“Why?” he repeats, shooting me a dubious look. “Because what’s the point if there’s no ‘fish’?”
I scoff, but then surprise myself by setting a hand on his forearm as he selects the Empty Trash box. “Thank you.”
He responds with a quick smile, and I follow him into the kitchen to sit around the table for breakfast. Delphine and I start talking about our successful YouCube channel, JUICED, and how we do it full-time with the money it affords us. “We have over one million subscribers,” I inform, cutting up a piece of pancake. “And we only started up three years ago while we were in our final year at University.”
The two strapping ex-Royal Marines seem surprised we can make good money from creating videos based primarily on make-up tutorials and general lifestyle advice, but they seem visibly impressed.
In return, Cross relays a few humorous stories about them in the Royal Navy, and time flies as I find myself enjoying the company of these two men.
“...I asked the boss to send me some pussy,” Cross finishes a story with, “and he sent this guy along.” Lenic thumps him on the back of the head. “You’re gonna give me a head injury one day and I’ll end up in hospital,” Cross groans, rubbing the back of his head.
“I’ll bring you flowers,” Lenic says. “Hey, man, don't eat all the damn food.” The heavyweight champion looks at me. “He eats like a pregnant woman with triplets.”
“Man, you look like shit this morning,” Cross cuts in, “but you're in a bloody good mood. For once.”
“I'll reapply my makeup for you when I get the chance,” Lenic replies.
“Thanks, Big Man, I appreciate it. You know what they say: some guys need it, some guys don't.” Lenic smacks his spoon hard on the back of Cross’ hand — the one Cross is holding his fork in — knocking the food away from his manager’s mouth. Snatching his friend’s heaped plate, Lenic dumps the contents into his own. “Whoa, check you.” I glance at Delphine who is laughing just as much as I am. Cross shoots us both a look, and then back over at his fellow Marine.
“Cross, no one has said ‘check you’ since 1995,” Lenic says. “Seriously, it just sounds weird at your age.”
“My age?” Lenic grins, spooning a big mouthful of pancake into his mouth. “Yeah fine, mate. Word to the wise, I won’t be taking it easy on you tomorrow. And a good thing too. Yesterday, you were fighting like a little boy. You gonna need to step it up, yeah? Charity fight coming up soon, alright? We need to win.” Cross glances at me. “Don’t get distracted, Reevus. As much as I want you to eat the best fish you can—”
“Watch your mouth in front of the girls,” Lenic warns.
“Alright, don’t pop a cap in my arse.”
“‘Don’t pop a cap in my arse.’ What are you, fourteen?”
I glance at Cross, then regard Lenic over the edge of my coffee mug. “It’s fine,” I say. “I don’t mind. I’m not embarrassed. Somebody needs to help you enjoy life.”
Lenic wipes a hand across his mouth. “And I should get help from a girl who trespasses on private property?”
“Sorry…” Delphine apologises.
“It wasn’t our intention to trespass,” I cut in, setting down my mug. “I was just showing Delphine my childhood haunts. We didn’t do any harm.” Cross signals to refill my coffee mug and I nod my answer, forking a piece of pancake. “I think you should try and break a few rules once in a while. Live it up, footloose and fancy free. It’s called having some fun — fun.”
Lenic leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “I heard all about you and breaking rules, having fun.”
I startle at this, as if he has punched me in the gut. Feeling my blood simmer, my fork slips out of my fingers and clatters onto my plate. I am furious because his smug expression tells me he thinks he knows me, that the neighbourhood gossip is the sum of my parts.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say defensively, glowering at him. I hear the refill Cross is pouring halt as my heart sinks. I try and hide the tension I can feel in my face as that old disappointment rears its ugly head.
“Just heard you were a wild child, is all,” he replies with a smirk.
A wild child? Is that what those town gossips are telling people?
Anger roils in my gut that Lenic managed to land such a cheap shot on me. “You mean — I have no boundaries?” I spit. “That I’m the town bike, right?” The jovial atmosphere darkens, and I shoot up from the chair.
Lenic’s usually effortless and arrogant countenance collapses for the first time and there is a hint of remorse in his features. “I didn't mean it like that…”
I swallow the anger in my throat and remain quiet. Only the clinking sound of people’s cutlery against porcelain pierces the intense, thick air.
“Flick,“ Delphine tries to console.
I look at Lenic. “Thanks for saving me and letting us stay overnight and cooking us breakfast. That bit was great. This bit…” I wave a finger between us. “…not so much.”
“I—“ Lenic tries to say but I cut him off.
“Can you take us home now?” I ask him, glancing down, rubbing my wrist. Suddenly it feels like someone has given me a Chinese burn where my bracelet once brought me comfort.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” Lenic says, regret evident in his voice. I hear Cross clear his throat.
My guard up, I withhold a blustering sigh, and take care to respond in a composed manner. “It’s fine … let’s drop it.” I keep my smile polite. I’ve been hit with harder sticks and stones. Forcing the issue will cause a scene. Lenic saved my life. I owe him.
