pointing a finger at Jay, the martinis well and truly taking their hold. Jessie laughs, but Jay turns in his seat to give me a heated look, his lips curving in an almost smile. “Come on, then, let’s hear the story.” “Not a chance,” I answer sassily, rummaging in my bag for my chips. With a proud look on my face, I set down ten euros’ worth. “High roller,” says Jay with a chuckle. Jessie gives him a scolding look before saying to me, “You don’t have to bet big like this flashy bastard. Just put down whatever you’re comfortable with.” “I know,” I say, my heart thumping with anticipation. When I get my cards, I pick them up and hold them close so that Jay can’t see, annoyed with him for slagging me off about my small bet. I doesn’t matter anyway, because I end up losing. We play two more games, with me only putting down ten euros each time. I lose once and win once. The win gives me the confidence to go bigger, so I bet fifty euros this time. Two of the businessmen from the group Jay had been staring at come over and take seats at the table. I feel a bead of sweat trickle from my temple as I wait to see what the result will be. My original hand contains an ace and an eight of clubs, so I stick with it, my heart fluttering with excitement. I’ve got nineteen altogether. That’s good. Very good. I cross my fingers, hoping Jessie has lower than that, or something over twenty-one. When she reveals she’s only got fifteen, I practically jump off my seat with glee. I won! I just won fifty euros. Wow! I’m so elated that I throw my arms around Jay’s shoulders and give him a big hug. I’m tipsy, but I still notice how good his body feels all pressed up against mine. He hugs me back, his warm hand at the base of my spine for a moment. Then I pull away. “This calls for a celebratory drink,” I say happily. “Yeah,” Jay replies, giving me a tender smile. From the other side of the table, I hear the businessmen chuckling while one of them jokes, “Christ, if she’s that excited for fifty euros, I’ll give her a hundred for a blowjob.” Ugh. What a sleazebag. Unfortunately, Jay heard him say it, too. He gets up from his seat, his happy transforming into pissed in a heartbeat. “The f**k did you just say?” he asks as he steps over to the two men. The one who said it is too drunk to realise he should be scared. He gives Jay a dirty look. “I said,” he enunciates, “I’ll give her a hundred for a blowjob. Those lips would be so worth it.” His friend is in hysterics now, and I go to Jay, placing a hand on his elbow. “Leave it. They’re just arseholes.” “Yeah, Jay,” Jessie adds in a serious voice. “Leave it.” We might as well be invisible, though, because it’s like Jay can’t even hear us. He takes another step toward the guy who’d mouthed off, staring down at him furiously. “Apologise now.” The guy makes an unattractive snort. “Fuck you.” “No, f**k you,” says Jay before shoving him in the shoulder. Outraged, the man loosens his tie and rises from his seat. “Don’t you dare touch me,” he spits, then looks to Jessie. “You work here — shouldn’t you be calling security?” “I should be,” she answers with a raised eyebrow. “I’m thinking I’ll give it another minute, though.” “This is ridiculous. This piece of shit just attacked me. I’ll be having words with your manager.” “You go right ahead.” Jay gets up in the man’s face, and his friend tries to calm him down. “Look, we don’t want any trouble.” “Oh, yeah? ’Cause this f**k seems to be asking for it.” “Christ, I’m sorry if I made some joke about your slut over there. I was only having a laugh.” “Okay, let’s see how funny you find this,” says Jay before landing a punch to his jaw and then an uppercut to his ribs. The man stumbles back into his seat, clutching his jaw in his hand, a look of shock on his face. I don’t think he believed Jay was actually going to hit him. Even I didn’t really believe it until it was happening. Seconds later the bouncer from earlier is on Jay, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him away from the businessmen. Jay easily slips out of the bouncer’s hold, side-stepping toward me. “Sorry to abandon you so soon, Jess, but it seems I’ve outstayed my welcome.” He salutes her with a grin. “No problem,” says Jessie, and then Jay grabs my hand in his. “Come on, Watson. I think it’s time to vamoose.” He yanks me off my stool, still dodging the bouncer, who’s advancing on us and shouting at Jay that he’s barred. Hand in hand, we run out of the casino and halfway down the street before I have to stop. Running and heels do not go together. Out of breath, I clutch my chest before bursting into a fit of giggles. I don’t know why I’m laughing. I think it might be delayed shock or something. Jay stands in front of me and starts laughing, too. It takes a while for us to calm down. When we finally do, Jay steps out to the side of the road and flags down a taxi. It’s only when we’re both seated in the back that I finally have enough breath to speak. I can’t believe you punched that man. That was just crazy. I seriously didn’t think you’d actually do it,” I say, my breathing still heavy. The taxi driver perks his ears up to listen. I don’t think I’ve experienced this much excitement since Dad sprang a surprise trip to Disneyland Paris on me for my eleventh birthday. Jay turns to me in his seat and reaches out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. He’s looking at me intensely, emotions in his eyes that I don’t understand. “I can’t let a**holes get away with talking to you like that. No way. You’re too good for that shit.” His words make me shiver. And I hate to admit it, but some deep inner part of me loves the fact that he’d defend my honour when he hardly even knows me. Does he feel something for me like I do for him? Some small attraction? He takes my hand then and holds it in his, his fingers laced through mine. His thumb rubs along the veins on the inside of my wrist and I stare out the window, savouring the simple feeling of his skin on my skin. Six As we exit the taxi and go in the front door, we try to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake up Dad. Glancing at my phone, I see it’s almost midnight. I didn’t manage to win enough money to buy a new sewing machine; however, I did end up with slightly more cash than I started out with, so at least that’s something. Turning on the hall light, I catch a glimpse of the knuckles on Jay’s right hand and see that they’re a little scraped and reddened from throwing those two punches. “Come on upstairs, and I’ll get you some antiseptic for that,” I whisper, touching his hand for a second. I slip off...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 9 As it happens, Jessie is working on the booth when I go to cash in my chips. “Ah, Matilda, good to see you again,” she says. “You, too,” I reply, sliding the chips through to her. “Funny, I don’t remember you winning all these last night,” she continues, suppressing a grin. “I didn’t. Jay gave me his winnings as an apology for the, uh, punching incident.” “Oh, yeah? That was generous of him,” she says. “You going on a big shopping spree?” I can’t keep the smile off my face. “In a sense, yes. I’m getting a new sewing machine. I make dresses and sell them online, but my old machine broke. Jay said he’d bring me to the casino to win enough for a new one, but obviously that didn’t work out.” “Did you go to college for that? The dressmaking, I mean.” I shake my head. “No, my mum taught me when I was little, and I did night classes when I was a teenager.” “Cool. Well, here you go,” she says, and slides the cash out to me. I slip it into my purse and say goodbye. I’m late getting home that evening as I lug the big brown box into the hallway. I drop it down on the floor and let out a long, heaving breath. That was some seriously heavy lifting, even if the walk from the bus stop was blessedly short. Dad’s in the living room, watching television. It looks like he ordered in a Chinese takeaway, because there are leftovers in the fridge. I heat some up and eat them quickly before getting right to work. It’s after eleven when I finish up, tiredly packing the few orders I have into bubble-wrap envelopes for posting. Jay comes in the door just as I’m sealing the final one. “Hey, you got it. Nice!” he exclaims, walking over to take a look at the new machine. It’s a pretty olive green with a sort of fifties-looking design. “Yep. And I have you to thank for it,” I reply with a grateful smile. “How did your meetings go today?” “Ah, shitty, really. Lawyers…I mean, solicitors are a bunch of old windbags. You could practically see the dollar signs in their eyes when I was speaking to them…or should I say euro signs?” “Don’t let Dad hear you say that.” “Your dad’s the exception. Is he still up? I need to get convincing him to take the case.” “No, he went to bed about an hour ago,” I say, setting the stack of packages on the table. Jay eyes them. “You need me to drop those to the post office for you in the morning?” “Would you? I was going to go before work, but it might be cutting it a bit fine.” “I’d be happy to. So, it’s Friday tomorrow. Any plans for the weekend?” He rubs his hands together. I try to think. Then I remember Michelle’s adamant pleas for me to bring Jay for drinks with us. “Yes, actually. I’m going out with my friend tomorrow night. You’re welcome to come along.” “Sounds good,” says Jay as he picks up two safety pins from a bunch I’d left by my sewing machine. He links them together and holds them up to show me. “Safety pins, fascinating,” I murmur past a yawn. He’s standing close to me now, and I watch as he repeatedly pulls the two apart, then links them back together like magic. It looks like metal is sliding seamlessly through metal. “If I weren’t so tired, I’m sure I’d be able to figure out how you’re doing that,” I say softly. His chest moves as he silently laughs. I bid him goodnight and then go to bed. When my head does finally hit the pillow, I’m overly aware of how Jay’s bed is right on the other side of the wall, our bodies barely a foot apart. I fall asleep thinking about how I wish I could bridge the gap. *** Friday is a slow day. We only have appointments scheduled for before lunch, so once I’ve finished all my tasks, Dad says I can go home early. On my way to the bus, a car beeps its horn from behind me, and I turn to see Jay with his window rolled down, Jessie in the passenger seat beside him, smoking a cigarette. “Want a ride?” Jay calls, his arm resting along the side of the window. A car behind him honks and then overtakes him. “Hop in.” I hurry to the car and slide into the back seat. Jessie sticks her smoke in her mouth and says hello to me. “You looking forward to tonight?” she asks. “Yeah, are you coming with us?” “I can’t. I’ve got a hot date with the cougar from the casino. You remember her?” The grin she gives me is devilish. “I do.” “I’m thinking she’s a sure thing, but you never know. I guess you’re out to trap yourself a fella tonight, then.” My cheeks redden, and I think I catch Jay giving her a hard look through the overhead mirror. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of luck with men. I’ve actually been trying online dating, but I’m not sure if it’s for me.” Jay’s eyes meet mine in the mirror briefly before flicking back to the road. I can tell he’s listening to all this intently, even though he’s acting like he isn’t. “Yeah, I’ve met a few people online myself, but they mostly seem to be out for casual sex,” says Jessie. “Not that that’s a bad thing, but I’m guessing that’s not what you’re out for.” She gives me a sympathetic look. Christ, could my cheeks get any redder? “No, not really,” I reply. Jay raises one eyebrow. “What does ‘not really’ mean, Watson?” I scratch at my arm. “Well, it’s not like I’d mind if there was sex involved. It’s just that it never seems to get that far. Michelle says it’s because I don’t give out vibes of availability. I give out ‘stay away from me’ vibes.” I laugh lightheartedly. “Nothing wrong with that,” says Jay. “Your friend sounds like she wants you to act like a slut.” “Jay!” Jessie exclaims. I scowl. “Uh, no. That’s not it at all. Michelle is very supportive of me.” “If you say so.” “So, have you gone on many dates?” Jessie asks, still turned around in her seat to face me. “Not with any of the online guys. They all seem so sleazy and only interested in sex.” “Oh, you’re obviously on the wrong site, then. Here, give me your number, and I’ll send you a list of which sites are for hook-ups and which are for relationships.” She hands me her phone, and I programme my number into her contacts. “Thanks, that’s so nice of you,” I say. “In what way are they sleazy?” Jay asks, his brow furrowed. I could be mistaken, but there seems to be a protective note to his voice. I swallow hard. “Oh, God. You really don’t want to know.” Jay goes strangely silent, and his jaw is tight. He seems annoyed. We drop Jessie off at her apartment, and I wave goodbye while Jay pulls back onto the road. “You shouldn’t be meeting up with random men anyway,” he says out of nowhere. “Well, I haven’t, not yet. But if I do, I have a number of rules to follow.” I hold up my fingers as I list them off. “It has to be during the day in a public place — never go to somebody’s house alone. I have to tell Michelle and Dad exactly where I’m going. And most importantly, Michelle and I have code words to text if we need each other to call and pretend there’s an emergency. That’s only for if the date is really bad, although so far I’ve only had to do it for Michelle twice.