The Gentleman Has Left the Building (2 page)

“Dude. Shut
up.”

“I’ve had
enough. Come on.”

Aidan tugged me
by the arm and I couldn’t not run with him--if I didn’t, I’d fall
flat on my face.

“What are you
doing?” I hissed.

“Exercising…in
the beauty of nature…”

He dragged me
towards Nicole. We were gaining on her. Fucking hell!

“No, no, no!” I
twisted my elbow but he wouldn’t loosen his grip. “You are not
going to make her associate me with
you
--”

That was when
she stopped. She must’ve got cramp in one of her quadriceps because
she cocked one ankle a few paces forward and then slowly bent at
the knee. Two firm, peachy globes spread before us as she sank to
touch her foot. Every fantasy I’d entertained about lapping at her
there flashed through my head, and blood licked the base of my cock
with a sticky tongue.
Please don’t let her--

“Sorry.” Aidan
smiled.

--turn
around
. Fuck.

“I didn’t mean
to get in your way,” she said shyly.

She wasn’t
French. She was disgustingly posh, actually…still. It suited her.
Suited that mouth.

“Of course you
weren’t.” He nodded towards the woods in front. “Are you running
the Chestnut Trail?”

“I was going
to.” She panted lightly and a little sheen of sweat dusted her
temples. “Are you?”

“Yep.” The word
lunged from my mouth before I even knew it was there and just like
that, I’d spoken to her. Made my first impression. With
Aidan…ugh.

“Would you mind
if we joined you?” Aidan held a bold hand out to her. “I’m Aid, by
the way. This is my good friend, Rhys.”

Nicole studied
the hand for a second before she took it. “I think I’ve seen you
before.”

“Yeah. We come
here…often.”
You moron. Moron! Just shut your mouth.

“We’re pretty
serious about training,” Aidan added, pumping her hand lightly.
“And you are…?”

“Nicole.”

Before we could
help it, we exchanged joyous glances, and it was too late--Nicole
eyed us with awkward suspicion. She stood fully now, her hands
splayed either side of the waistband on those short, short
shorts.

“Actually,” she
started, “I think I might try the Foxglove Trail.”

Aidan wasn’t
fazed. “It was nice to meet you, Nicole. You’ll have to tell us
whether that one’s any good.”

“Maybe.” She
rubbed dust from her shorts with three short strokes, turned on her
heel, and jogged off. “Bye…”

I wanted to
watch her arse again but I was too mortified. She gained speed
deliberately, making short work of the path to the lake as her
ponytail swung behind her.

“You fucktard,”
I hissed. “You…fucking fucktard!”

Aidan folded
his arms.

“What?”

“She’s a young
girl on her own and we’re two big guys, and you ask if we can run
with her into an isolated wood? You might as well have just said,
oh, hi! Did you dial 0800-Pleasant-Morning-Rapes? We‘re your
helpful consultants, Chester and Hannibal. Where would you like to
be violently restrained?
”

He was trying
not to laugh, but it wouldn’t stick in his throat and he
spluttered, turning almost as red as his hair. “You might have a
point there, actually.” He sighed as he regained composure.
“Oops.”

“And she’s
called Nicole, for crying out loud.” Here it comes…the slow
jut…ahh. My spoiled boy-pout. “Think of the sex I just missed out
on because of you. Fucktard.”

“We still don’t
know if she’s legal. You might not have been having any sex at all.
Or at least…not any you should admit to in public.” He paused, his
eyes darting about. “If you do want a young-looker, I could hook
you up. I, er…know people.”

“I’ve blown it.
You’ve blown it. You work in theatre, for fuck’s sake--you’re
supposed to be charming, not a shameless twat!

His brows
dipped in a nonchalant little frown, as if he knew something that I
didn’t. This is what I got for making friends at kick-boxing club:
twisted characters. Chuck Palahniuk did try to warn me, but did I
listen? Noooo. Aidan was known to be tough-but-fun to train with
and I just wanted to be buff for Nicole.

Now I was never
going to hear her whimper my name while she staggered forward on
all fours, and it wasn’t because she was English.

****

The phone
rang—no, screamed--in my ear. I’m not sure why it was next to my
head, but at noon on a Sunday, I generally wasn't sure of much. Not
recently.

