Digging Deeper (19 page)

“Fuck.”

Flick scrambled about on the floor, gathering up the chocolates and putting them back on the table. Two had come out of their wrappers so she popped them in her mouth and stood to find herself facing Beck.

“Hi.” He smiled at her.

Speaking was impossible. She attempted a smile.

“Why do you look like a hamster?”

Flick sucked both chocolates out of her cheeks and into the center of her mouth, chewed frantically, swallowed and a piece of nut lodged in her throat. She began to cough. Beck offered her a glass of punch.

Flick shook her head. “It tastes like rat poison,” she gasped.

Beck pushed his way through to the sink and poured it away, refilling the glass with water.

Flick drank the lot. “Thanks.”

“How do you know it tastes like rat poison?” Beck asked.

“I helped make it and I did try rat poison once when I was a child. Just a lick.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“How’s your bite?”

“Fine.”

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him.
He looked at her with those dangerous eyes and Flick lost her nerve. She picked up a couple of strips of carrot from the dish on the kitchen table.

“Talking of rats has just reminded me I’ve forgotten to feed Hannibal.” She had to get away from Beck before something bad happened.

“You have a rat?”

“Hamster.”

“Can I help?” Beck asked.

She briefly considered getting him to sign a waiver in case Hannibal leapt for his jugular. “Okay. It’s upstairs.”

Beck had his gaze fixed to her backside as she walked up, the temptation to touch almost too much to resist. Her dress was skin tight and he doubted she wore underwear. He wanted to run his fingers down the ribbons. Actually, he wanted to take a pair of scissors to the ribbons.

He followed her into a bedroom. One look at the bed—a four poster draped with acres of translucent voile and a pale pink duvet—and he pictured Flick lying on it, naked, her long legs wrapped round his waist, still wearing those high heels with her hands gripping the headboard. Maybe tied to the headboard. He stifled a groan.

“You live here with Kirsten?” he asked.

“She lives with me. It’s my house. Mine and my sister’s, but she’s away at university. It’s her hamster and it’s not called Hannibal. Its name is Fluffy but it has a lot in common with Hannibal Lecter. It likes human flesh. It’s bitten me every single time I’ve touched it. The little monster lies in the cage, pretends to be dead and the moment I reach in to check, it lunges for me.”

“So you’re not a veterinary nurse specializing in hamsters?”

“No.” Flick blushed.

In the corner sat an elaborate system of multicolored tunnels curving in every conceivable direction to connect several rooms. There were see-through turrets, a maze and even a gym with a seesaw and exercise wheel.

“Wow, hamster paradise,” Beck said.

“Clever marketing strategy. Pet shops sell hamsters for a few quid, but to house them and keep them happy takes an entire week’s wages. This system can be added to ad infinitum. Hamlet to conurbation in the flash of a wallet. But although Hannibal has its own mini-city with every treat imaginable, it would rather live under the floorboards snacking on electric cables—and me.”

Beck liked the idea of nibbling on Flick.

“If it weren’t for the problems a cat would bring, like scratches, nips and fleas, I’d have considered getting one so if the hamster does escape, nature could take its course. The idea of those sharp yellow teeth wandering the house while I’m asleep terrifies me.”

As they approached Hamsterville, Fluffy stood up against the bars of the cage, big brown eyes fixed on Beck, whiskers twitching, looking docile and cuddly.

Flick scowled. “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. It isn’t sweet or cute. Don’t be seduced by those big, dark eyes. It has the heart of a psychopath.”

“I’ve always been a sucker for big, dark eyes,” Beck murmured as he reached toward the cage, but looked at her.

“Don’t put your fingers near the bars. Just distract it while I put this food in.”

But as soon as the hamster heard one of its escape routes being unclipped it raced through the twisting tunnels faster than a Formula One driver. When Flick froze, Beck took a piece of carrot from her fingers and held it at the opening.

“Please don’t let it escape. I won’t be able to sleep in the house if it gets out.”

The hamster screeched to a halt at the end of the tube, sniffed once and then crawled onto Beck’s outstretched hand. It picked up the piece of carrot, bit it in half, stuffed both pieces in its pouch, raced up his arm and then moved over to explore his chest.

Flick glared in disbelief. “How do you do that? Hannibal is exactly the same with Stef—completely normal. The perfect bloody pet.”

“She’s sweet.” Beck smiled.

“She?”

