In Like Flynn

by Donna Alam

  Kallie doesn’t answer beyond the quirk of one highly defined brow. Phone still in hand, I inhale deeply, my heartrate spiking in an excited pitter-patter.

  ‘He said he’d never met anyone like me.’ As he’d pushed a lock of my hair behind my ear, staring longingly into my eyes.

  ‘And?’ she demands, sounding like the school principal she’ll, no doubt, be one day.

  ‘He said he wished we’d met earlier. That we’d had more time.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Because he said I was exactly the type of girl he could see himself falling in love with.’ My heart hitches a little higher in my chest.

  ‘What I wouldn’t give for a little wooing,’ she says, sighing blissfully. ‘All I ever get are cock shots and invitations to fuck. I’m one text away from officially becoming gay.’

  ‘I’m not sure about the woo factor.’ We only had one day—a few hours, really.

  I’d met Julian at Dulles airport exactly forty-five days ago. I was on my way home after a weekend visit with my parents, while Julian was waiting to fly back to the UK following a business trip. Due to a freak storm, all planes had been grounded that afternoon. At the time, I’d cursed the fact that I hadn’t acted quick enough to get a room at any of the nearby hotels. But then I met Julian as I ordered a coffee. Tall, dark, and so sweet. Handsome, and with an accent that made me melt. In fact, everything about him seemed just . . . perfect.

  Witty and smart, he’d kept me entertained the whole ten-hour period. Truthfully, I think I fell a little in love with him right there and then. We’d parted with such sadness in our smiles and promises to keep in touch, which we hadn’t really, beyond a couple of emails. And an email is exactly how I find myself in my current predicament, standing in Kallie’s cousin’s swanky apartment in London’s West End.

  ‘Sometimes you just know, though, right?’

  ‘What?’ Kallie’s voice pulls me back to the moment, and I blow out a breath, long and slow. ‘The only thing I really know is I feel sick with nerves. I wish you were here.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she answers quietly. ‘Stupid Dee,’ she adds, her brows drawing in over the connection again.

  ‘Your poor sister can’t help that her baby was born early.’

  ‘But I wanted to go to London! My God, she’s such a princess. It’s not like it’s even her first pregnancy.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have come.’ The words are out of my mouth with the half formed thought I know to be true. ‘This is mad.’ My words become frantic. ‘What kind of fool flies to the other side of the world to attend the birthday party of a man she barely knows?’ It’s not even as though it had been a personal invite. I’d just found myself tagged onto the end of a mass email.

  Kallie doesn’t answer, though her amber eyes burn fiery over the internet.

  ‘You can’t stare someone down via iPhone connection, Kal. They might just hang up, thinking the internet is on the fritz.’

  ‘Please, you’re staying in NW1, not darkest Bombay. Cousin Mo is such a techno geek, I have no doubt he has the best technology, including internet.’

  ‘This is so ridiculous. I must be mad.’

  ‘You’re not mad. A little kooky, maybe,’ she says, adding a short shrug. ‘Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to leap before looking, just once? Jump without a parachute?’

  ‘You know I’m afraid of heights.’

  ‘Sweets, you have the chance to find love—true love. Isn’t that a risk worth taking? It’s not like you’re throwing your whole life away. It’s just one summer—or even one evening, if you’d prefer. If it doesn’t work out, you can come back, and nothing is lost.’

  Tucking the invisible strands of my fair hair into my crown of braids, I realise she’s right. In six weeks, the new school year begins, but in some ways, I’ll pick up exactly where I left off. Sure, I’ll have a class full of new students—new personalities to discover and minds to engage—but at the end of the day, I’ll go back to my apartment alone. I’ll do the same things and tread the same path; the pattern of my life barely changed from one year to the next.

  ‘And stop biting your lip. You’ll end up with lipstick on your teeth, and that’s not a good look even for pretty girls.’

  ‘You’re sure you didn’t frighten Dee’s baby into a preterm delivery?’ Her expression frowns back at me. ‘You frighten the hell out of most people. I’m pretty sure you could hire yourself out to frighten babies from the womb.’

  ‘I’m authoritative, not scary.’

