Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel)

by K. M. Golland

  “Because I don’t talk sex with any of the women I pull from the crowd. That’s why.”

  “Noooo,” I drawled, “You just touch them and let them touch you.”

  He ran his hands through his hair and pierced me with his eyes. “This is different. You’re getting men off. You’re helping them imagine you while they blow their fucking load all over themselves.”

  “Yeah, I do,” I yelled. “Big fucking deal. They can’t see me. They can’t touch me. All I do is get them off with my words. It’s no different to you getting women off with your looks and body. You get paid for it. I get paid for it. You have boundaries. I have boundaries. We’re no different.”

  He shook his head at me, anger and disappointment blaring from his pores.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Why is it different for me, huh? Because I’m a woman?”

  It was Brad’s turn to give me the sarcastic shoulder shrug and open palms. Oh no you didn’t.

  “You sexist, hypocritical pig. Screw you.” I picked up Sir Pantsarehot—my Build-A-Bear teddy with technicolour MC Hammer pants—from his home on my dresser, and threw it at him. “So when a woman is confident with herself and her sexuality to the point of it being a talent she can safely explore and earn a living from, it’s deemed as sexual immorality. But when a man does it, he’s a goddamn king. Is that what you’re saying? Really? Because if it is, we have a major problem.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Em. I’m not saying that. I don’t know what I’m saying. I just know that I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.”

  “You don’t have to like it. You just have to respect it like I respect what you do. Do you think I like seeing women with their hands all over you and your hands all over them?”

  He sighed and picked up Sir Pantsarehot.

  “Hey! You can’t touch him.”

  Brad furrowed his brow at me, sat on my bed again, and placed my teddy on my pillow. “We’ve already been through this. On stage, I’m acting. Just like you do.”

  “Yes. Exactly. Just like I do … on stage and while sexting.”

  His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, and I could tell by his avoidance of eye contact that he was struggling to come to terms with my revelation, and that hurt my heart. But then, deep down, I’d always worried that this very moment would end in him walking away, and if he did, I had to accept that.

  “Look, Brad, be honest with me. How do you feel when those women look at you? How does it make you feel when all you see in their eyes is want, need, lust, and desire?”

  He gripped his hair and continued looking down at the floor. “It feels fucking amazing. Like I’m on top of the world.”

  “And why’s that?” I asked softly, knowing the answer.

  “Because they want me in that moment. So bad. And they can’t have me.”

  “Exactly. They. Can’t. Have. You. But you make them want you anyway. And that feels like nothing else. It’s powerful. And nothing trumps power, right?” I sat down on the bed next to him. “I feel all of that too, Brad. I feed from their want and desire. I hold it in my hands and it makes me come alive. What we do … it’s the same. Don’t tell me it’s not.”

  He turned his head in his hand and looked at me. “I need some air, okay?”

  I nodded and willed my tears to stay buried. “Sure.”

  “I’m gonna go for a walk. Clear my head. I’ll be back later.” Brad stood and went to walk out but paused, bent down, and kissed the top of my head.

  ***

  Not even five minutes after Brad left, Cori came bursting through my bedroom door. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I told Brad I was a professional sexter,” I admitted, bursting into tears.

  She rushed toward me, sat down, and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “You did what? Why on earth would you tell him that?”

  “Because I am, Cor. I’ve been doing it for two years.”

  Her grip loosened. “WHAT? I don’t understand. How?”

  “I’m not addicted to Facebook games like you think I am,” I deadpanned.

  “Oh. My. God!” I heard her whisper.

  “It’s not a big deal. I talk sex. I get paid. End of.”

  She was quiet for a minute, but I could hear her mouth open and close several times.

  “Just spit it out, hon,” I encouraged her.

  “Two years?”

  I sighed. “Yeah”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t need to. My sexting didn’t concern anyone but me … until now. Now it concerns Brad, so I told him.”