“It’s female.”

“How can you tell?” Flick asked, then blushed.

“Years of experience. The males have lumpy bits at their rear. Females have lumpy bits somewhere else.”

“Is that the technical term?”

Beck laughed. “Try holding her. Sit on the floor and cup your hands.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust.”

“Good.” He grinned and raised his eyebrows.

Flick hesitated and then with some difficulty, due to the tightness of her dress, she sat on the floor and cupped her hands. Beck allowed the hamster to run from his palm onto hers and for a moment it sat there, cleaning its face.

“Oh, it’s going to be all right,” she said and smiled.

Beck’s gaze was fixed on Flick’s mouth. His lips ached for hers. He could just lean over and it would be like a jigsaw. Perfect match.

“Do you think stroking would be okay?” Flick asked.

Beck lost his train of thought. “I’d like that.”

“Oh, she is sweet,” Flick whispered.

Fluffy pattered over her hand, twitched her whiskers and sank her teeth into Flick’s thumb.

“Fuck!”

Blood ran down into her palm. Beck grabbed the hamster by the skin at the back of its neck and returned it to the cage, securing it inside before turning to Flick.

“Sorry,” he said.

“The hamster bit me, not you.”

“I don’t normally draw blood,” he said.

She laughed.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you into holding her.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s a complete psycho.” Flick sighed. She struggled to her feet and grabbed a tissue from the box next to the bed. “I feed it, clean it out, put it in its bloody ball and let it wander round the room every other night and the thing hates me. I have really tried but I cannot bond with it.”

“You’d better wash your hand, use some antiseptic. Is there anything in your bathroom?”

“It’s not my room. You think I sleep in here with that thing in the corner? I’m not that crazy. It’s my sister’s room. There’s some stuff in the other bathroom. It’s okay, I can see to it.”

“Let me. I feel responsible.”

Beck took hold of her hand and jerked as an explosion of desire ripped through him. His eyes met hers and he knew she’d felt it too. His heart pounded like rain on a glass roof—noisy, furious and very insistent. She was the one who looked away.

Flick led him to the bathroom, showed him the medical supplies, and he washed the bite, sprayed it and stuck a dinosaur plaster over the top.

“What are you thinking?” Beck asked.

“That it was worth getting bitten by the bloody thing because you’re holding my hand, but I still wish it was dead.”

He ran his thumb around her palm.

“We have matching wounds now.” Beck smiled.

“That’s true.” Flick flashed her eyes at him.

He raised his other hand and stroked the outer curve of her breast. Her nipples immediately turned diamond sharp under the material and his cock swelled.

“You’re not wearing anything under this are you?” he whispered.

Beck couldn’t stop touching her, overwhelmed by an urge to unpeel her from the dress and prove he was right.

“I think we better go downstairs,” Flick said.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

He twisted his fingers in the ribbons down the side of her dress.

“No, but Kirsten will kill me if I drag you up to my room. Anyway, I want to dance with you. You’re the only one here who can move without looking as though you’re in pain.”

He smiled. “That’s exactly what I thought about you.”

“Are you all right?” Two Kirstens looked at Josh in concern.

“Fine.”

He wasn’t fine at all. His plan had gone wrong. He’d intended to have a few drinks to bolster his courage so he could tell Kirsten how he really felt about her but because he wasn’t brave enough, he’d had another drink, then another and now he felt rather unwell. He tried to turn two Kirstens into one.

“Because you don’t look fine, Josh, and after lecturing us about being careful and not letting ourselves down, you seem to have ignored your own advice.”

“I’m absholutely fine.” He wondered if he’d articulated that sentence properly. Maybe he should say it again. He needed to get beyond the feeling sick part and on to the “I’m-very-funny-and-everyone-loves-me” stage and all would be well.

Maybe he’d got that the wrong way round. Maybe he’d already been funny and loveable.

Perhaps he ought to lie down.

“I’ll just…wash my face,” he hiccupped.

He wanted to tell Kirsten why he’d got so drunk but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He was spinning on a whirling fairground ride and couldn’t get off. Better to lie down. The toilet floor looked lovely.

As Beck and Flick walked through the hall, Kirsten grabbed Flick’s arm.

“You have to help me.”

“Now?” Flick tried to send a semaphore message with her eyes for Kirsten to look down at the two hands entwined in front of her and take in the fact that Beck had been with her for more than fifteen minutes and was still alive.