  ‘You’re persuasive, all right.’ Wondering if a little Dutch courage might help, I eye the very kitsch 1950’s cocktail bar across the open plan space. Kallie’s cousin’s very lavish tastes extend from his décor to his liquor collection.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I groan loudly, deciding against the idea. Hard liquor and I aren’t the best of companions. It tends to make me a little reckless.

  Why, hello, London . . .

  ‘I’m so nervous. How could I possibly have thought I could walk into this party by myself?’

  ‘About that,’ Kallie says suddenly. ‘I have a sort of backup plan.’

  My eyes snap back to the phone. ‘Backup . . . what?’

  ‘Plan,’ she repeats as though I have a hearing problem.

  ‘No, I mean, back up and explain. You’re rubbing your ear.’ Anxiety flickers in my chest. ‘You always rub your ear when you’ve done something shady.’

  ‘Shady?’ she repeats as though finding the word so disgusting, she’d hold it at arm’s length. ‘When was the last time I did something shady? And to you?’

  My reply is short. Two words, in fact. No explanation necessary. ‘Blind date. The one you set me up on.’ Okay, so it’s more than two.

  ‘How is it my fault you took home a man with questionable interests?’

  ‘I didn’t take him home. He invited himself in for coffee.’

  ‘You’re too nice for your own good.’

  ‘Not so nice that I’d extend the invitation to access of my closet or to masturbate on my shoes!’

  ‘It’s a very sexy shoe collection,’ she says, chuckling. ‘How could I have ever guessed his secret fetishes? He works in IT, for goodness’ sake! How boring is that? Look at it this way, tonight’s blind date can only be an improvement on the experience.’

  ‘But it’s not a blind date,’ I scoff. ‘Remember the whole meet-cute airport story that’s had you drooling for weeks?’ There’s that flicker of anxiety again.

  ‘Oh, no.’ I bring my fingers to my gloss slicked lips. ‘What have you done now?’

  ‘Remember that study I told you about? The one with the titi monkeys?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answer cautiously. ‘The one about jealousy.’

  ‘It wasn’t jealousy, per se. More a study into the cingulate cortex, which, in humans, is the area of the brain associated with social pain.’

  ‘Get to the point, please!’

  ‘I didn’t want you to feel any of that. So as well as engaging someone to walk in with you tonight, I thought a little potential primate jealousy might work in your favour. A little testosterone-fuelled action—a guns blazing at midnight, sort of thing. Only the other sort of guns. Not the weaponry kind.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’ Because she really can’t mean—

  ‘I’ve arranged for someone to take you to the party.’

  ‘A date,’ I answer flatly. ‘You’ve arranged for me to take a date?’ I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. For a super bright woman, sometimes Kallie can be so ridiculous.

  ‘I wouldn’t say a date, exactly.’ Her lips sort of twist, and though it’s hard to make sense of her expression, it’s easy to tell she’s been up to no good as she begins to rub her ear again.

  ‘So I’m going to a party to see if I can reconnect to Julian. Tell me how the whole taking a date thing works? You know, me turning up with another man.’

  ‘Men like a little competition,’ she answers mulishly. ‘It’s a primal thi
ng. It might help.’

  ‘Or it might not!’ My delivery of the words is quick, my tone incredulous. ‘What if he thinks I’m with the date? With-with, Kallie?’

  ‘I’m sure you could enlighten him. Use your feminine wiles.’

  ‘And what about my date, huh? Don’t you think it’s a little cruel to take a man to a party only to ditch him?’ I do a double take as Sir Lancelot, a behemoth of a dog, lifts his bulk from his antique daybed, the kind that looks as though it was once housed in an Edwardian opium den. The dog and the apartment came as a package deal. In other words, I’m dog sitting in exchange for accommodation. As a lowly teacher, my alternative would’ve been much more basic. Like hostel basic. London summer prices are astronomical.

  ‘Faint heart never won fair Julian. You need to be more open to new experiences—to say yes more. You might even find you have fun.’

  ‘Besides—’ Kallie’s reply is cut off by the doorbell, the noise quickly followed by Sir Lancelot’s pounding feet and his deep and deafening barking.