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them that I can’t quite decipher. A minute or two of silence passes. “I’ll help you,” he says then. “Huh?” “With the dating. I’ll teach you how to come across as available. I shouldn’t have said that about your friend earlier. I’m sorry. She’s actually on the right track with what she’s told you. Usually, people who are single show that they’re available through their body language, while people who are happily in a relationship don’t. Since you’re single but are supposedly giving out unavailable vibes, there must be a reason why.” I fold my arms. “What kind of a reason?” Jay shrugs. “It’s probably just anxiety or something like that. But don’t worry — we’ll figure it out.” Seven When we arrive at the house, I go straight to my room. After the topic we discussed in the car, I don’t really want to face Jay for a while. It’s humiliating to have people know how hopeless I am when it comes to romance. The problem is, whenever I’m asked about it, I can’t help but to be brutally honest. It’s sort of a relief to get it all out and see what another person thinks. The idea of Jay helping isn’t as appealing as it should be. I mean, he probably really knows his stuff. However, I’d much rather if he helped me to successfully score him,...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 10 “Michelle, good to meet you,” says Jay before letting go of her hand. I’m not sure why, but I find myself studying their reactions to one another intently, trying to pinpoint something. What that something is exactly, I don’t know. In the back of my mind, I’m sort of hoping that they don’t end up fancying each other, despite Michelle’s enthusiasm thus far. We go inside and manage to snag a table by the window. Jay helps me out of my coat, silently appraising my dress, the chest area in particular. Such a guy. Though I must confess, my push-up bra is doing excellent work on this occasion. Excellent work. A waiter comes over to take our drinks order, and I opt for the white wine. “So, Jay, I hear you do magic for a living. That must be so much fun. I’m in marketing myself, so boring,” says Michelle. “It’s fun until someone decides to write a story painting you as some kind of evil mastermind,” he replies to her, deadpan, before taking a sip of his drink. His blunt answer doesn’t faze her. “Yeah, I heard about that, too. Oh,” she says, suddenly turning to me, “speaking of work, I have to do overtime this weekend to prepare for a big presentation we’ve got on Monday, so I can’t make it Sunday. I’m so sorry.” “What?” I say quietly – sheepishly. “But we’ve had this planned for weeks. The tickets cost eighty euros, and I really don’t want to go without you.” I’m not overjoyed at the fact that she’s bringing this up in front of Jay, either, because it’s a little embarrassing. A few months back I saw an ad for a day-long seminar with this relationship specialist from Australia. It’s supposed to help women be more successful in their love lives. I managed to wrangle Michelle into coming with me, and now she’s backing out. I cannot believe this. I’d been really looking forward to it, too, hoping that it would somehow help me to overcome my issues, or whatever the hell it is that’s wrong with me. “I said I’m sorry. I tried to get out of the overtime, but my boss was having none of it. You should still go, though.” “I’m not going by myself.” She bites her lip, an expression on her face like she’s wracking her brains for an alternative. “You could get your dad to go with you,” she finally suggests. I scoff, loudly. “I’m not going with my dad. That would be like getting him to sit down and watch a porno with me.” Michelle rolls her eyes at how melodramatic I’m being. “Okay, I was curious before, but now I’m really curious,” says Jay. “What are you two talking about?” “Nothing,” I answer quickly, giving Michelle a sharp look not to tell him. Unfortunately, she ignores it. “We’d planned on going to this relationship seminar. It’s being held by a guy called Simon Silver. He’s supposed to be some kind of love expert,” says Michelle, all matter-of-fact and with no embarrassment whatsoever. “Thanks for that,” I mutter. Jay takes all of this in with an ever-widening smile. I glance at him, tight-lipped. “Don’t make fun of me, okay? I already told you I need help.” “I could go with you,” he offers. It’s definitely unexpected. To be honest, I’d been expecting him to point and laugh for at least a few minutes. I mean, twenty-three-year-olds aren’t supposed to go to these things. They’re supposed to be out for a good time. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, though. I’ve wanted to find “the one” since as far back as I can remember. I want epic love, like you see in the movies. I want it so desperately that it fills my heart when I even think about the possibility of it. “I think that would be even worse than going with my dad,” I say, and then knock back a big gulp of wine. Jay makes a mock gasp. “Matilda, I didn’t know you had it in you to be so rude!” “Oh, shut up. You’re not offended in the slightest.” He smirks. “Yeah, you’re right. But I still want to go with you. It’ll be hilarious.” “And that right there is why you’re not coming. No siree, Bob.” “Oh, go on,” says Michelle, butting in. “Let him go. What’s the worst that could happen?” I look at her, and she’s got a strange calculating expression on her face as she glances between Jay and me. “Plenty worst can happen, Dr. Pepper,” I answer firmly. “Anyway, I’ve already decided I don’t want to go anymore.” “But you spent all that money,” Michelle pouts. “Yeah, Watson. You spent all that money,” Jay agrees, nudging me with his elbow. I don’t say anything, leaning forward and resting my chin on my arm in dejection. It does really annoy me, thinking of all the money I forked out for the tickets. Michelle gets up from the table then. “Listen, you two discuss it between yourselves. I need to use the ladies’ room, and then I’m going to chat up the fox sitting over by the bar all by his lonesome. Toodles!” Eh, come again? I thought she had her heart set on bagging Jay tonight. What a fickle web her libido weaves. “Toodles?” Jay asks, one eyebrow raised. “Rhymes with poodles,” I mumble. “And noodles.” “Doodles.” “Oodles.” “Strudels.” “Googles?” says Jay. I shake my head and smile for the first time since Michelle decided to embarrass me. “Okay, I got nothing.” “Ha! I win the rhyming war,” I declare, and sit up straighter, my hand going for the wine again. “You feeling better now?” Jay asks, voice low. “Slightly.” His arm moves across the back of the couch we’re sitting on. “You’re too f**king cute,” he says, his mouth close to my ear. “You should let me go with you to the thing.” I eye him and fold my arms. “Can you please forget about that? I’m still dying of embarrassment.” “How about if I pretend to be a g*y dude for the entire day? Will that make you feel less embarrassed?” “Yeah, like anyone would believe that. I don’t even get why you want to come. It’s for single women, not men.” “Didn’t I just say I’d pretend to be gay? That way I’d be there for the same thing as everyone else.” He grins. I narrow my eyes at him. “You think you’re so clever. Fine, you can come, but you have to promise to take it seriously.” He swipes his fingers over his chest, making a little X-shape. “Cross my heart. So, it’s settled. I’m coming.” “Yeah,” I sigh, and glance across the room to see Michelle approaching the guy she said she had her eye on. I still don’t get why her interest in Jay has disappeared so abruptly. Perhaps she decided she doesn’t like all his tattoos. Not that you can see much of them with the way he’s dressed right now. And not that I’m not relieved her attention has been diverted. I seem to be developing an ever-growing crush, and watching my best friend get off with said crush might be a little too painful to bear. Jay moves closer to me on the red velvet couch, his thigh touching mine. “So, you watch porn, huh?” A spurt of laughter erupts from me. “Trust you to remember that tiny detail, you lunatic. I was being sarcastic. You don’t have to take everything I say as gospel.” His eyes flicker back and forth between mine. “You watch it. I have quite a varied collection, you know. You’re welcome to borrow from me anytime.” He picks up his drink and takes a swig, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I don’t watch porn,” I say, adamant. “Everybody watches porn.” “Well, I don’t. Porn for me is more cerebral. I get a better thrill out of a really emotionally intense romance than watching two random people go at it.” He leans closer, interest marking his features. “Yeah? Tell me more.” Another sip of wine. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Like, you know when Harvey Keitel touches Holly Hunter through the hole in her stockings in The Piano? That turns me on more than seeing actual sex.” “I bet that’s a f**king sight,” he says under his breath. “What?” His arm that’s hanging along the back of the couch moves down to rest on my shoulders. I tense up, my heart beating faster at his closeness. “Nothing. That’s probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, Matilda.” I expect him to be making fun of me, but when I look at him, there’s nothing but seriousness on his face. Shifting away, I focus on my wine, not saying a word. Michelle’s tinkling laughter trickles over from the bar as she places her hand on the guy’s arm. Jay follows where I’m looking. “Now, remember I said I’d teach you about body language?” I nod. “Well,...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 11 He folds his arms casually. I have to admit, I wasn’t ready for that onslaught. I don’t think Charlene was, either. In fact, she looks kind of embarrassed at him picking apart her appearance like that. It’s one thing for him to tell her random facts no stranger could possibly know. That’s the exciting bit. But it’s another for him to explain how he knows them. After a few seconds she laughs it off, though. “Oh, my God, I never knew people could tell these things about me. It’s kind of freaking me out, but it’s so much fun! Okay, now do her,” she says, pointing to me. Jays turns his head, a wicked tilt to his lips. “I’d be happy to.” I can’t tell whether or not he meant that as an innuendo. I raise my hands in the air. “Please don’t. I don’t want to know.” “Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport,” Charlene chides. I cut her an annoyed look. Jay leans forward and takes one of my hands in both of his. The touch surprises me, scattering goose pimples across my skin. He rubs his thumb over the top of my index finger, and I suppress a shiver. “You see these little scratches? They show you do some kind of work with your hands. The dressmaking, right?” I nod. “Yeah, but you already knew that.” His lips twitch. “Okay. You’re a deep sleeper. You enjoy healthy comfort foods. You do some form of exercise. My bet would be cycling. When it’s warm out, you like to sit in the sun. You don’t dye your hair. When men touch you, it makes you nervous. Your favourite style era is the fifties…and you wish I’d shut the f**k up right now.” He stops and sits back in his seat with a smile. “Well, how did I do?” I narrow my eyes. “Too well.” “You want me to explain how I know?” “Not particularly.” Charlene rolls her eyes and puts her hand on Jay’s shoulder, leaning close to him. “I want to know. Tell us.” Jay angles his body away from her ever so slightly, then