  “I would never have judged you. You know that, right?”

  I rested my head on her shoulder. “Of course I do. I’m not ashamed of it. Really, I’m not. It’s a job. But others I care about might not agree with me, so I chose to keep it a secret. The less people who knew, the less chance I’d hurt anyone.”

  “Oh, Em. You’re always thinking of everyone else but you.”

  Tears ran down my face. “What if he wants to end it?”

  She sighed. “I don’t think he will. Give him some credit. He’s a great guy. One of the kindest and most understanding I’ve ever met.”

  Through a wall of tears, I lifted my head and met her gaze. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. Just give him time.”

  “We don’t have much time. You guys leave in a couple of days.”

  “Em, let me break this down for you. I’ve spent day in and day out with these guys for the past two months. You learn a lot about people when you spend that much time with them. That said, I’m very confident Brad will come back here after a few hours, smelling of beer and smoke and being happy because he’s either watched a game of footy or played pool at the pub.”

  “It’s that simple, huh?”

  “Yeah, it is. Men are simple.”

  I laughed mildly. “Not all men.”

  “Well, no. But ours are when it comes to us. All they want to do is make us happy … and fuck … and protect us … and fuck some more … and dominate … and fuc—”

  “And fuck, right? You really do have them pegged, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Yep. Sure do.”

  “Well, if I have a few hours before Brad comes back like you say I do, then I’m going to have a quick shower and a nap, because unburdening yourself is really bloody draining.”

  “Tell me about it.” She stood and offered me her hands, pulling me up to give me a tight hug. “It’s going to be fine. Trust me.”

  I squeezed her tightly. “I hope you’re right.”

  “And in future, trust me with other shit. I’m your best friend. We’re supposed to share anything and everything that weighs us down, no matter what. Just know that I’m always here for you, okay?”

  Nodding, I pulled back, my face drenched with tears. Damn it! I love that silly bitch.

  ***

  The bed dipped, and I woke to Brad’s lips pressed delicately to my closed, puffy eyes. “You’re right, sexy pixie. It’s no different. We are the same, and we are perfect for each other.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming, if he was really there, or if I was just simply sleep-deprived and hallucinating. But I still attempted to open my eyes, struggling as I pried them apart, willing them open and spotting Brad before being killed with sunlight. “Wow! Cori really does know you,” I mumbled, wiping my eyes and stretching as I yawned.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she said you’d come back smelling of beer and smoke.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, Josh and I went to the local pub, drank some piss, talked some shit, played some pool.”

  “She said you’d do that, too. She also said you’d come back here and everything would be okay.”

  “Well, she was right.” He traced his finger over my cheek.

  “Really?” I searched his eyes, seeing no hesitation. Yet I knew it would creep in eventually. “Because my only other hope was to perform the
Oompa Loompa song for you, and I really didn’t want to do that.”

  His face lit up with a smile. “I take it back. Everything is not fine. I need to be doompedy-doo’d.”

  “Actually, I take it back, too. I don’t think I can be with a man who says he wants to be doompedy-doo’d.”

  Brad’s finger pressed into my cheek. “Have I’ve told you that you have the sexiest dimple?”

  I shook my head.

  He trailed his finger to my nose and pressed it. “And the cutest nose?”

  I shook again.

  “And the most delicious fucking lips?”

  Brad stole the answer to his question from my mouth when he bent down and kissed me, holding my head delicately as we communicated that times might get tough, but we’d work through them, just like we’d done today.

  It was a good conversation of the tongue.

  He pulled away, sat back up, and smiled. “You need to get up. Dinner is nearly ready.”

  I shot forward and nearly head-butted him. “What? What time is it?”

  “Almost seven o’clock.”

  “Shit! Really?”

  “Yep. We’re havin’ a barbeque.”

  “Oh, nice!”

  “Yeah, and Cori invited your new neighbour. That one you’ve been telling her about … Mike.”

