[ Truyện Tiếng Anh] Six Of Hearts

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 ****,” 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 homo***ual 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, ***y, 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 *********. 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 *****pport 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 horse****.”

“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. “Chicken****.”

“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 ****, 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 **** 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 *** 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 ****s 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,”...

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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 ***y 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 ***y 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 cre*** 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 *****ffer 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,...

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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? ****, 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.”

“**** 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...

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“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.

“****, 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 ***y 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 ****-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...

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“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 ***.

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...

Six of Hearts
Six of Hearts Page 20



“He’s not the f**king love of your life, darlin’,” he says, his eyes a little manic. Whoa, I was not expecting this. Okay, subject change needed pronto. I swallow — hard.

“Dad showed me the new article. I can’t believe Harris had the gall to go see your show.”

Some of the previous tension leaves Jay’s body as he backs away from me and shrugs. “I knew she was there.”

“Hold on a second. What?”

“I knew she was there. I’m not a f**king idiot. And besides, the woman stands out like a sore thumb. She’s got these big, ridiculous Botox lips. I’m glad she wrote that article, though. The more defamatory **** she writes, the further she digs herself into a hole.”

I put a hand on my hip and c*ck my head. “You actually want her to write about you?”

“Yep. That way, once the case finally gets to trial, I’ll have a wealth of ammo. Every insulting lie she’s ever written can be used as evidence.”

He’s got this look in his eye that gives me pause, making me wonder if there’s more to this than he’s letting on.

“Do you know her or something? Like, from the past?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Well, I just think it’s weird how she’s so determined to write bad things about you.”

“Perhaps I turned her down one night and she’s got a vendetta,” he jokes.

I open the fridge and start taking out ingredients for dinner while Jay paces the room. I’m sorting through vegetables when I feel the heat of his body behind mine. He braces his hands on the counter on either side of me, penning me in.

“You’re looking particularly pretty today, Watson,” he says in a cheerful tone. “What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken casserole.”

“Sounds delicious,” he murmurs, and it feels like his mouth is closer to my neck now. My entire body goes tense.

“What’s with the new furniture?” I ask, moving so he has to let me out of the prison of his arms.

He scratches his jaw. “Oh, that. Yeah, I got it so I can sit with you while you work.”

“Do you mean sit or chaise lounge?” I say jokingly.

Jay smirks.

“What? That was an excellent joke. I mean, what’s the point of sitting on one of those? They were designed for reclining and looking hot while doing it.”

“Oh, so you think I look hot while reclining. That’s good to know.”

I snort. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“You wish you were full of myself,” he retorts.

I shiver and blush. “I can’t tell if that was the best comeback ever or the worst.”

Jay laughs loudly and gives me a wink before he leaves me to my cooking.

Later that evening, while I’m working on a pink ****tail dress with a diamante detail around the neck, he saunters into room. His hair is dishevelled and his T-shirt rumpled. He looks like he just woke up from a nap. I continue to work as he sits down on his chaise longue and lies back, raising his arms and resting his head on his palms. It makes his T-shirt rise a bit, revealing an inch of smooth, toned skin.

He closes his eyes, like he actually enjoys the rumble of the sewing machine.

“What are you…?”

“Hush.” He holds up a finger. “Just sew, Watson. I like listening to your breathing when you concentrate. I find it very me***ative. It helps me think.”

That puts me in my place. It also makes my heart squeeze. He likes listening to me breathe. That’s just so…romantic. Yeah, I said it. It makes me get fanciful notions about the epic love I’ve always sought but never found.

We stay like this for over an hour. Me sewing and him lying back on his fancy seat, eyes closed but not asleep, just thinking — and listening to me breathe, apparently. Dad comes in to make tea at one point and gives us both a funny look, Jay in particular. Dad’s always hated the noise of my sewing machine, says it gives him a headache. So he obviously can’t understand what Jay’s doing sitting so close to it. As he’s leaving, I think I see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

After a while, Jay sits up and pulls a notepad from his pocket, then starts scribbling something down.