starts to speak. “I can tell you sleep deeply because the whites of your eyes are clear. People who sleep bad get redness, or their eyes can be bloodshot. I’m a prime example of that.” He points to himself, and it makes me wonder why he doesn’t sleep well. “I know you like healthy comfort foods because you’re not fat, but you’ve got curves. You’ve got muscles in your thighs and calves, but not in your arms, which shows you exercise mainly with your legs, hence the cycling. You’ve got a small scattering of freckles across your nose from sitting in the sun. Your hair is an exact match for your eyebrows, so it’s most likely not dyed. Plus, your dad showed me some of your kiddie pictures the other day,” he admits. Oh, I’m so having words with Dad about that. “You flinched very slightly when I touched your hand, which means you either don’t like me or men don’t touch you very often, which is why it makes you nervous. I can tell you like the fifties because most of the dresses you make have details that are reminiscent of that era. And your eyes did a pretty good job of telling me you wished I’d shut the f**k up.” He chuckles. “Well,” I say, letting out a long breath, “that was spot on. Disturbingly so,” I grumble. “I’ve been paying close attention, Watson,” he says, and I suppress a tremor. “Seriously, that was so good,” Charlene exclaims. “You should, like, have your own TV show or something.” Jay gives her a sardonic look. “Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I?” An Abba song comes on, and I hear Michelle calling me to join her and Mr Fox. Both are currently shaking it over on the dance floor. “Matilda! It’s ‘Dancing Queen’ — get over here now!” she drunkenly shouts. When we were younger we discovered Muriel’s Wedding, and Abba has been our guilty pleasure ever since. I turn back to Jay and Charlene. “It looks like I’m wanted.” Then I stand up and go to Michelle. She grabs both of my hands when I reach her and starts swaying me from side to side. “I love this song,” she yells over the music while Mr Fox hovers close behind her. It seems like I’m destined to be the third wheel in some form or another tonight. “Who’s the ginger bitch?” she asks, nodding toward the table. “Some air hostess.” “Huh. Oh, don’t look now, but Jay’s coming over. Ginger bitch doesn’t look too happy.” “Really? He’s coming over?” “Oh, no wait. He made a beeline for the bar.” I exhale in relief. I like dancing, but dancing with Jay is not an experience I think I can handle. The song ends and changes to a slow number, so I leave Michelle alone to slow dance with her latest acquisition. Joining Jay, I ask the bartender for another wine. “Aren’t you going back to Charlene?” I ask. “She’s still over there waiting.” Jay turns to face me while I continue looking directly ahead. I’m not sure why, but I can’t seem to make eye contact. I see him frowning at me out of the corner of my eye, his brows all drawn together. “Do you want me to go back to her?” I shrug and glance at him, then gulp down more wine. “You should take it easy. It’s only ten o’clock.” “It’s fine. I’ll probably head home soon, anyway. Michelle’s not going to be much company for the rest of the night.” “Does she usually leave you alone like this?” Jay asks, moving his body slightly closer. “Nah, I normally get to talk with the friend of whoever she’s flirting with. Fun, yeah?” Jay doesn’t reply, but his jaw moves in a weird way. He keeps on staring at me until Charlene takes it upon herself to come to him. “Hey, I thought I’d save you the trip,” she says in a sweet voice, sliding onto the stool beside him. I turn away and let my gaze drift over the crowds on the dance floor. A man wearing a blue shirt leers at me, so I make sure not to have any more eye contact with him. Jay nudges me, holding up his phone. “I just got a text from Jessie. Apparently, the cougar turned out to have a husband who wanted a ménage a trois, and she needs rescuing. You want to come with me?” “Uh, sure. I’ll just send Michelle a quick message to let her know we’re leaving.” And, just like that, we’re out of there and on our way to get Jay’s car to pick up Jessie. From the daggers she gives me, I get the feeling Charlene is none too pleased about it. Eight When we stop off at the house, I make a quick change into some jeans, a T-shirt, and plimsolls. Overall, the night was a bit of a bust, so there’s no point in holding onto the glamour. Jay honks his horn, and I hurry downstairs and out the door. I sit in the passenger seat, and Jay manages to speed while keeping just below the actual speeding limit. We head out toward a quiet suburb, with Jay’s GPS giving us directions as we go. In the end we drive down a dark country lane toward a large grey house. It all seems quiet, with Jessie nowhere to be seen. However, the second we stop at the end of the stony driveway, the front door flies open and Jessie emerges, her tall form running toward us like a bat out of hell. The cougar and a middle-aged man come after her, matching black silk robes on, shouting and waving their fists. If their anger didn’t have me so on edge, I’d probably laugh at what they’re wearing. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but when Jay rolls down his window, I catch the tail end of a tirade that ends with, “Little bitch!” Jessie hops straight into the back seat, yelling, “Put your foot on it, Jay — we need to get the f**k out of Dodge.” The couple are in front of Jay’s car now, and there isn’t enough space for him to get around them. “What did you do, steal their wallets or something?” Jay asks, chuckling and reversing, trying to figure out a way past the fuming husband and wife. “You were taking too long, and they kept trying to convince me to take part in a threesome. I let my temper get the better of me and smashed a tray of crystal glasses. Now they want me to pay for the damage. Pair of f**king nutjobs.” “I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like you were the nut in this situation, Jess.” “Hey, I’m allowed to be angry. It’s not my fault I’m offended by the idea of sucking a cock,” she jokes. Sticking his head out the window, Jay calls to the couple, “Listen, you’re going to want to move out of the way before I run you both the f**k over.” “That crystal was an anniversary gift!” the man shouts. “She owes us six hundred euros.” “For a couple of glasses?” Jay asks. “Are you high?” “They were Waterford crystal!” the wife wails. “Well, since they were a gift, you haven’t really lost any money, now, have you?” “They had sentimental value!” “Call...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 12 Speaking of Jay, he’s currently camped out at the table by the glass sliding doors, a tonne of books and his laptop open in front of him as he researches God only knows what. Every once in a while I’ll let my eyes wander in his direction, and I’ll find him looking back at me pensively. Then he’ll smile and return his attention to his research. Other times he won’t be looking, and I’ll be unable to tear my eyes off him. He’s wearing a tight grey T-shirt that showcases his muscular arms perfectly, the toned lines of his shoulders. As the day draws to a close, I start to get all nerved up for the seminar tomorrow. I have no idea what’s in store for me. I just hope Jay keeps his promise and behaves himself. Morning comes, and I dress in a simple blue summer dress with some black heels. I’m not in the mood to put in my contacts, so I slip on my glasses instead. Arriving downstairs, I find that Jay has yet again made me breakfast, oat pancakes smothered with honey. “You are paying rent, you know. You don’t have to make breakfast every morning to keep Dad sweet,” I say with a soft laugh. “How do you know he’s the one I’m trying to keep sweet?” Jay replies with a flirty grin, waggling his eyebrows and taking a seat opposite me. I stuff a forkful of pancake into my mouth so I don’t have to respond. “How about we make a deal?” says Jay. “I’ll do breakfast every morning if you do dinner every evening. That way it’s even.” I grin as I chew. “Okay, you’re on.” About an hour later, we arrive at the Hilton for the seminar. The receptionist in the lobby directs us to a function room where there’s a big banner hanging over the entrance. It reads: Kick-start Your Love Life with Simon Silver. We’re each given a goodie bag and then ushered inside. Two women standing in front of us keep peeking over their shoulders at Jay, giggling to one another. “Your g*y act better be convincing,” I whisper to him. “Otherwise, I think you might have a swarm on your hands by the end of the day.” “What are you going on about, Watson?” Jay asks, walking over to a water cooler to get a drink. I follow him. “I’m going on about the fact that every woman in here has her eyes on you, and although that might sound appealing right now, it won’t be when we have a stampede on our hands,” I joke, though I’m also kind of serious. Today he’s wearing a midnight-blue shirt tucked into a pair of denim jeans, his svelte waist accentuated by a brown leather belt. The sight is more than a little appealing. “Now, that would be interesting,” says Jay. He pauses for a second, hand on hip, then finishes with a camp, “Girlfriend.” I put my hand over my eyes. “Oh, God. Please let me know when you’ve stopped doing that, whatever it is you’re doing.” His deep chuckle moves closer to me and then his warm hand is on mine, pulling it away from my face. “Okay, I won’t do it again. I’ll just be one of those non-flaming gays.” “I think that might be for the best.” He continues laughing as he guides me to a seat about three rows from the front. “Perhaps we should sit a little farther back,” I suggest. “I don’t want to be singled out to talk.” “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” says Jay, pulling me down to sit. A woman sitting alone two seats away keeps sneaking glances at us. It’s plainly obvious that Jay is about as homosexual as Gerard Butler in the movie 300. On second thought, no, I need to think of a better comparison. 300 was so excessively straight it was actually unconsciously super-gay. A few minutes pass by, and the conference room begins to fill up. Soon there are hardly any seats left. It’s reassuring to me that I’m not the only woman out there who’s hopeless with men. I can even spot a few girls my age in attendance. A blonde sits down on the other side of Jay, smiling demurely and giving him a quiet but interested, “Hello.” I want to stab her with the complimentary pen provided in the goodie bag. Okay, I should probably calm down. Just because we’re housemates doesn’t mean I have any ownership over Jay. He’s a free agent. Free as a bird, really. Now, there’s a depressing thought. Rummaging through the aforementioned goodie bag, I pull out a pamphlet containing ten top tips for finding a date. I’m starting to skim through it when some hip modern music comes through the speakers and a well-dressed woman in her twenties walks onto the stage. She does a quick intro for the event and then says, “So, without further ado, I give you Simon Silver.” Jay snorts next to me. “That can’t be his real name. He sounds like a pirate from a kids’ TV show.” I suppress a laugh, because it’s sort of true. “Yeah, well, not all of us were blessed with ultra-cool names like Jay Fields,” I tease, and his body goes slightly rigid. Did I say something wrong? Focusing my attention back on the stage, I deduct that Simon’s probably in his mid-thirties, though it’s hard to tell because his hair has blond highlights and he’s sporting a seriously hard-core fake tan, the kind gotten through years and years of sun beds. He’s even wearing a diamond earring in one ear. I hadn’t really done too much research into the event, so this is actually the first time I’m seeing the man in the flesh. I can’t say I’m impressed. In fact, I’m feeling that squirming sensation in my gut that tells me this could turn out to be a massive cringe-fest. Nine Simon Silver stops right in the middle of the stage, wearing a headset microphone. “Okay, let’s get straight to business,” he says in his Australian accent. “I want each of you to take a piece of paper and write down your top five essential attributes of an ideal partner.” Women all around me start to rummage for their note pads and pens. After a moment of hesitation, I do the same. I have to try my hardest not to wince, because Jay’s sitting back in his chair, casually watching me. As I start to scribble down five traits, Jay angles his head to see what I’m