  ‘You said he was a poodle cross,’ I complain as he almost knocks me over in his quest to get to the door.

  ‘He is,’ she answers. ‘Poodle cross wolf hound, I think. Aren’t you going to open it?’

  ‘Open the door to my date, you mean?’

  ‘Hmm. Like I said, sweets, he’s not a date exactly. More a . . . service provider.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’ I grumble, my annoyance quickly ramping from slow simmer to rapid boil. It’s probably this anger which powers me to pull Sir Lancelot away from the door by his collar. It’s the first time I’ve been able to make him go anywhere he doesn’t want to since I’d arrived. The spoiled curly lump must weigh at least a hundred pounds.

  ‘Mean?’ she asks benignly.

  ‘Stop repeating me and tell me exactly what you’ve done!’ I yank open the door, dog collar, curly fur, and phone all grasped in the other hand. ‘Down, Sir Lancelot!’ I yell, using my weight as a counterbalance to his bulk.

  Dark, shiny shoes. Expensive looking. My gaze travels up. An undoubtedly tailored dark suit. A sharp jawline—clean shaven. Broad shoulders. Dirty blond hair. Brilliant blue eyes. Pillowy lips that are just an invitation to kiss. Holy hell, he’s gorgeous.

  But I can’t quite fully appreciate the sight as Kallie replies.

  ‘I hired you a male escort.’

  GET IT HERE

  Sneak Peek

  HARD

  PAISLEY

  One phrase can sum up my whole move to London.

  That didn’t go quite as planned.

  Even closer on the timeline scale, if someone had said a month ago I’d be sitting in a coffee shop waiting for a well-hung stranger to arrive, I’d have told you to keep taking the medicine. You know, for your kind of crazy.

  What’s worse, I’m not even waiting for said stranger for myself, but rather because of business. No—not the whoring kind of business. Although, if it weren’t for my friend, Chastity, I may well have already begun to sell my body in order to eat. But that’s another story. One with an unhappy ending, strangely enough, beginning just two months ago. But I don’t have time to let my mind wander down that particular memory lane of distaste as the door to the hipster-chic coffee shop opens, and a man steps into the space. His large silhouette is framed by the afternoon light, highlighting the cut of his dark suit and how it fits perfectly to his broad shoulders.

  I turn my wrist, glancing down at my watch; on time and dressed to impress. He certainly seems to be taking this interview seriously.

  From my table in the far corner—chosen so as not to upset the late afternoon crowd with talk of dick and pussy and other such things—I stand and wave. It’s weird how quickly I’ve become desensitised. These days, I can discuss the merits of butt plugs and clitoral stimulation with the best of them. Not that I’d necessarily choose to have these conversations in public, with strangers, but I digress.

  The arc of afternoon sunlight cuts out as the door closes behind him, making me wonder why these places are always so dark. No matter as his long legs eat up the space between us, his intense gaze flicking my way. Wow. He’s even more handsome in the flesh. I add a smile to my greeting, unable to resist glancing down once more at the tablet on the table in front of me. A tablet filled with the black and white stills I’ve been examining all day.

  All. Day.

  More than is professionally acceptable, for sure. I tell myself it’s nerves—that it’s because I’ve never done this part of the job before. Interviewing potential candidates. But I don’t know why I’m bothering to lie to myself because I know I’ve become a dirty ole perve. It’s what happens when your new job includes studying a person’s photographic résumé, one that includes pictures of the cut of his jawline, abs, and cock. And then there are one or two on-the-job photos—and I mean on the job. A woman bent at the waist over a table, his body bowed, her blonde hair twisted in his hand.

  I drag my mind from the images as the man hesitates on the other side of our table for two. Butterflies with wings like vultures beat in my chest cavity. I’ve never interviewed anyone before, porn star or not.

  Imagine him naked, my mind whispers. Wait—that’s probably what has me twitterpated in the first place.

  Honey brown hair and dark eyes, the man is gorgeous. And dressed as he is, he certainly looks at home in the heart of the city—he has that whole captain of industry vibe going on. But on my second look, the tiny display of hesitancy in the jut of his brow immediately sets me at ease.

