5 months earlier
She was already up and dressed when he woke, disoriented, even though he should have been familiar with this room by now. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Six.” Her tights had a golden shimmer, always the suggestion of summer about her body, even though it was April and there was a light frost outside.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he said, coming up behind her, pulling her hair away from her neck to kiss it. He was always gentle, but she hated being crept up on. She stiffened, tugging her dress down. It was a formfitting magenta number with a tie waist, the sort that made her breasts look as though they were meant to be unwrapped.
Rounding the bed, he cut her off on her way to the bathroom. He was aroused and wanted her to know it. She granted him one small press up against her, a brief kiss, and then said, “Sorry. I’d love to linger, but I have to get to work.”
“What time do you start today?” he said, checking his watch.
She never answered questions like this. It didn’t stop him trying though.
“Do you go home first to change?”
If he knew the answer to that, he would know where approximately she lived. As it was, he didn’t know where she worked or what she did, other than that it was low-paid, cash in hand. Whereas, she knew almost everything about him. It wasn’t a fair fight, but she could live with that.
She eased past him to the bathroom, removing her lip gloss from her bag, glancing at the case containing her blade. She wasn’t squeamish, didn’t mind blood, would have made a good doctor had she had the slightest urge to fix anyone.
“You don’t have to dress like that, you know,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “Not now that you’re with me.”
In the mirror, her face clouded. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?” she asked, trying to look hurt.
“Nothing,” he said, darting forward to pacify her. “It’s just that I worry what people think when they see you.”
“You think I look like a whore?”
His face flushed worriedly at the thought of losing sex—the promise of it. She imagined engaging her hip flexors and quads, kicking her leg straight out and upward, connecting her shin to his groin.
The shin delivered the maximum input, had a larger surface area than the foot, so it was harder to miss the target. Whenever she told her students this, they sniggered. But there was nothing funny about it in her opinion.
“No, Ellis. Not at all. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She turned off the mirror light, left the bathroom. “I happen to like the way I look,” she said, her voice squashed, girlish.
He followed her. “So do I, but so does everyone else. That’s all I meant.” He reached for her hand. “I’m just being greedy—want you for myself.”
She acted as though this was the best possible thing he could have said, squirming shyly. “I really do have to go.”
“You’re okay?” he said, stooping to look in her eyes. “We’re okay?”
“Yes. All good.” She sat down on the bed to put on her heels. He still wasn’t convinced that everything was all right, which was exactly where she wanted him to be. “I’ll see you next week then,” she said, tearing herself away, going to the door, deliberately sounding hurt, still.
“Wait. I’ll walk with you.”
With her back to him, she smiled. He never left with her, thought it too risky, but bit by bit his guard was dropping.
“Well, if you’re quick…” She turned around, ruffling her mane of hair, her coat falling open. He stared at her, mesmerized, then recalled she was waiting for him so quickly gathered his things.
She checked the time, tapped her foot. They had five minutes to get outside, else her plan wouldn’t work.
The Neptune Hotel was typically quiet as they went to the elevator, him grabbing for her hand. As it descended, she let him kiss her. He wanted her so badly, but hadn’t worked out that if it hadn’t happened by now, it probably wasn’t going to happen at all. He was thriving on the hunt, the carrot that men like him needed in order to do the slightest thing. Anything to satisfy their ground rule that something had to be in it for them.
“I loved that photo you sent,” he whispered into her hair. “Do you have any more?”
A grainy hazy shot that could have been anyone. Yet was in fact her. It was just easier, less hassle. “Absolutely,” she purred. “I’ll send you something tonight if you’re a good boy.”
“Damn, you’re hot… Did you like the bracelet?”
“Oh, I loved it,” she said, panting as though using all her control not to rip his clothes off. “But you shouldn’t have, Fred. It must have cost a fortune.”
“It did,” he replied, breaking away from her at level two, so his erection could die before they got to reception. “But you’re worth every penny.”
“I can’t keep accepting all these gifts though,” she said, fidgeting coyly with her bag—one he’d bought her last month.
“It’s my pleasure.” He squeezed her hand as they stood side by side, rocking with the motion of the elevator.
“No one else sees what you see in me.” She allowed a drop of emotion to fracture her voice. “It means a lot.”
“It means a lot to me too,” he said, tightening his grip. “You mean a lot.”
“But what about your wife? Hasn’t she noticed what you’re spending? You’re way too generous…” Simpering and sucking up didn’t come easily to her, but she thought she’d pulled it off.
“Don’t worry about her. I’m not. She’s not worth it.”
Outside, the morning air was crisp, salty, the sea audible behind the buildings. She glanced at her watch, but there was no need. She could already see him at the end of the road, walking two dogs.