writing. I cover the page with my hand so he can’t look. “Shouldn’t you be writing, too?” I ask, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. “Don’t need to.” He smirks and taps his forehead. “I’ve got it all in here.” I concentrate on my page again. So far I’ve got: funny, smart, protective, and motivated. Deciding to hell with it, I finish off the list with handsome. “Have you all got your five traits?” Simon asks from the stage, and there are murmurings of “yes” from the audience. “Great,” he continues before setting his sights on an Asian woman in the front row. “Hello there, what’s your name?” The woman stands up and puts her hand on her hip before answering, “Meesha.” She seems confident and sassy. If he’d singled me out like that, I’d probably have forgotten how to speak. “All right, Meesha. Would you like to read your list out for everyone?” Meesha picks up her piece of paper and, without any hesitation whatsoever, starts to read, “Wealthy, good-looking, strong, sexy, and a big dick.” Simon chuckles, his bleached teeth glowing against his brown skin. “I take it you mean you want him to have a big dick rather than be a big dick.” Meesha laughs uproariously. “Yes, yes, that’s what I meant.” “Funny, sounds like she was describing the latter to me,” Jay whispers conspiratorially. Sounds like she was describing you, I think. Although I have no clue if the “big dick” part is accurate. Slumping back in my seat, I mutter to myself, “Remind me why I paid eighty euros for this?” I must have said it louder than I thought, because Simon Silver’s gaze lands on me. “Hello! The brunette over there in the third row wearing blue, would you like to go next?” Oh, God, no. It’s happening. I’m the singled-out singleton. Voice don’t fail me now. “Not particularly,” I mumble. “I’m sorry, could you speak up?” I sit up straighter. “I’d rather not.” “Oh, come on. We’re all friends here,” says Simon. “A lot of what we’re going to work on today will be about confidence building. And what better way than to do a bit of public speaking, eh?” “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” I rub anxiously at my neck, so roughly I’ve probably left a big red mark. Just as Simon’s about to make further efforts to convince me, Jay comes to my rescue. “My friend’s a little shy. How about I go instead?” All of a sudden Simon becomes aware that there’s a man in the audience. Shock, horror. And he doesn’t seem too pleased about it. “But of course. Go ahead,” he says, a wary glint in his eye as he gestures for Jay to stand up. Jay stands, his eyes...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 13 “I got asked to eat with about ten different chicks. One started squeezing my bicep, and another actually pinched my ass.” “Oh, God, lucky you. Okay, I suppose we don’t have to eat here if it’s all too much for you.” Jay raises an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Watson?” “Why, I do believe it is, Holmes.” My grin couldn’t get any wider. “Fine. We’ll eat here, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” When we enter the restaurant, I can practically feel the eyes on us like laser beams. Jay makes sure that we get a table only big enough for two in the far corner of the room. A waiter comes along quickly to take our orders and then leaves just as swiftly. “Ah, I’m starving. I hope the food comes soon,” I say just before the blonde Jay had been partnered up with appears at the table. “Hey, mind if I join you?” she asks. Jay coughs. “Sorry, Joanne, but I don’t think there’s room.” “Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage to squeeze myself in somewhere,” she tells him with a wink. “We’ve already ordered, and I actually came today to support my friend, Matilda. So, if you don’t mind….” Her expression sours. “Right, well, I apologise for interrupting.” There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence after she leaves, so I occupy myself by unfolding my napkin and placing it on my lap. When the quiet becomes too much to bear, I make a joke. “You know what, single men should crash these things all the time. It would be the perfect hunting ground.” “Yeah,” says Jay, but he doesn’t seem much in the mood for conversation. I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his. “Are you okay?” He turns his hand palm up then before lacing his fingers through mine and giving them a tight squeeze. He still hasn’t responded, but he’s giving me some kind of meaningful eye contact. Tingles rush through my veins. A moment later the food arrives, and I quickly pull my hand away. I spend the next while focusing on eating my salmon salad, at the same time berating myself for ever agreeing to let Jay come here. Not only has it been a cringe-fest, but it’s also been a bit of an awkward-fest, too. The second half of the day is less about role-play, and more about sitting and listening to Simon drone on and on. Along the way, I come to the epiphany that I’m never going to become the best version of myself like Simon wants us all to do. The best version of myself got lost somewhere in the past, destroyed by a whole range of experiences. Number one would be seeing my own mother killed in front of me. Number two was spending an entire year as a confused child trying to pull my father out of his grief. Number three was meeting my teenage boyfriend, a boyfriend who then dumped me out of the blue by text after two years together because he decided he was in love with someone else. And the constant underneath all of that is an ingrained fear of taking chances. I’ve lived my entire life at home, with the comfort blanket of my dad as my constant companion. The funny thing is, Jay’s recent presence in my life has made me start to want to take a chance, break free and do something crazy. Consequences be damned. When the day finally draws to a close, I’m exhausted and can’t wait to get home to my bed. It seems that’s not to be, as Jay convinces me to come have a drink with him. He brings me to a pub called the Gypsy Rose, where there’s an old rocker sitting in the corner, strumming a guitar and crooning into a microphone. “So,” I say as I hitch myself up onto a barstool, “this is where you like to spend your time.” “Yeah,” says Jay. “It’s got character.” “Oh, so that’s they’re calling it these days.” The bartender, a surprisingly young and attractive rockabilly type, comes over, and he and Jay do this suave little handshake. “What can I get you two?” “I’ll have a beer,” Jay replies. “And I’ll have a vodka and orange,” I say, avoiding the wine because it will probably be more like vinegar. “So, did you enjoy yourself today?” Jay asks once we’ve been served our drinks. “Uh, yeah. It was very helpful,” I reply, lying through my false teeth. In all honesty, I’m really embarrassed that I paid so much money and came away with nothing but a goodie bag filled with pat advice. Jay chuckles softly as he lifts his beer and takes a long, thirsty swig, his mouth curving in a smile. “So, basically, you thought it was a load of horseshit.” “What? That’s not what I said!” Jay twists on his stool so he’s facing me head on. “Watch me carefully.” He clears his throat before repeating my exact words back at me while shaking his head. “That’s what you did, Watson. Your mouth was saying yes, but your body told me no. Mouths lie, bodies tell the truth.” I groan. “Okay, so I was bored out of my mind for the most part. The role-playing could have been useful if I had been paired with someone better than Miss Paisley Shirt. Even I could pretend to flirt better than her.” “All right, how about we try again now? Pretend I’m some dude you’re into, and you want to chat me up. Go on.” Pretend? Sure, Jason, I’ll pretend I’m into you. “I think I’ve suffered enough for one day, thank you very much,” I reply. Jay tuts. “Chickenshit.” “I’m not chicken — I’m just not in the mood.” “You’re chicken. Come on, Matilda, I’m waiting.” He starts to drum his fingers on the bar to emphasise his point. I know he isn’t going to let up until I do this, so I sit there for a minute, trying to think of an angle. I get up, walk over to the corner, and then walk back, slipping onto the stool again. Jay stares straight ahead, nursing his beer. I cough. “Hello.” He gives me a casual glance, then says, “Hey.” “Do you, uh, come here often?” His chest starts to move up and down in silent laughter. I expect him to drop the whole thing and tell me my line was shit, but he goes with it. “Yeah. Do you?” “No, actually. This is my first time.” A smirk. “Your first time, eh?” God, he really loves his virgin jokes. “Yes. My name’s Matilda. What’s yours?” “Royston. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Matilda,” he replies, offering his hand. I sputter a laugh. “Royston, seriously?” “You got a problem with my name?” I try to keep a straight face. “Nope. None at all.” “Good.” I open my mouth to say something, but I’ve got nothing. I let out a long sigh. Jay laughs. “What’s wrong?” “Ugh, I give up.” Knocking back another gulp of beer, he gets up from his stool. “Okay, you want me to show you how it’s done?” “Eh, yes?” I reply eagerly. “I’ll be right back.” He walks away, and I turn back to the bar, running a finger over the rim of my glass. The stool next to mine squeaks, sliding closer. I feel Jay’s arm touch off mine as he takes my hand in his. He’s all up in my space, and it’s hard to breathe, hard to focus. “Hey,” he murmurs huskily, his gaze boring into mine. “Hi,” I croak. “Great eyes,” he goes on, voice low. “Oh. Thanks.” His gaze wanders down my legs to my feet, and it feels like his mere presence is taking up every inch of my personal space. Normally, if a man did this to me, I’d be running in the opposite direction. But Jay has this way about him that makes me like the touching, as though he is a magnet and I’m a piece of metal. I like the closeness, even though in this role-play we’re supposed to be complete strangers. “Fantastic shoes.” “Thanks. Again.” Now he just keeps looking at me, his eyes flickering back and forth between mine. I get lost in their greenish-brown depths, and his mouth moves closer, close enough so that I can feel his breath on me. My hand is still in his, growing sweatier by the second. His tongue sneaks out to wet his lips, and for a brief moment I forget what we’re doing, because it feels like he might kiss me. “Darlin’,” he breathes softly, and I melt. Involuntarily, I squeeze my thighs together tight, suddenly aching between my legs. A tiny, almost inaudible gasp escapes me. This is it. He’s actually going to do it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls away, giving me a sly grin. “Well, how did I do?” I knock back the last of my drink in order to give myself a chance to recuperate. “Uh, yeah, you did okay. You didn’t really say much, though.” “I never really need to,” he answers smugly. “Well, we mere mortals don’t have that luxury.”...