“What are you writing?”

“Be quiet for a second, darlin’. I just got an idea for a new trick, and I need to write it down before I forget.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Putting the fabric I’d been measuring aside, I watch him. I want to ask him about what happened after our shared nap yesterday, but unsurprisingly I can’t seem to think of a way to work dry-humping into the conversation. I really wish he’d bring it up, but he hasn’t so much as mentioned it.

When he’s finished writing, he slots the notepad back in his pocket and flexes his fingers.

“So, what’s the new trick?” I ask.

“You’d need to sign a contract before I could tell you that, Watson. I can’t have you selling all my secrets to old Slugworth, now, can I?”

“Okay, Mr Wonka.” I laugh. There’s a moment of quiet before I say, “Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away.”

“What’s it like in prison?”

Jay lets out a bark of a laugh. “Be honest. You’ve committed some heinous crimes that are about to come to light, and you’re afraid of being thrown in the can. I’m right, aren’t I?” That mischievous look that’s so often on his face is there again.

I raise my hands in the air, replying deadpan, “Okay, you’ve got me. I’m secretly an underground drug lord, and one of my cronies has sold me out to the authorities.”

Jay laughs some more. “You’re funny.” He pauses, and his face sobers. It takes a while before he says anything. “It’s like being locked in a world where violence is God and you’re constantly waiting to become the next victim of its wrath.”

Wow. That was kind of poetic.

“Did you really almost beat a man to death? Is that why you were put in there?”

Jay shakes his head and his eyes grow dark, like he’s remembering the experience. “I was put there for pickpocketing, which, coincidentally, is great training for doing magic. You’ve got to steal stuff right out from under a person’s nose without them ever realising you’re there. I told you I used to pick pockets, didn’t I? Had to. It’s the only way *****rvive on the streets.”

“You did. But Una Harris said you were put away because you beat a man.”

“She’s obviously gotten her wires crossed,” says Jay, a satisfied look passing over his face, and then it’s gone. “I’ve been arrested a few times for getting into fights, so perhaps that’s where she got it from. When you’ve got nothing, you’ll justify many things in order *****rvive, even hurting people.”

The serious look on his face gives me pause, and I’m not sure why, but I feel immense sympathy for him in this moment. I clear my throat and continue speaking.

“So, Una must have seen some of your records from back in America, then.”

“Must have.”

“I don’t get how such a shoddily researched article ever made it to print. Wouldn’t her boss have made sure it was all true before giving the green light to publish it?”

“More lies are printed than truths, Watson. I think we both know that. And perhaps her boss is just as much of a degenerate as she is.”

“A degenerate?” I question curiously.

“She’s not the only one who’s done some snooping. In fact, I probably know more about her than she does about me.”

I get up now and go to sit beside him, asking seriously, “What do you know about her?”

He rubs his chin. “Well, now, let me see. She’s addicted to prescription meds. Oh, and plastic surgery. Her husband divorced her because she had an affair. She lives alone with her pet Chihuahua. She’s abusive towards her housekeeper. She gets a manicure every Friday morning. She attends church every Sunday, you know, to keep up appearances. And, last but not least, she’s been sleeping with her boss on and off for the last sixteen years.”

“What?! Her boss at the newspaper?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Like I said, I’ve been getting my ducks in a row for a while now.”

“Yeah, but you can’t use any of that information in court, Jay. Especially if you came across it illegally.”

Suddenly, I remember the time when he’d gone to speak with that shifty-looking man in the bar after Simon Silver’s seminar. There had been an exchange of envelopes. Was he a private investigator or something else?

“I doubt I’ll need to. This **** always comes out in one way or another, and Una Harris is hiding too much **** to keep buried. Sooner or later it’s going to hit the proverbial fan.”

Again, I get the impression that there’s far more he’s not telling me....