“What?” I
mumbled into the receiver. Half of Man United had evidently been
Russian dancing on my forehead before lining up to shit in my
mouth. “Mpppfh.”

“Tell me you’re
not still in bed,” groaned Bailey. “It’s lunchtime, Rhys.”

“It’s the day
of rest. Why are you disturbing my sacred slumber?”

“I’m reminding
you about Dad’s birthday on Wednesday.”

There was an
awkward beat of silence before Bailey cleared her throat; we didn’t
actually share a dad. Mine was dead, and hers had been an awesome
stand-in, but his birthday was always a dull reminder that my Dad
didn’t have one anymore.

“I remember,” I
lied.

“Nope, you
don’t. I bet you don’t remember about his party on Sunday, either.”
She sighed. “Can you Paypal me the money for the cake?”

“Will do.”

“Awesome. So…”
There was that cloying tone again, the one that meant she was about
to pry. My sister is about as subtle as
Gangnam Style
.
“Bringing anyone special to the party?”

I rolled over
and rubbed my cheek against the pillow, the way cats nuzzle random
people’s legs. “Not really.”

“You could
bring Harper,” she chirped. “I want to introduce you to someone,
anyway.”

Oh shit. Oh no.
My little sister could not have escaped the purgatory of rejection
before I had. I was way more suave than her (which wasn’t hard,
actually. But don’t tell her I said that).

“Have you
become a lesbian?” I said, hopefully.

“I won’t lie.
It was appealing for a while. But…no. Erm. D’you remember my friend
Linc?”

“Gay vampires
Linc?”

She giggled.
“Yep.”

Nearly a year
ago now, Bailey’s YouTube star friends did some storyboards for the
advertising agency. In the end, we didn’t pick the pitch up, but
they’d come in to present them: a stocky, obnoxious beast called
Olly and his evidently embarrassed mate. I was relieved that Bailey
had picked the quieter half of the duo, but…she’d barely been
single a few weeks and frankly, this was not fair.

I tried to work
out how to sound happy for her. No, wait--I
was
happy for
her. But also jealous, and it clawed at me like a raging beast.
Some big brother I was.

“So it’s
definitely over with Craig?” I asked.

Another awkward
gulp on her end. “Definitely. Rhys…it was like what happened with
you and Kate. He admitted it. He‘d been seeing her for months.”

I preferred not
to think about Kate at all. She didn't deserve it. “Oh. Bastard," I
said quickly. "You’re well shot of him. Do you need me to kick-box
his ass?”

“If you catch
him in the street, I wouldn’t have any strong objections.
Listen--got to go. We’re going to see some weird manga film at the
cinema with Olly and Chan.”

“You have fun
now.”

“I will.” She
made a faux-kissing noise. “I’ll see you next Sunday, yeah?”

“Yep. I promise
to be more awake, too.”

There was a
deep, male voice in the background as Bailey hung up, and a kissing
noise that was disturbingly non-faux.

This was not
the way I wanted to wake up.

When I
staggered into the living area, Harper was curled up on the leather
sofa with her laptop while a music channel hummed in the
background. She was wearing the little work-out clothes that I
always secretly perv over (shorts that cling to a girl’s arse as if
they’ve been sprayed on by a legion of adoring pygmies) but my
vision was still too blurry to make out any chance flashes of
nipple.

“You’re
conscious,” she said, not looking up. “I’ve got a bone to pick with
you, Rhys Frost.”

“Can it wait
until I’ve ingested half a box of paracetamol?”

“No.” The
laptop closed with a foreboding click. “Since when do you and
Nathan go out drinking together?”

“Since…?” I
straightened, remembering. “Oh. That.”

It was true; we
weren’t exactly bar buddies. Last night, he’d been out with someone
else from work. One thing lead to another, and we were soon
wandering the streets of London together while I told him…

…Embarrassing
stories about Harper. Fuck. Come to think of it, he’d wanted to
know quite a lot about her. He was quite possibly plugging me for
info (but he did it with beer, so hey…can’t hold it against the
guy).

“So there was a
good reason for him being in our kitchen at one in the morning?”
she went on.

Oh. That.

“He wanted to
see the flat,” I said feebly.

“And you
couldn’t have warned me?” she squealed. “I was almost naked! He
could’ve caught me doing anything--”

“But you were
saying how much you liked him. It didn’t…it didn’t cross my mind
that you wouldn’t want to see him. Sorry, dude.” My hand hovered
over the sink. “Wait. You didn’t…fucking hell. Did you sleep with
Nathan?”