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 14 “Oh, my God, they’re so pretty,” I exclaim, going over to get a better look. Jay puts down his pen, stands up, and walks toward me. “You like my girls, huh?” he murmurs, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “I really do. Are they yours?” “Yep. Jessie was keeping them for me at her place.” “What are their names?” “This one’s Ellen,” says Jay, pointing to the one on the left. “And this one’s Portia. If you haven’t already guessed, I let Jessie name them. She thinks it’s funny.” “Ah. But how can you tell them apart? They both look identical to me.” “They’ve got different personalities. Ellen’s the chatty one. Portia’s the sleepy one.” “I see,” I reply before continuing excitedly, “Are you going to be keeping them here from now on?” “Sure am.” He smiles indulgently, his face close to mine. “I’m so happy! I haven’t had a pet since my cat died.” Jay starts rubbing my shoulder now, the friendly gesture causing a little more than a friendly reaction in me. I want him to slip his hand beneath the fabric and touch me skin on skin. We watch the birds for a minute or two, and then I remember what I really wanted to talk to him about, so I pull my phone from my bag. Bringing up the website again, I show it to him. “So, uh, what’s this all about?” Jay stands back and rubs a hand along his stubble, grinning. “Ah, you saw that, did you? I should have guessed my little Watson would want to solve the mystery.” My little Watson. Yeah, I think I like the sound of that. “So, come on, don’t leave me in anticipation,” I prompt. Jessie pulls off her headphones. “Hey, Matilda,” she says, giving me a casual nod. I quickly say hello back before returning my attention to Jay. “I’m doing a show this Friday. What you saw was an advertisement. Jessie and I spent the whole morning spray-chalking the stencils all around the city.” I go to the fridge and open it up to see what’s for dinner. Surprisingly, it’s stocked full of food. Jay must have gone shopping. That was nice of him. “That’s a really cool idea, but do you think it will be effective? Most people might think it’s just street art.” “Oh, it’ll work,” says Jay. “People love shit that’s all obscure and mysterious. They’ll go just to see what it’s all about. Though my fans will know it’s me the second they see the symbol.” “If you build it, they will come,” says Jessie, sitting cross-legged on her seat like Buddha. She sounds mildly stoned, but I think that’s just her way. “Okay.” Jay laughs. “What does that symbol mean, anyway?” I ask. “Ah, now, that would be telling.” “So many secrets,” I tease, pulling some chicken and a few vegetables out of the fridge. “You’re like a naughty husband who’s having an affair.” Jay grabs a carrot out of my hand and takes a big bite. He stares at me as he chews, swallows. With a wink, he says, “I’m not the cheating kind, but I sure can be naughty.” Well, I don’t doubt that. Turning away, I start preparing my chicken stir-fry, making enough for everyone, including Dad, who should be home any minute. “So,” I begin casually, “am I invited to this show? Or is it too exclusive for the likes of me?” “Of course not, Watson! You’re going to be my guest of honour,” Jay exclaims, all boisterous. I laugh and shake my head before replying jokingly, “Look, Jay, I’m know I’m the image of Emma Watson and everything, but you don’t have to keep going on about it.” I place a cover over the stir-fry to let it simmer. When I turn around, he’s right in front of me, studying my face for what feels like forever. “Nah, you’re more like a brunette Scarlett Johansson,” he murmurs low, penning me in. I harrumph. “Sure, if she had a facial disfigurement.” His hand comes up to cup the side of my face and part of my neck, where my scar lines my skin. My breathing hitches at his warm touch. God, how long has it been since I’ve been touched like this? Have I ever been touched like this? He levels his eyes on me seriously, his thumb brushing back and forth, as he murmurs, “Because this makes you so unappealing.” I don’t have to be a genius to tell he’s being sarcastic. Wow. This is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he’s mentioned my appeal. Should I start getting my hopes up? Jessie makes quick work of ruining the moment by making a little vomiting sound. “Ugh, you two need to get a room,” she says before putting her headphones back on. Jay tugs on my hand and leads me out to the back garden, where the sun is shining down warmly. “I created a magic trick just for you. I think I have it perfected.” “For me? Seriously?” I ask in delight. He hands me what looks like a small beige chicken’s egg, placing it in my upturned palm. “It’s an egg,” I say, stating the obvious. Jay nods. “Just keep watching.” He passes his hand over it once, and it starts to crack, like maybe there’s a tiny chick inside. Then he passes his hand over the top of it again, and it cracks completely open. I gasp with surprise as five gorgeous red and black butterflies with white spots practically explode from the shell, their wings flapping through the air. They flutter all around me, and my heart lifts when one of them comes to sit on my shoulder. “Oh, wow,” I whisper, smiling like crazy and trying my hardest not to move. Another comes and sits on my hand, tickling me and making me giggle. When I look at Jay, his eyes are shining bright under the sun as he soaks up my reaction, his mouth curving ever so slightly at the edges. I’m not even going to ask him how he did it. I’m locked in his spell, and I don’t want to break it. “That was amazing,” I say to him when the butterflies have all finally flown away. Stepping closer, he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Look at those eyes, so full of wonder. I love your reactions. They make me feel like I can reclaim the childhood I never had.” His heartfelt words make my throat tighten with empathy. I feel like hugging him, but I can’t. It would be…too much. Just then I hear Dad come in the front door, and I stumble back, hurrying to the kitchen. Jay follows me. When I step inside, Dad’s already saying hello to Jessie, who introduces herself as a friend of Jay’s. I dish up a plate of stir-fry for everyone, and we sit down to eat at the table, chatting about light topics. After dinner Dad excuses himself to his room, where he plans to start reading the novel they’re discussing in his book club this month. Jay suggests the rest of us watch a movie in the living room. I go to change out of my work clothes while he and Jessie decide on a DVD. When I come back down, they’ve selected a romantic comedy called Away We Go that I bought a couple of years ago when it first came out. I can’t remember it all too well, but I do recall it being about a couple who are expecting a baby. An odd choice for these two, but I go with it anyway. Jessie is camped out on the armchair, so I sit next to Jay on the sofa, a nice safe distance between us. I hug a cushion to my chest as Jay presses “play” on the DVD. The film starts off with a quiet night time scene, and I relax into my seat. Unfortunately, my relaxation lasts about five seconds before I realise that the first scene is a sex scene. A scene where the man is going down on the woman, to be precise. Immediately, I can feel my cheeks heat up, even though it’s supposed to be kind of funny. “Oh, now look at this,” says Jessie, pointing at the screen. “He’s doing it all wrong. He needs to take a few tips from me. I’m the queen of cunnilingus.” Jay cocks an eyebrow at her and smirks, his arm resting behind me along the top of the couch. “I’d wager I’m better,” he says in a low, challenging voice. Jessie snorts long and loud. “You wanna bet? I’d win hands down.” Christ, could this conversation end, please? “Okay, how are we going to play this? We need a judge,” says Jay, laughing, and I really hope he’s joking. Jessie waggles her brow at me. “You want the position, Matilda?” I practically choke on a cough. “I think I’ll have to decline.” “Scared?” Jay asks, tilting his head to me with a wicked grin. I get defensive. “No, I’m not scared. Besides, you need experience to be a judge….” Oh, God, did I just say that? Where the hell is my filter? “What?” Jessie spurts, practically jumping out of her seat. Suddenly, I’m regretting agreeing to watch a movie with these two. “Please tell me you’re joking!” My face has become so red I might as well be a tomato. “Forget I said anything,”...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 15 It’s all for the best, though. Jay was probably just feeling horny, and I was the only female around. The next morning I would’ve been slotted right back into the friend zone, and Jay would move on with his life while I wallowed in lovesickness. I gave up a night of pleasure to save my feelings in the long run. On Thursday I meet up with Michelle for lunch and ask her if she wants to come with me to Jay’s show. Her answer is an enthusiastic yes. When I go home that night, I log in to my online dating site for the first time in a while. It seems that ever since Jay moved in, I haven’t been obsessively checking my messages like I used to. Funny that. I’ve got about five PMs from different guys. Only one of them seems decent. His name is Owen, and he’s got jet-black hair and blue eyes. A nice combination. Still, I can’t help comparing him to the golden-brown hair and hazel eyes that have been starring in my dreams of late. Owen works as a chef in a city restaurant, one I’m actually quite fond of, so that scores him some definite points. He’s two years older than I am and lives in the city centre. Deciding to be brave, and also to take my mind off my stupid crush on Jay, I write Owen a message back. Hi, Owen, Thanks for writing to me. I actually LOVE your restaurant! It’s such a coincidence that I eat there all the time. Anyway, to answer your question, yes, I’d like to meet up. Let me know what day and time suits you. Matilda. There. Short and sweet. Just what the doctor ordered. My heart pounds as I hit the “send” button. I haven’t met up with anyone from the Internet before. I’ve thought about it a lot, forever telling myself that next week would be the week. In the end I kept putting it off for so long that it became a huge thing, and I had built up this unbreakable psychological barrier. Now I’m deciding to face my fears; otherwise, I’ll just end up spending my days admiring Jay from afar, and that’s way too pathetic, even for me. The next night I dress ambitiously for Jay’s show in a dark purple body-con dress and heels. I do my hair in waves clipped to the side and hanging over one shoulder. Owen still hasn’t messaged me back, and I admit it’s rubbed me up the wrong way slightly. I keep telling myself that he’s probably just busy. The work of a chef is notoriously stressful. Anyway, perhaps I’ll meet somebody interesting tonight. I’m studying my reflection in my full-length mirror, about to put in some stud earrings, when Jay appears in my doorway. He watches me for a minute as I stare at him through the glass. “Don’t wear the earrings,” he says. “Why not?” Something mischievous dances in his eyes. “Just don’t.” “Weird request, but all right. You look good, by the way.” He’s wearing a black shirt and matching slacks. They make him look dark and mysterious and, if I’m being honest, a little like a sexy version of the Devil. “You look better,” he replies, and I catch my breath at the compliment. “I have to leave early to bring some stuff to the venue. You and Michelle are going for drinks first, right?” “Yeah. The same bar as last week. It’s not too far from your show, so we should be able to walk from there.” Jay whistles. “In those shoes? I don’t think so.” I laugh. “I think that might be a song, you know. Michelle and I once went to see this drag queen perform on Capel Street and the guy sang it.” Jay gives me an indulgent look before rummaging in his pocket. “Get a cab. Here’s some cash.” He places the money down on my dresser, but I have no intention of taking it. His eyes trail up and down my body before he tells me he’ll see me later, then disappears from my doorway just as quickly as he appeared. Drinks with Michelle are as colourful as they usually are. She tells me all about her escapades with the man from last week and how he ended up tying her to his bedpost. It wasn’t as sexy as it sounds, though, because apparently the ties kept coming loose. The guy then proceeded to have a hissy fit because his attempt at bondage wasn’t working. I laugh into my white wine, and after one more drink we make our way to Jay’s show. He was right about one thing — I shouldn’t have walked there in my heels. When selecting my footwear earlier, I hadn’t made concessions for the cobblestones lining the alleyway that leads to the venue. I’m thinking I’ll have a few pretty blisters to contend with come tomorrow. Surprisingly, there’s a long queue outside extending onto the next street. Definitely an excellent turnout for something he’d only started advertising five days ago. Jay told me that he’d put mine and Michelle’s names on the guest list, so we wouldn’t have to wait to get in. Michelle takes great pleasure in the fact that we get to walk past those forming an orderly line and straight to the entrance. The bouncer checks that our names are on the list and then lets us both in. A pretty girl with short purple hair comes up to us just after we’ve left our coats in the cloakroom. “Hey, are you Matilda?” “That’s me.” “Great. Come with me. Mr Fields wants you sitting in the front row.” “Oh,” I say warily. “Why’s that?” She shrugs. “Not sure. I’m just following orders.” The venue is underground, and the bare brick walls are all done in colourful spray paint. One side of the room is dark, depicting fire and demons, while the other side is bright and full of heavenly angels. It’s all seated, too, with rows and rows of old-style velvety cinema chairs. Cooler than any place I’ve ever been. Even some of the people here look too cool to be real, all tattoos, piercings, and unusual clothes. There are a couple of average-looking people as well, so I don’t feel