  “She did what?” I asked, practically shouting.

  He gave me a funny look. “She bumped into him while doing the laundry. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing. She just doesn’t know him, that’s all. Seems weird she’d invite him to our barbeque.”

  “Why? He’s your neighbour. And isn’t he the guy that helped you with your bike tyre?”

  My heart’s beat was a rapid tap against my chest. Shit! No! I can’t go out there and face him with Brad by my side. My heart and head just can’t take it.

  “Yeah, he is. But I don’t really know him all that well.”

  “Seems nice enough. Rides a decent bike, too.”

  “You’ve met him?” My eyes nearly bugged out of my head.

  “Yeah. Been drinking beer with him for the past forty-five minutes. So get up. And hurry up. Dinner is ready.”

  Shit-fuck.

  ***

  The smell of cooked sausages dominated the air as we approached the communal barbeque area, walking along the paved path through ferns and various Australian native trees and bushes. It was a glorious smell and made my tummy rumble.

  “You didn’t eat Pooh Bear again, did you?” Brad asked, eyeing my stomach suspiciously.

  I laughed. “No!”

  He put his arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head just as we rounded the corner, which was when H’s eyes found mine. I quickly diverted my gaze, because prevalent within the crystal-clear hazel of his irises was sadness. And it struck me instantly. This isn’t good. Nothing good is going to come out of this.

  I smiled meekly at Brad, shrugged out of his hold, and skipped ahead, hoping my retreat wasn’t obvious or out of the ordinary. “I see you’ve met our new neighbour,” I announced casually, as I sat down next to Cori at the wooden picnic bench. My eyes once again met H’s. “And I see you’ve met my roommate.”

  “Welcome to the party, sleepyhead.” Cori nudged me, playfully. “And yes, I have met our newest neighbour. He’s been filling us in on what mischief you’ve been getting up to while I’ve been away, haven’t you, Mike?”

  A smile crept across his face, a sinister smile I’d never seen him wear until now—a smile I didn’t like. “I sure have, and there’s plenty more where it came from.”

  Dread washing over your body is by far the most unpleasant feeling you’ll ever experience. It weakens, disorientates and leaves you nauseated, which was exactly how I felt when H insinuated he had things he planned to reveal about me.

  “Em, you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.” Cori placed her hand on my forehead and felt for a temperature, as if I were a child. “Maybe you should go rest a little longer.”

  “I’m okay. Just feelin’ a little dizzy. I haven’t eaten much today.”

  “Well, if you and Brad had left your bedroom at some stage before you fell asleep, you probably could’ve eaten then.”

  H shifted in his seat, and I didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes were burning a hole right through me, because I could feel their radiant heat. And if I didn’t have a temperature beforehand, I certainly did now.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said, and half-heartedly laughed.

  “You gotta eat, love.”

  My eyes shot to his, sending an undeniable message of warning as they momentarily held him hostage. How dare he call me that … here … now … in front of my friends and boyfriend?

  He swigged his beer, eyes gleaming at me over the bottle, appearing to enjoy himself and whatever it was he had planned. Over my dead body.

  Two could play that game.

  “Oh, I ate, Mike, just not food,” I replied with a devious grin, making a point to wink at Brad who stood at the barbeque with Josh.

  Cori laughed and shook her head. “That’s my Em. No filter. No tact. Don’t ya just love her?”

  “Yeah, I do,” H replied, placing his bottle down and laughing along with Cori. “She’s a breath of fresh air, and it’s nice to breathe when in a new place and in a new town.” He stood up. “I’m going to get another beer; anyone want one? Brad … Josh, your bottles are looking low.”

  Josh held up the tongs in acknowledgement, and Brad tipped his beer. “Yeah, sure. Cheers, mate.”

  “Cori, what are you drinking?” I asked, looking for her non-existent drink.

  “Nothing. Want to grab me something?” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “I have a nice Pinot Gris in the fridge. I’ll go and get that.”