“Shit!” Fred said, pulling her toward the road. “Let’s go up—”
“What’s wrong?” She held firm, betraying her strength had he been interested, but he wasn’t. He was lowering his head, retreating into his coat.
“It’s Tobias Small,” he hissed.
“So?” She led him forward along the pavement, a reluctant horse. “Who is he?”
“A regular at the golf club.” He was bending his head so far down now she could barely hear his voice. “A massive gossip. Everyone hates him.”
“Wait…” She made him come to an abrupt halt. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me or something?”
He looked at her and then at Tobias, who was almost upon them, dogs’ tongues wagging. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Well, then…” She lifted her head high, continued to walk.
Tobias almost tripped over them, looking at his phone. “Sorry…” Recognition struck. “Oh, hello, mate!” He beamed, his breath visible in the cold air. And then he looked at her, his eye dropping to her breasts. She had kept her coat open deliberately. He moved his mouth to speak, but what could he say?
Fred was struggling too, eyes flitting around. She tugged his arm, her voice low, as though caught out. “We’d better get going.”
They parted ways, the dogs pausing to examine a lamppost. After a few steps, she glanced back as though anxious, knowing he’d still be watching them.
“That was close,” Fred said. “We’ll have to be more careful from now on.”
As they turned the corner, she let go of his arm. “Can I remind you, again, that I’m not actually a hooker?”
“Of course not. But I’m married,” he said, straightening his jacket, running his hands through his hair, “and he’ll tell everyone about this. My wife will find out.”
“I thought you said she’s a waste of space.”
“She is.”
Outside a real estate agency, she went on tiptoes to brush a kiss onto his cheek.
“See you next week,” he said. “I’ll call you.”
Once he was out of sight, she set off quickly, in heels, on ice. She just made the bus on time, which was about to pull away, but the driver saw her skintight magenta dress and stopped for her.
An hour later, she was in another town, in a part that the tourists didn’t come to. It stank of old fishnets, engine oil, seaweed. There was no lighting here, aside from the ones they’d rigged up, none of which were regulated, but no one seemed to notice or care. Every town the world over had a place like this: a dark hole where the crap was thrown.
She was later than usual when she opened the door at the side of the building that was so covered with graffiti the original warehouse sign had been destroyed. Inside, it was grimy, smelled of sweat, synthetic clothing. There was no air conditioning; instead, the fire doors were kept open with bricks. As the first one in, she kicked the brick into place, thinking it was lucky they even had fire doors.
She was mistaken, wasn’t the first one in. Guts, who owned the boxing ring next door—or said he did—was doing weights, forehead gleaming. On seeing her, he smiled into the mirror. “Morning, psycho.”
Everyone called him Guts on account of his bloody history in the ring—she didn’t know his real name, never asked. She went to her fruit crate in the corner where her gear was kept. They didn’t have lockers; no one touched each other’s stuff. She got changed behind the screen, wriggling into her leggings, a baggy T-shirt. Everything was different in here. Out there, they could ogle her all they liked. But no one crossed that line in the warehouse. She never gave them reason to even think about it.
In the gloom, she approached the pull-up bar—a homemade bar on two wooden legs, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t need to be fancy to do its job. Jumping up, she grabbed it, pulling herself up, her chin level with the bar before lowering herself until her elbows were straight.
Guts often stopped what he was doing to watch her. Sometimes, others did too. They wondered how she managed—a little shit like her—to do three sets of twenty reps. Most of them could only do fourteen. That was because they went too fast, trying to show off, their grip sloppy or too wide. They tried to cheat by doing a short range of motion, so they didn’t build the strength.
They all knew she was good at it, but they were too proud to ask her why, never learned her technique. So they would stay at fourteen. What did she care?
Guts knew though. He laughed, shook his head.
She made her way past the treadmill which still wasn’t working, and started rowing again, the machine making a grating noise.
“Got many classes today?” Guts called, a towel around his neck.
“A few.”
“See you next door then,” he said, laughing again before leaving.
In the quiet of the room, she drew herself back and forth, enjoying the momentum of the wires, the worn handles digging into her palms. There was a movement outside, a darkening at the doors as a face appeared that was never good news for anyone.
He didn’t speak to her, didn’t speak to anyone, ever. He always did the same thing, like her, working the room in silence. Everyone knew he was the toughest man around, even though he wasn’t that big. Everyone knew he kept a gun at the bottom of his crate and a blade in his pocket—that he hadn’t ever paid a gym membership in his life because no one could work up the nerve to ask him.
He was wearing a leather jacket with a tiger on the back. At least, that’s what she thought it was, but over the years it had faded and peeled and now it was a mess of claws.
Grunting, he lifted the weights, watching himself in the mirror. She didn’t realize she had stopped rowing until his gaze moved to her and they locked eyes. Looking away, she started to row again, cursing herself. There was a time and place, and it wasn’t here and now. Not yet.