completely out of place. The purple-haired girl tells us she’ll get us whatever drinks we want from the bar, and yes, we both opt for more wine. “Wow, we’re really being given the VIP treatment tonight,” Michelle gushes, running her hands over the velvety armrests on either side of her. “I know. Seemingly it pays to have an illusionist as a housemate. Who would have guessed?” Michelle gets a sneaky gleam in her eye when she asks, “Does it pay in any other ways, too?” “You’ll have to be more specific,” I say just as the purple-haired girl returns with our drinks before hurrying back to the bar. “Specifically, in the way of male and female relations,” she elaborates. “Of course not!” I sputter far too defensively. “Oh, but you wish it did. I know you, Matilda, and I know you like him. It’s written all over your face. Why don’t you go for it? It’s the whole reason I backed off last week, you know.” Really? That’s why she backed off? She’s an even better friend than I give her credit for. Sighing, I lean my chin on my fist. “It’s not that simple. What if I came onto him and he was all like, uh, could you please not? I’d be mortified, and I’d still have to suffer living with him afterward. It’s too risky.” “Life is risky. And anyway, I highly doubt he’d say that. It’s more likely he’d be all, yes, please continue.” I laugh at her, and she smiles. She always manages to make me feel better, even if she was the one who brought up the subject in the first place. At least she repairs her own damage. We drink some more wine, and then the venue starts to fill up. And I mean, there isn’t an empty seat in the house. There’s even a bunch of people who didn’t manage to get seats standing by the bar. I get a fright when someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to see Jessie crouched behind me. “Just thought I’d come say hi,” she says to me with a smile. “Hi, Jessie, this is my friend Michelle.” Jessie gives Michelle an appreciative look up and down, and a head nod. “Hey.” “Hello,” says Michelle with a grin. Jessie’s all dressed in black, the same as Jay had been, and it makes me wonder if she’s going to be a part of the show. Before I have the chance to ask her, she tells me she has to get going and hurries backstage. Suddenly, every light in the house blows out, and we’re all plunged into darkness. What the hell? It’s so dark that I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. My heart beats fast, and electricity seems to fill the air. Ironic, no? Excitement clutches at my lungs. For some reason, I don’t think this is a fault with the electricity. A track starts up, blasting through the speakers, and I immediately recognise the song: “Till I Collapse” by Eminem. What? I had a rap phase. The lights don’t come back on, though. A few seconds into the song, a spotlight lands on the stage, illuminating Jay from the feet up, as though he’s appearing out of thin air. My pores tingle with the heavy beat. His black shirt from earlier is gone, replaced by a simple black wife-beater vest. His muscular arms and tattoos are on full show,...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 16 He hovers there for a second before lowering back to the stage. When the clapping dies down, he reaches to pull the mask to the back of his head again, but when he reveals his face, it’s not Jay at all. It’s Jessie. She’s almost the same height, with similar tattoos, but not the same build. And she’s definitely not Jay. Where the hell did he go? Twelve The spotlight travels from Jessie on the stage, down the centre of the audience, to the back of the room. Every single person’s gaze follows the light until it lands on Jay, standing casually at the back of the audience, holding Ellen and Portia, his two white doves. He waves to the audience, and then the spotlight goes out completely, plunging us all into darkness again. A second later it comes back on, this time shining on the far right-hand corner of the stage, where Jay is now standing, sans doves. Okay, how on earth did he get there so quickly? It seriously can’t be possible. My mind is boggled. The song has ended now, and the crowd is cheering louder than ever. When it quietens down, Jay looks to his wrists, where the broken handcuffs still hang. “You know what,” he says, looking to the audience, “these are beginning to chafe a little. Anybody got the key?” “You swallowed it,” somebody shouts at him from the back. Jay scratches his head and looks confused. “Oh, yeah, I did, didn’t I? Shit, that was a bad move. Hey, are you all sure none of you have it?” His eyes land on me, and I jump a little. Up until this moment, I’d felt invisible from my place amid the crowd, but Jay’s gaze alone makes me feel illuminated. “Hey, you in the purple,” he calls to me with a knowing smile. “Have you got a key?” I shake my head no, already planning to give him an earful later for singling me out, when I hear something jingle. I reach up to the side of my face, all of a sudden aware of a heavy object pulling on my earlobe. My hand comes to the object, and I feel it. Oh, f**k me. This can’t be the key for the handcuffs. He swallowed it, or at least that’s what it looked like. It’s not possible for it to have gotten on my ear. It just isn’t. The spotlight lands on me, along with every pair of eyes in the place, as I feel the key hanging from an earring hook on my ear. Jay makes his way off the stage and comes toward me. I lift the key up for everyone to see, and they all start clapping. Jay stands in front of me, holding his cuffed wrists out as he bends down and asks, “You wouldn’t mind doing the honours, would you?” His breath whispers over my skin and I swallow hard, starting with his left wrist and unlocking the cuff. It falls free as I go to undo the other one. Jay comes closer and gives me a quick, light peck on the cheek, whispering, “Thanks, Watson.” His mischievous grin is still in place. “You told me not to wear earrings. You planned this,” I whisper in reply. “Did I?” he asks before turning and hopping back up onto the stage. I glance at Michelle, and she’s wearing a delighted smile. “Okay,” says Jay as he walks to centre stage. “I guess you all read some stuff about me in the press lately.” “Fuck The Daily Post!” some drunken man shouts from the bar. Jay chuckles. “Yeah, f**k ’em.” “You can f**k me any time, Jay!” a very enthusiastic woman yells. That’s the thing about heckling, even the positive kind. Once one person does it, they all start. Jay looks over to where the woman is sitting with her friends. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and gives her a flirty wink. On the inside I’m like, That’s my flirty wink. Jealousy rears its ugly head, but I stuff it away. I imagine half the people in here want to make Jay the same offer that woman did. My jealousy would be futile. Jay continues, clearing his throat, “But in all seriousness, I want to thank each and every one of you for not believing the lies, having faith in me, and coming here tonight.” There are shouts of encouragement and clapping. Jay waits for it to trickle out before going on, “So, I should probably move onto the next part of the show. As Mr Jerry Burke, who has the good grace to write me truly delightful ten-page ranting emails every week would say, ‘I’m gonna use my godlike super mind-reading skills to mess with your heads a little.’” Laughter rings out, and I wonder if Jerry Burke is a real person. If he is, it sounds like Jay attracts his fair amount of crazies. “Okay, I need three volunteers, and my nice assistant Jessie here is going to pick them for me.” Jessie walks out from the side of the stage and heads for the audience. She walks along the rows and selects two women and a man. After she leads them up onto the stage, Jay greets each of them before handing them a white sheet of card, an envelope, and a Sharpie pen. He tells one of the women to write down the name of her favourite band, the other woman to write down the title of her favourite book, and the man to write the title of his favourite painting. “Once you’ve written them down, I want you to put the cards inside the envelopes and seal them up,” says Jay, going over to the corner of the stage and returning with a small metal lock box. It’s got a narrow slit opening on the top, and each of the volunteers slides their envelopes in. Jay carries the box right to the edge of the stage and sets it down. “I’m going to leave this here where you all can see it. For the duration of the show, nobody’s going to be able to touch it, so there’s no way I can find out what’s been written. However, I promise you that by the end of the night I’ll have figured out what’s inside those envelopes. Deal?” he says, offering his hand and shaking with all three of them in turn. They go back to their seats, and Jay carries on with more tricks. The first involves getting a man up onto the stage and hypnotising him into believing he’s gained the superpower of invisibility and can do whatever he wants with no consequences. He heads straight for the bar, helping himself to free drinks and some money out of the cash register. After Jay has woken him up from the hypnosis and thanked him, the man returns to his seat. I think he must remember what he did because he looks a little sheepish. Jay walks to one side of the stage and calls on one of the women who’d volunteered with the envelopes earlier. Her names is Rhona. “Hey, Rhona,” says Jay. “I’m feeling kind of generous right now and I want to give you a little gift. Would you take a look in your purse for me? See if there’s anything in there that wasn’t before?” Rhona looks excited and nervous all at once as she rummages through her red leather handbag. A moment later she pulls out a small brown envelope. “Shall I open it?” she asks shyly. “Be my guest,” says Jay, coming to sit at the edge of the stage, resting his chin casually on his hand. “Show us all what’s inside.” I crane my neck to see as she holds up what looks like a pair of tickets. “It’s concert tickets for Kings of Leon,” she exclaims. “Is that the same band you wrote down on the card and put in this box?” he asks, pointing to the box in question. “Yes,” she answers happily. “Amazing! Wow, thank you.” Jay stands. “My pleasure. Okay, that’s one down, two to go. You know what, it’s way too f**king hot in here. I think I’ll take this off.” He proceeds to remove the vest he’s wearing, and the place practically erupts with whistles and catcalls. Some of them come from Michelle sitting right beside me. I eye her and she mouths what?, unable to keep the smile off her face. God. Nobody looks better than Jay without a shirt on. He’s turned with his back to the audience, and at first I think it’s just more tattoos, but it’s not. There, painted onto his skin, is an exact replica of The Scream by Edvard Munch. Applause mixes with the catcalls. “What is it?” Jay asks playfully. “Is there something on my back?” The man who’d volunteered stands up. “You’ve got my favourite painting drawn on you, the one I wrote down on the card.” His jaw is slack, like he can’t believe it. “That’s two down now,” says Jay, looking to the final volunteer where she’s sitting in the second row, a woman named Becky. “I’m coming for you next, Becky, so watch this space.” She giggles, and Jay hops over to the other side of the stage, preparing his next piece. I know it’s the obvious question, but how the hell does he do it? He’d have to have that painting drawn on him in advance of the show, which means he needed to know the answer before any of the volunteers were ever asked the question. Either he somehow planted the idea in the man’s head to write down that painting, or he really does have godlike super minding-reading skills, as Jerry Burke, the nutty fan claims. As it turns out, guessing the favourite book of the last volunteer is the big finish. Jay went off stage for a moment, and now he walks back on, scratching his head. I’ve come to learn that this...