  She went to get up. “Want a hand? You weren’t feelin’ that great a minute ago.”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I just need to eat … and drink.” I winked but noticed that H had already begun to walk off. “Hey, Mike! Hold the elevator,” I called out after him, my friendliness a charade.

  “Bring back the Grainwaves, too.” Cori’s eyes were wide.

  “Okay.” I jogged off and fell in to step with H just as we arrived at the elevator. “You piece of shit,” I hissed. “You promised you’d stay away.”

  “I promised I’d keep my distance. I’ve done that. You’re the one who came to me.” His mouth barely moved when he spoke, and he reminded me of a ventriloquist whose hand was up its own arse, smiling for the audience—my friends.

  “Yeah, well it goes to show you don’t give a fuck about me after all.”

  The elevator doors pinged open and we entered, H following after me and standing by my side, both of us looking out toward the courtyard. The doors slid shut, and I was pinned against the elevator railing in no time. Anger, hurt, lust, and what I thought might be remorse rolled from him in waves.

  “You honestly think I don’t give a fuck about you?” he asked, squatting so that we were eye-level and only centimetres from each other.

  His breath smelled of beer but it wasn’t horrible. It was warm. Distinctive. And it held me there, as if I were invisibly chained to him.

  “You’re playing games, H. This isn’t a game.”

  I wanted to kiss him, to taste the smell that intoxicated me. No! Why the hell do I want to kiss him?

  “My name is Mike, Emily, not H.” He pressed into me farther. “Why do you call me H?”

  I gasped. I should’ve wanted to push him away. And I did want to. But then I didn’t. “You don’t know?”

  “Yeah. You call all your regular clients by their username initial, but I haven’t been a client for a long time. So why do you still call me H?”

  I pushed him off of me and hit the button to the third floor. “You’ll always be a client.”

  “Why won’t you let me be more?”

  “Because you can’t.”

  He stepped forward and pinned me to the wall again. “Why?
Am I not pretty enough, like your boyfriend? Too old?”

  “H, stop it!” I tried to fend him off.

  “It’s MIKE!” he yelled.

  “YOU’RE HURTING ME.”

  Recognition registered, and he stepped back. “Sorry, love. I just … I just want to know why.”

  My heart hammered in my chest, my eyes wide and alert. The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. I quickly edged across the wall until I was out of his grasp. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to follow me or stop me from leaving. He just stood there waiting for his answer.

  “You want to know why, Mike?” I said, as the doors began to close. “Because you’re a reminder of that one time I fucked up in a big way. I’m sorry.”

  ***

  H wasn’t back from his apartment by the time I’d returned to the barbeque with the wine. It was a relief. And I thought that maybe he’d decided to stay away after all.

  I was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  “Did you end up having a fifteen-minute powernap?” Cori teased. “And where’s the Grainwaves?”

  “Sorry. I had to make a phone call.”

  Lies. I’d been crying then applying makeup to hide that I’d been crying.

  “Your sausage went cold, so I ate it.” Brad set a paper plate down in front of me. “This is a new one. I nearly ate it, too. You shouldn’t take so long.”

  “You shouldn’t eat my sausage.”

  “That’s something I will never say to you.”

  I laughed, stretching to give him a quick kiss on the lips while glancing over his shoulder. “Where’s Mike? Has he eaten and run?”

  “No. He’s gone to pick up a friend. He said he wouldn’t be long and to start without them.”

  A friend? Who does he know in St Kilda?

  Just as I was stewing on that question, Mike walked up the steps that led from the resident car park, holding the hand of a blonde woman. At first she appeared shy and a little uncomfortable, rearranging her clothing and taking quick steps to match his. But as they approached the table where we sat, I could see that she was very happy to be in our company, or more so, Mike’s company—her tight grip on his hand and adoring smile in his direction every other minute or so were pretty good tell-tale signs.