Harper blew her
fringe up, her arms folded beneath her breasts. “No. Funnily
enough, he asked the same thing about you.”

“He wanted to
know if I’d slept with him…?”

“If you and me
were sleeping together, dickhead.” She sighed. “But he did kiss
me.”

Great.
Everyone’s getting some but meeeee. “If you got off with him, why
do you look so miserable?”

“Because…” She
leaned forward on her elbows, and there it was…ahh. A teeny
crescent of pink areola just peeking out of her top. Harper was
such an ace room-mate (hey, a bloke can look). “Because now it
might all be ruined.”

“Pretty sure
kissing doesn’t fuck up a relationship.” I swallowed two fat
paracetamol with half a pint of water. Hangover cure stage one: in
progress. “Fucking somebody else--that fucks up a relationship.”
The fridge offered ingredients with a knowing hum: sausages, bacon,
eggs. “That’s if you have a relationship, mind. Processed meat
products?”

“Eugh, no.
Can’t stomach it. I’m too on-edge.”

“More for me,
then.” All I needed now was a cold glass of Coke, and my magic
formula was complete. “So where do you two go from here with your
little game? Did his balls explode when you sent him packing?”

She gave a
nervous laugh. “That’s just it though. I wasn’t the one who said we
should just kiss.
He
was.”

“You discussed
how far you were going to go before you even started? Did he print
out a contract and make you sign in vag juice?”

“Rhys.
Jesus.”

“Sorry.” The
bacon hit the pan with a rough, lardy sizzle and I stood on tip-toe
to wedge the window open. “Just seems a bit…well. Like the pair of
you are seriously over thinking all this. Now I can understand you,
after what happened with Bitch Face and Cock Wad--but him?”

“I suppose he
might be rebounding too,” she said slowly.

“Hey. We are
not rebounding. It’s been six months. We’re…works in progress.”

“In fact, what
do
you know about him? You’re apparently best mates, all of
a sudden. Tell me everything about Nathan. Everything!”

The sausages
hissed at me as they were turned in the pan.

“Well. Let’s
see. Um.” What did I know about him? “He doesn’t talk about himself
very much.”

She put her
laptop aside--goodbye, semi-nipple-and strode over to the fridge.
“But he didn’t mention a girlfriend? Or kids? A woman of any
description?”

“He mentioned
you a fair bit,” I said. “That’s all I remember. Will you do me
some Coke as well, please?”

It frothed into
glasses with a comforting, carbonated gasp.

“So.” She leant
back against the fridge, drink in hand. “Let’s hope kissing hasn’t
screwed up the balance, and he still wants to…whatever it is we’re
going to do. Sex, maybe. I hope it’s sex.”

“If it is, will
you give me a heads-up first so I can go out?”

“Shush. What
were you talking about last night, anyway? Apparently, you’re a
rapist called Hannibal…?”

That would be
when I crawled along our corridor on my hands and knees, groping
about the carpet like it had directions printed in Braille. Yeah.
Last night was kind of shameful. I really wasn't myself of
late.

But there was
nothing for it, really, and nobody who could give me better advice
than Harper. So over a heap of greasy brunch, I told her about
Nicole; how I’d been watching her in the park for weeks, how I had
absolutely no idea to talk to a stranger (let alone seduce her),
and how Aidan had left my teeny chance at a less-than-jaunty
angle.

Harper grinned
like an evil pixie. “Nicole? Papa!” She sniggered. A French
snigger.

“Look. Stop
laughing at me. The first girl I’ve really like for ages, and it’s
over before--”

“--It even
started. You said last night. But that’s not strictly true.” She
patted my arm in sympathy. “You should try again. What do you have
to lose? If she still thinks you’re a weirdo, there are other
places to go running. Think of it as practice. I’d never have gone
near Nathan if he didn’t start the proceedings, so to speak. You’ve
got to start being that guy.”

“But why? Why
do I have to do all the running, literally?” I whined.

“Because you
want to get laid. Being confident gets a man laid, Rhys. It’s that,
or you might as well start browsing for fat forty-somethings on the
internet.”

She had to go
there, didn’t she? To my secret pit of despair…the place my mother
still thinks I’ll end up. Brilliant.