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 17 “Because you made me a part of your act and never gave me any warning! You know I don’t like the attention.” Now he wears a cynical, amused expression. “You loved it.” “I did not,” I say firmly, folding my arms. He steps closer now, looming over me, and he smells incredible. I hate that he smells incredible. His voice dips low when he takes my chin and lifts it so that I have to look him in the eye. “You f**king loved it.” I pull away quickly. “Whatever. I’m going to get a drink.” “Help yourself,” he says, following me as I locate a bottle of wine on a table full of drinks and start to pour. When I sit down at the table with everyone else, Jay slides in beside me, a whiskey in his hand. He still hasn’t gone to clean up or put a shirt on. Is he trying to kill me? Jessie introduces me and Michelle to everyone else. They include Ger, the sound and light guy; Ricky, the stage coordinator; and Sharon, props and wardrobe. I feel Jay scoot a little closer as the conversation drifts around me. I talk to Sharon for a while, interested in how she got into the whole wardrobe business. I’m actually a little jealous of her, to be honest. She has my dream job. Although Jay doesn’t have too many complicated outfit changes, so perhaps it would be my dream job if he decided to wear something a little more flamboyant. Let’s just say, if John Barrowman’s stylist up and quit, I would sell my left kidney to get the gig. “You still pissed with me, Watson?” he asks after a while. I roll my eyes and give him a smile as I slur, “No. I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” “Are you drunk?” Holding up my thumb and forefinger, I answer, “Just a little bit.” He chuckles. “I’d better keep my eye on you, then, huh?” I don’t answer. Can’t. There’s quiet between us before I break it. “I just don’t get how you can do all that stuff. I mean, how did you make the fire rise from your hands?” Jay tilts head to me. “I’d like to hear your theory.” I rub at my chin. “My guess would be that you had tubing somewhere on your body containing lighter fluid, and then flint somewhere else that helped you light it. But the flames were so big, so it had to be more powerful than that.” His eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles at me. “You know what my secret is?” he whispers and I perk up, eager for him to actually reveal something. “I have an obsessive fixation with obscure science. Most people only care about the final result. They don’t think about the way things work. They don’t consider how their laptop manages to perform its tasks or how their fridge keeps their food cold — they just want a functioning computer and fresh food. That’s how I get ahead. I think about what I want to do…for example, make fire rise from the palms of my hands…and I work my way backward. Or sometimes I’ll be reading and come across an interesting fact, and I’ll come up with a way to make it work to my advantage.” “I don’t think it’s as simple as you’re making out. Most people wouldn’t be able to do what you do, even if they did think backward. I know I couldn’t.” “Well, I couldn’t design and make a dress that fits perfectly, so we’re even,” he says, clinking his glass with mine. I cross my arms, happy with his compliment. Not many people know about my dressmaking, mainly because it’s such a solitary occupation, so it’s nice to get some props for my efforts. I imagine if my mum was still alive, she’d be proud that I’d continued on the skill she gave to me. “So, tell me more. I want to know some obscure facts.” “Well,” says Jay, lifting my hand and turning it over. He starts to run his finger along the veins on the inside of my arm, and I have to cover up a tremble. “If I said you were 60,000 miles long, I’d technically be telling the truth, because there are 60,000 miles of blood vessels inside your body.” I scrunch up my mouth. “Really? Don’t tell me that. Now I feel squeamish. That’s a lot of veins.” His eyes travel to my mouth, and he lifts his thumb to smooth out my lips. “You exchange more germs when you shake a person’s hand than when you kiss them,” he murmurs. “Oh,” I whisper, having one of those crazy moments again when I think he might kiss me. Like always, though, he doesn’t. He seems to welcome the distraction when Jessie suggests that we all play a game of strip poker. “Ha! No way am I playing that with you two,” I say, pointing between her and Jay. “I’ve seen you both shuffle a deck of cards, and it’s frightening how fast you are.” “That’s right,” Jessie replies, grinning in Michelle’s direction. “I’ve got lightning fingers.” Because I’m drunk, I imagine little lightning bolts shooting out of her hands, and it makes me chuckle to myself. I stop quickly, though, not wanting to come across like a creepy “laugh at my own private jokes” creeper. Jay nudges me with his shoulder. “When have you seen me shuffle a deck?” “In those videos I watched of you, remember?” He seems pleased with that answer. “Be honest — you watch them every night before you go to sleep, don’t you?” “I do not! I only watched them that one time.” “Liar. You love watching me do my tricks. They’re like your own little version of porn. I bet you have a f**king great time watching my videos…in bed.” I push him now, hard. “You’re trying to embarrass me, and it’s not going to work.” “It’s already working.” He laughs, and I narrow my gaze at him. Quickly, I move and go to sit by Michelle, deciding I’ve had enough of the torture of interacting with Jay for one night. The tiny after-party progresses, and soon I’ve lost count of how many drinks I’ve had. There’s loud music on, and I’m dancing with Michelle in the middle of the room. We’re doing a waltz to a song that was created for booty popping. My drunken brain is pleased by the irony. Our heels have long since been discarded as we prance around, barefoot. Michelle leads, dipping me down so low that my head collides with the floor. She pulls me back up quickly, laughing and apologising as I rub at my skull. I’m too drunk to feel the pain, though, which is a plus. “Shit, sorry!” she exclaims past furious giggles. “That’s it, sir!” I shout loudly in pretend outrage. “I no longer wish to be your dance partner.” “Oh, no, but the cotillion is coming up next,” she replies, putting on a distraught face. “You fool, you can’t dance a cotillion with just two people. Are you mad?” I’d like to point out that we’re both currently putting on fake English accents, like we’re in a Jane Austen novel. “You two are really f**king weird, do you know that?” Jessie says, holding a beer in her hand. Jay has been sitting in the same spot for most of the night, nursing the same drink and watching us with a smile. I can’t tell if he’s amused or just laughing at us, though. At least he finally decided to go and put a shirt on. The other members of his stage crew have gone home, so it’s just the four of us left. “I think it’s time to call it a night,” he says, standing and collecting my things for me. “Jessie, you and Michelle get cabs, okay? You’re too drunk to drive. I’ll take care of Matilda.” “Matilda would just love for you to take care of her, Jay,” Michelle says, trying to sound sexy in her drunken state but just sounding like she’s got a bad cough. I scowl at her, and she almost chokes on her laughter. Ignoring her, Jay helps me into my coat and slides my handbag onto my shoulder. Then he grabs my shoes and goes down on one knee to help me into them, his warm touch on my foot making me think of the phrase “hot and bothered.” Yeah, that’s what he makes me. I wriggle all the while, giggling drunkenly and making his job more difficult. He finally gets me out the door and into his car, which is parked at the back of the venue. Ushering me into the passenger seat, he straps on my seatbelt, and I’m vaguely aware of his knuckles brushing over my cl**vage, but I’m not sober enough to enjoy it. Damn you, wine! I’m drunker than I’ve been in quite some time. I think the last time I was this shit-faced was during my eighteenth birthday celebrations, where I spent half the night face down on Michelle’s couch, unable to remember how I’d gotten there. Actually, no, I do remember. It was a bottle of cheap vodka from Aldi that got me there. When we arrive at the house, Jay helps me out of the car, his arm around my waist as he walks us to the front door. He uses his key to let us in, and I walk to the stairs, holding onto the banister as I take my shoes off and fling them away. “Stupid painful spikey things,” I yammer on, my...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 18 “Morning.” I move to walk by him, but his arm flies out, blocking me. “Hey, what’s wrong? You seem off.” I wipe my forehead and drink some more water from the bottle I’m holding. “I’m tired. I just cycled about twelve miles.” Jay whistles. “Did you work it off?” “Huh?” “Whatever you were trying to work off,” he elaborates, reaching out and running a finger down my neck. “Sweat suits you,” he murmurs, almost absently. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but it was a good workout. Did you say something about breakfast? I’m starving,” I prattle on, and walk around him, going inside. He sets a plate down in front of me, and it looks delicious. My stomach rumbles at the sight. “You’re being awkward, and you need to stop it,” he tells me firmly. “I’m not being awkward.” “Oh, yes, you are, and I’m not having it. So you tried to kiss me last night. You were drunk, Watson. It’s fine. Everybody gets a little kissy when they’ve had a few.” He winks. “Yeah, well, I apologise for getting kissy,” I say, scowling, and he laughs, pulling a chair out and sitting down. My phone goes off then, vibrating with a message. I pull it out of my pocket to find it’s actually an email alert. I check it out and see that it’s from Owen, the chef. He responded to my message! My heart lifts. He wasn’t avoiding me like I thought. A smile shapes my lips as I read what he’s written. He wants to meet up today for lunch. Oh, wow. That’s so soon. Then again, what with the current Jay situation, it’s probably the ideal distraction. “What are you grinning like a fool for?” Jay asks as he chews. I send Owen a quick response telling him I’ll be there and then slide the phone back in my pocket. All the while I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I can’t believe I’ve agreed to meet up with a stranger. “Uh, I just agreed to go on a date,” I reply shakily. “Today.” Jay doesn’t say anything for a while, just silently watches me while he eats. “Is this an online thing?” “Yeah.” “You should let me check out his profile, make sure he’s not some creep.” “Eh, I think I can determine if he’s a creep or not on my own. And he’s not. He’s a chef.” “Well, la di f**king da. I still want to check him out, Matilda. He’s a stranger. It’s not safe. On second thought, why don’t I be your escort?” I laugh out loud at that. “Okay, I’ll just ask my dad along, too, make it a big family day out,” I reply with sarcasm. “You’re not escorting me, but if you like we can exchange numbers, and I’ll call if anything goes wrong. We’re going to be in a public place, though, so even if he is weird, I can easily slip away.” I don’t bother to point out that Jay was a stranger to me not too long ago. In fact, I still don’t know that much about him. “Fine, give me your phone,” he says, holding his hand out for it. I hand it to him, and he pulls his own out. As he programmes his number in, I carry on eating my breakfast. He’s taking a little long, though, and when he gets this smug look on his face I know he’s snooping. “Give me my phone back now, Jay,” I say, reaching across the table. I swipe for the phone, but he holds it out of my reach. “This guy is a complete douche, Watson. He talks to you like he’s trying to arrange a business transaction.” I jump out of my seat now, determined to get my phone back. I grab it, but he pulls on it, swinging his arm around, and I go flying, landing smack bang on his lap. “Give it back, Jay. You’re being invasive,” I plead, getting upset. I really don’t like him reading my messages. It was funny at first, but now it feels like he’s laughing at me. Frowning, he hands me the phone, and I swiftly jump out of his lap. “I actually find him very gentlemanly compared to most of the perverts who’ve written to me,” I sniff. The hangover has me extra emotional. “And just because some of us find it more difficult than others to meet someone, it doesn’t mean you have to go making fun.” Jay leans across the table, taking my hand in his. “Hey, I was only joking around.” His thumb rubs over the inside of my wrist, and I pull away. The contact makes me feel too much. “Whatever. You were being mean, and you know it.” “That wasn’t my intention, but I’m sorry all the same. God, you’re too f**king cute, aren’t you?” His voice is low, making something stir deep in my belly. “Stop trying to console me with fake compliments.” “You’re cute, Matilda. Real f**king cute. Now, can we backtrack a second? Who says I don’t find it just as difficult to meet people