[ Truyện Tiếng Anh] Six Of Hearts

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 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 *****e 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 *****rvive 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 *****ch 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 ***ually 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 *** 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 ***.

“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 ****.”

“You should give Radio Nova a listen. They play some, uh, good ****, too.”

Jay lets out a deep chuckle, and I resist the urge to face-palm. “Oh, yeah? What kind of good ****?”

“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 **** 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
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“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 *** 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 ***y 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



“**** 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 ****head, 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, ****, 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 ***y, 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 ****tail, so I scan the menu above the bar. Damn, why do the ****tails that sound the best always have the most embarrassing names?

**** 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 ****tail, 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-****ing 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 ****s 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. “**** 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 **** 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 ****.”

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, ****ty, 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 ***,” 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 *** 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 ***.”

“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 *****ccessfully 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 ***.”

“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,...