  ‘Hi, I’m Paisley.’ I offer him my hand across the table. ‘You’re expecting Chastity, I know,’ I babble as he presses his large hand against mine. Large hand. Strong wrist. The tensing of a large bicep beneath his sleeve. ‘But she was called away at the last minute. So you got me!’ I make a stupid jazz hands motion as the hottie looks back, bemused? Amused? Probably both those things.

  ‘Chastity,’ the low rumble of his voice repeats, sending a shiver of appreciation down my spine. Since I’d moved to London a year ago, accents have become my thing. His accent, I’m going to guess is . . .

  ‘You’re Scottish, right?’

  He agrees with a slight incline of his head.

  ‘And I know what you’re thinking; it’s a little oxymoronic for a purveyor of porn to be named Chastity.’

  I might snort a little, knowing Chas would kill me for using the P word. It’s the dirty connotations in porn, I almost hear Chas’s cut-glass accent intone. All that deep throating and banging. It just doesn’t do it for the mass female audience.

  ‘You had me at porn.’ Amusement colours his tone as he pulls the chair from under the table, lowering his frame into it. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s fighting a smile. Hazel eyes, I realise, golden flecks matching his hair, and a large though lean frame. The camera would eat him up. Given half the chance, I think I’d do the same.

  Except for the porn thing.

  Hell, what was his name again? I’ve been perving all day at his stills, but I can’t remember his name? No matter, I decide, babbling again.

  ‘Okay. What can I tell you?’ The hottie looks on expectantly as I begin what Chastity calls the company spiel. ‘Fast Girl Media produces women and couple-centric erotica with an emphasis on seduction, romance, and sensuality. We provide a highly curated experience from beautiful cinematographic sequences to sensual photographic stills. Also available on the website is an extensive collection of erotic literature for a different kind of stimulation.’ I pause, feeling a pinprick of discomfort as the barista suddenly appears, placing a tiny white cup in front of him. At least I wasn’t in the middle of mouthing the word cock or dildo. Not that I physically mouth those things for the company, you understand. In fact, I don’t do anything, other than a little assisting. And a little admin

  As the hottie gestures to my cup, it suddenly occurs to me that I didn’t see him order his own drink. But as I murmur a no thanks and the barista retreats, I inhale and begin again.
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  ‘You’re a little older than I imagined—’

  ‘Is that so?’ His mouth hitches in one corner, and good Lord, the man has dimples. Well, at least one of them.

  And that accent? I bet he gives amazing aural. He just exudes poise and a taunting, relaxed kind of confidence. So much so, he’s totally making me blush. It’s almost as though he knows exactly what I’ve been looking at. Hell, imagining. These are all good signs, I decide. I want him on the job. I mean, I want to give him the job.

  And me a vicarious screwing.

  ‘W-what I mean to say is, your age totally works in your favour. And,’ I add quickly, ‘it does not in any way diminish your attraction.’ He already knows this, but the advice Chastity supplied was to pander to their egos. ‘Or indeed your suitability.’

  ‘Suitability?’ His coffee cup half conceals his sultry smirk as he lifts it to his lips.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, making a judgment call I know Chas will get behind. ‘We have a shoot coming up next week. It’ll be filmed on location—Barcelona, to be exact. So providing you can supply the appropriate paperwork in time and don’t have an aversion to anal, I’d like to offer you the gig.’

  His response has me squealing a little as I jump up from my seat.

  I wipe the coffee explosion from my face as my mind intones once again, Well, that didn’t go at all as planned.

  KEIR

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I reply, coughing and trying to wipe both the coffee and the smile from my face. ‘That’s some offer. But I only came in to grab a coffee.’ I pass her a paper napkin from the dispenser as her expression falters, the smile quickly slipping from her face.

  ‘You mean you’re not . . . ’ Her words trail off as she pats her face dry, bending at the waist to swipe the electronic tablet on the table, the action causing the front of her dress to gape. Full, soft breasts, and a barely there black bra. I drag my reluctant gaze away but not before I get another eyeful as the tablet lights up.

  ‘Oh, fuck,’ she mutters, and somehow, this doesn’t sound as harsh in her soft, American accent. She flips the thing upside down, snapping ramrod straight.