“Right now. It’s an emergency. Please.”

“I’ll go and find a drink.” Beck released her hand.

Flick groaned and groaned again when she saw Josh curled up on the floor of the bathroom. “Josh, wake up.”

“Josh, you have to go upstairs and lie down. You can’t stay in here, people need to use the toilet,” Kirsten said.

Flick sighed. “We’re going to have to get him to his feet. You take one arm and I’ll take the other.”

They dragged him upright.

“So sorry,” Josh slurred.

“You will be tomorrow,” Flick said. “I can’t believe you’ve done this after all you said to us. What were you thinking?”

The three staggered out of the toilet and over to the stairs. Josh had an arm across each of their shoulders. As they started to climb Flick became aware his face had turned an unusual shade of green.

“Do you think Josh looks that color because of the revolving disco lights?” she asked.

“Well, you’re not green,” Kirsten said.

“Quick, get a bowl or something.”

“Why? Oh, right.”

The moment Kirsten let him go, Josh slumped. Flick struggled to keep him upright but they fell onto the stairs. She let out a yelp of pain as Josh landed on top of her.

“Sorry, Flickety, didn’t mean to hurt you, you know I love you.” He nuzzled against her chest.

“And I love you too, Josh, you drunken idiot. Come on, up to bed.”

She turned to look for Kirsten and saw Beck standing with two glasses in his hand. He looked at her and Josh whose drooling mouth was fixed to her breast and then disappeared. Flick sighed with frustration. Why couldn’t he offer to give her a hand? Why couldn’t he see the truth?

By the time Kirsten came rushing back with a bowl, Flick had hauled Josh halfway up the stairs. Between the pair of them they managed to get him into his bedroom. After they’d maneuvered him on to the bed, they sat panting by his side.

Kirsten turned to Flick. “Josh told me he loved me.”

Flick smiled.

“I also heard him tell Chloe, Anna and Bethan he loves them too and he’s only just met them.”

Bugger,
Flick thought.

“Plus Bethan is that weird one with the tattoo of a coffin on her neck.”

Double bugger,
Flick amended.

“Only the thing is,” Kirsten hesitated and looked at Josh who lay with his arms above his head, snoring quietly, “I feel differently about Josh now. He was just a friend, a housemate, but things have changed.”

“Good change or bad change?”

“Not sure.”

“So if Pierce turned up tonight what would you do?” Flick asked.

“He’s not down there, is he?” Kirsten’s eyes opened wide.

“Not as far as I know, but you didn’t answer my question. You have to decide what you want. Don’t mess Josh around. He wants to tell you how he feels. My guess is that’s why he’s lying here in a drunken coma. He’s frightened, Kirsten. He’s wanted this for so long. He’s watched you and Pierce and it’s eaten him up. If you’re thinking differently about Josh because you’re starting to have feelings for him then maybe you and Pierce aren’t quite what you thought you were. Not coming to your party was wrong but was that really why you were so angry? Maybe part of you is relieved. Maybe this has given you the chance to breathe unaided. Only don’t string Josh along and then fall back into slime boy’s arms tomorrow. Make your mind up and go for it. Stop dithering.”

Flick looked at Kirsten’s face and realized she’d gone too far.

“Brilliant advice, Flick. So why are you up here instead of downstairs dancing with Beck?”

Flick resisted the temptation to remind Kirsten she’d come begging for help with Josh just when she’d managed to hold Beck’s hand for a few minutes without some disaster unfolding.

“Fine, I’m going to go downstairs now and make him dance with me,” Flick said. Or drag him upstairs and get him naked and horizontal.

When she walked into the living room her heart dropped into the bottom of her stomach where it was attacked and torn to pieces by Rottweilers. Only one person was dancing—a tall, tanned blonde wearing minute triangles of white material masquerading as a string bikini. She had a mobile phone strapped to her thigh with a red shoe lace. She was the only one dancing because everyone else stood watching and every man had his tongue out. Flick wished the sight of her sister filled her with joy but it didn’t. Stef was a millstone around her neck and that might not be so bad if Stef cared, but she didn’t. The sad thing was that part of Flick was jealous that Stef had things so easy and yet it was Flick’s own fault. She was as annoyed with herself as she was with her sister. As Flick glared, Stef turned and smiled with her megawatt teeth that had cost Flick a fortune. The brightness level in the room went up a notch.