as you do?” I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. I doubt you’ve ever gone through a dry spell in your life.” “Just because women approach me a lot doesn’t mean I always go for them. We all find it hard to meet someone who fits us. If you hadn’t guessed from my occupation, I’m not exactly normal.” I stare at him, surprised by how he just opened up. He’s getting serious now, and it’s making me feel weird. I want to go and give him a hug and make friends, but I don’t have the courage. Instead, I glance at my watch and make like I need to go get ready. “Okay, well, I’m sorry for insinuating that you have it easy, Jay. Thanks for breakfast. I’m going to take a shower.” I leave the room, and I can feel his eyes on me the entire time. Selecting an outfit for my date is harder than I anticipated. I try to call Michelle for advice, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. I suppose she’s probably trying to sleep last night off. So I’m on my own. It’s times like this that I could do with a female parent. I settle on a pleated pastel blue skirt that reaches past my knees and a white short-sleeved blouse that buttons up to the neck. The look is very fifties preppy, and I finish it off with a pair of white and navy boat shoes. I blow-dry my hair, curling the ends and putting it up in a high ponytail. I’m feeling confident that I look good. I just hope that Owen is impressed. When I come downstairs, Jay and Dad are in the living room, chatting. I step inside, and their conversation quietens. “Where are you off to, chicken?” Dad asks, smiling, his legs crossed as he lounges back in his armchair. Scratching at my arm nervously, I answer, “I have a date.” “A date? Well, isn’t that just wonderful. You look very pretty.” I give him a small grin. “Thanks, Dad.” Jay’s been staring at me silently the whole time. I hitch my bag up on my shoulder and turn to leave. “I’ll walk you out,” he says then, hopping up from his seat and following me out. I walk to the door and step outside before turning to face him. He places his hands on my shoulders and looks down at me, studying my face. “Don’t be nervous. The douche chef is lucky you’re giving him the time of day. Tell yourself that. Repeat it in your head over and over. Be the confident Matilda who’s hiding in there somewhere, the one who never stopped smiling,” he tells me, his voice a little strained. I take a deep breath, and his words actually do make me feel more confident, like I can handle this. “I’ll try. Thanks, Jay.” “You’re welcome,” he says, then runs his hands over the fabric of my top and teases, “Look at this f**king outfit, so angelic, puts me in a mood to do some corrupting.” I look at him, my mouth hanging open. He leans down and places the softest, most feather-light kiss to my cheek. I put my hand to it as I walk away, heading for the bus stop. God, how I wish it was him I was going to lunch with instead of Owen. Not that there’s anything wrong with Owen. I’m sure he’s not a douche, as Jay puts it. It just seems like all men pale in comparison to the illusionist under my roof. When I get to the restaurant, a stylish bistro, I hesitate outside for about five minutes. My heart is pounding way too fast, and my hands are shaking. I breathe in and out, needing another pep talk from Jay. He’s not here, though, and I have to go inside sooner or later. I’m definitely not going to allow myself to chicken out and leave. When I finally walk in, I spot Owen sitting at a table for two outside on the terrace. Every step feels like a mile as I walk toward him and he lifts his eyes to mine. He stands when I reach the table, coming and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I’m disappointed that it doesn’t give me butterflies like Jay’s kiss did. “You’re Matilda,” he says. “Yeah, I am,” I reply stupidly. He smiles. “I’m Owen.” He pulls out my chair for me, very politely, and I sit. There’s a menu on the table, so I pick it up just to have something to do with my hands. A waiter goes...
Six of Hearts Six of Hearts Page 19 He was definitely lying about the lawnmower, but why? Did he want to interrupt my date, or was he simply bored and felt like making a nuisance of himself? My eyes go to the cubist-looking tattoo on one side of his chest. It’s definitely my favourite of all his ink, and he has a lot of it. It’s so vibrant on his smooth skin, and I have the sudden urge to touch it. His chest is rising and falling slowly. I reach out, and just when my fingertips meet his skin, his hand moves, swiftly grabbing my wrist. I startle, my attention going to his face. His eyes are still closed, his expression relaxed, but then his lips curve in a smile. “What are you doing, Matilda?” he asks in a husky, sleepy voice. Words fail me. He doesn’t let go of my wrist. Now he opens his eyes. “I asked you a question, darlin’.” There it is again. That “dahlin” will be the death of me one of these days. I try to pull my wrist away, but he holds on tight. In fact, he pulls on it, making me lean forward and dragging me closer to that delectable body of his. I suck in a breath. “I came to have a word with you. You almost ruined my date with your stupid messages,” I say, but there’s no anger in my tone. None at all. “Funny, it didn’t look like you came to have a word. It looked more like you came to feel me up in my sleep.” I scowl at him. “I wasn’t feeling you up. I was only going to try to nudge you awake.” He smirks. “Oh, that’s what it was, was it? Come here, then, and we’ll have a word.” Quick as a flash he yanks on my wrist, pulling me down onto the bed with him. He moves me so I’m facing away from him, and then he wraps his arm around my middle so we’re spooning. Spooning! When I marched up those stairs, I never thought this was what would happen. My heart speeds up, and so does my breathing. I can hear it all loud in my ears. “So, go on. Put me in my place,” says Jay, his breath whispering over my neck. “This isn’t how people have words, Jay,” I manage quietly. “It’s not? But this is my favourite way to have words.” “You messaged me on purpose. I know you did. You wanted to be a nuisance because you were bored.” “Something you should know about me, I’m never bored,” he murmurs. “The chance for boredom would be a fine thing, but this f**king brain of mine never stops.” “Then why did you do it?” “I told you, I was looking for the lawnmower.” “The grass hasn’t been mowed.” “I got tired, decided to go take a nap. You must be tired, too. You didn’t get much sleep last night. Let’s nap together.” “I’m not napping with you. I’m still dressed. I haven’t even had the chance to take my shoes off.” I don’t know why that detail seems so pertinent, but it’s what I focus on. Perhaps so I don’t have to focus on his hard chest pushing into my back. He lets out a breath. “Go ahead and take off some articles, then, darlin’. I’m not going to complain.” “Why would I nap with you?” I ask, speaking softly now. “I have a perfectly good bed right next door.” “Because sleeping in a pile is the best way to sleep, and you can’t do that alone. Haven’t you ever read Where the Wild Things Are?” “This isn’t a pile. This is a spoon. And just so you know, it takes more than two people to make a pile.” “Wanna bet?” he asks, and then rolls us swiftly so I end up right on top of him. My body is lying flat along his, and I’m in danger of combusting. I can feel every sculpted inch of him, every hard line. “Now we’re a pile. Go to sleep.” “I can’t sleep like this.” “Stop betting me — you’ll only lose.” He moves his legs between mine and uses his feet to push off my shoes. “And now your shoes are off. You should definitely be able to sleep now.” There are a long few moments of silence. “Jay,” I whisper. “What, honey?” he whispers back, his hand stroking up and down my spine. I nestle my head into the crook of his neck and close my eyes. There’s no point in protesting anymore. I need to admit that this is probably one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Plus, I am pretty exhausted. “I think I like sleeping in a pile.” His answering chuckle vibrates through his chest, lulling me off to sleep. Fifteen When I wake up, I find that I’ve slipped off Jay and am cuddling into his side. My face is still in his neck, and his face seems to be in my hair. Oh, yeah, and I’m straddling his leg. Glancing down at our intertwined bodies, my eyes bug out when I notice his “evening wood.” I can’t stop looking at it. And now I know the answer as to whether or not Jay has a big dick. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say it’s the good answer. Breathing in, I soak up the smell of him, a hint of sweat, a hint of cologne, and something that’s just him. I love how his smell is all over me right now. Who’d have thought I’d finally go on my first ever Internet date and then come home and sleep with another man? It sounds quite adventurous when worded like that. Jay groans. “Quit moving around, Matilda.” His hand goes to my arm and grips it, seemingly to stop me from fidgeting. The heat from his hand makes me melt. “I should go.” He opens his eyes and frowns. “Why?” “Because this is weird.” “It’s not weird. We’re bonding. Lots of animals sleep together in order to bond. Don’t you ever watch the Discovery Channel?” “We’re not animals.” He gives me a devilish grin. “Speak for yourself.” Moving his face to my hair again, he takes in a deep breath. Is he smelling me? Do I smell good or bad? I showered earlier, so I must at least smell okay. He moves his knee that’s between my thighs, and I let out a tiny gasp at the friction. The movement awakens something inside me, something centred right between my legs, and none of us need to have gotten an A in biology to figure out what that something is. His eyes travel quickly to mine, staring intensely when he moves his knee a second time. Sharp pleasure takes hold as I clench my thighs. He does it again, and I whimper. He stares at me, mouth hanging open slightly, eating up the sound. Just like earlier, he grips my body and rolls us, but this time he’s the one who ends up on top. Using his thighs, he makes short work of parting my legs and situating himself between them. Still with our gazes connected, he slowly thrusts forward, his hard c*ck in his lounge pants pushing flush against my sex. His eyes flicker back and forth between mine. “Yeah, this is definitely going to be a problem.” He says it so low it feels like he’s talking to himself. My voice is breathy, more air than sound, when I say, “Jay.” His hands come up to cup either side of my face as he rocks his h*ps forward again. “Matilda.” He builds up a rhythm now, becoming frenzied. I hold onto his big arms, recalling the times I’ve seen him out in the garden doing body weight exercises. He had virtually no equipment, but managed to do so many things using just his body, like a prison workout. I wonder what other things he can do with it. I lick my lips. What does this mean? Is he just horny again, like when he’d suggested going down on me? Or does he really want this? He growls and leans down, taking the bottom lip I just licked into his mouth and biting it — hard. It doesn’t hurt. It feels incredible. Electric. I want him to kiss me now, so badly. Then the front door opens and shuts loudly, my dad’s trademark walk clipping down the hall. Jay goes still as a statue, releasing my lip and pulling back. “Matilda? Are you home?” Dad calls, and my breath leaves me in a rush. “I really should go now,” I whisper, feeling mortified at what I’m doing with my parent just downstairs. It was like I was lost in a dream for a few blissful moments. My dad’s door slamming is what woke me up, and I feel stupid for falling into horny Jay’s trap. He rolls over onto his back, and I get up, slipping my shoes on and hurrying to the door. When I reach it, I glance back at him one last time. He’s lying there, his eyes dark as he watches me, chest heaving, his arousal still blatantly evident through his pants. With great effort I walk out the door, shutting it behind me and calling back to Dad, “Yeah, I’m home.” *** The next morning is different from usual. Jay’s not around, and my breakfast isn’t ready for me like it has been every day since he moved in. In fact, when I pass by his room, I see his bed has been made and he’s nowhere to be found. He must have gone out early. Dad’s sitting at the table, eating toast and drinking coffee, reading the newspaper as always. I grab a yogurt and some fruit, and sit beside him. When I notice the paper...