I just want to go home.
“Yeah … OK,” Lenic replies, rubbing the back of his neck. I notice a flicker of unease passing over his face. “Just give me a sec to make a protein shake and I’ll drop you off ASAP.” Lenic stands up and reaches for a plastic bottle by the blender. I hear him sigh a few seconds later. “You ate the last banana. Need it for my protein shake. That stuff tastes like dirt without it.” He turns to me, and smiles. “Couldn’t resist my large banana, huh?” he chuckles, but I don't reciprocate.
“Shit,” Cross cries out. “Mate, did you just make a joke?” Cross seems genuinely confounded.
I purse my lips. Lenic is trying to make me laugh, and it almost works. Usually, it does. This time, however, his attempt at humour fails to dissolve the heavy weight burning like an ulcer in my gut.
And I snap.
“If you have a complaint — you know what you can do with your banana.”
5
“YMCA! AM I RIGHT, GIRLFRIENDS?”
FELICITY
“BAD DECISIONS,” I say to my roommate. “Lenic Reevus is just a reminder of a long line of bad decisions.”
Sitting downstairs in my house, in the studio, I stare at the cursor on my iMac screen as it flashes idly by, waiting for me to input a title name for my latest upload. Mulling over events, all of my pent-up frustration surges through me. Lenic sees me in the same light as everyone else. It doesn’t take more than two shakes of a lamb's tail for gossip to get out, but he could have let it fall on deaf ears. You choose to believe.
Like it or not, judgements based on gossip and first impressions play a powerful role in how we treat others, and how we get treated. Reflecting back on his behaviour in his kitchen this morning, it all becomes crystal clear. It was a mistake getting close to a fictional fantasy. The reality never lives up to the fantasy.
I was hooked, but now The Tempest has sunk me.
“Perfect,” I say, and type in ‘Hook, Line, and Sink Her’ into the title box.
Let’s see how you like these bananas, Lenic.
My fingers dance over the keyboard as I fill in the rest of the information.
“Bad decisions,” I repeat, punching a finger on the Tab button, watching the blue bar at the top of the web page fill up. “He must think I’m the town slut. He should take a look in the mirror.”
Delphine crosses the room and perches her behind on the edge
of my white glossy desk. “We’ve already established he doesn’t sleep around.” She is right. Lenic isn’t a walking-STD player and neither does he bend over for the other team.
I select the perfect video thumbnail. “So he’s a virgin then?”
“Have you seen the way this guy walks?” Her eyebrow rises. “Unlikely.”
“You’re right. From the sounds of it, he turns down women left, right and centre. And diagonally. There’s only one other option then.”
She grabs the mouse out of my hand. “You can’t upload it, Flick.”
“I don’t live by believing I can’t do things. Can’t isn’t in my vocabulary.” I nudge her hand out of the way and take control of the mouse.
I hear her sigh. “Just think for a second. You sure this isn’t going too far?” I let the cursor hover over the Publish button, and for a fleeting moment I consider deleting the upload. But here’s the thing. I have a habit of going against what I'm told to do.
“I don’t know the meaning of going too far.”
She mutters something in French, but the only French I’m adept in is kissing. “Flick, before you do this, just remember he deleted your embarrassing strip show without you even asking. How many guys would do that?” She shakes her head. “Almost none.”
I mull over her point. It is no secret Lenic is a sexy bastard, there’s no denying it. But a dimpled hot bastard with high cheekbones is still a bastard. And when someone forces me into a corner, I scratch.
Let’s see how he likes people talking about him based on face — in his case, arse — value. Whether this is a past insecurity clouded by umbrage, it doesn’t matter.
I already clicked the Publish button.
Lenic “The Tempest” Reevus, bending over in the shower to pick up the soap he dropped … is live on air.
"Royal Marine boxer workout special. Men’s fitness last month sold out thanks to the female population. Perfection. The word literally exists for him. I’ve seen girls try and seduce him, but no one I know of has succeeded. Is there a woman who is well suited for such a man? Is there someone out there? Is there? Or will it be a man? I mean, we’ve all seen that famous picture of him in the tabloids being kissed by another guy. YMCA! Am I right, girlfriends? If there is someone, I’m sure plenty of women, and men, will be willing to shoot down the enemy for one peek of this Royal Marine’s perfect arse. But here on JUICED we do the dirty work for you. So sit back and bring out the toys.”
Lenic Reevus … you’ve been framed.
6
“THERE IS SOMETHING SO WRONG WITH YOU.”
LENIC
I AM RUNNING late.
I am always in a frantic rush on Monday mornings, and today is no exception. I am trying to figure out how to use the new camera we purchased for the studio. I glance at the clock on the wall and groan. I’m due to host a live streaming event, a Q&A with my subscribers, in just under an hour, and I still need to shower and get ready.
With all the hype generated from the ‘Hook, Line, and Sink Her’ video, we hit our milestone to reach one and a half million subscribers. The video reached over five million views in just two days.
So far, there’s been no word from Lenic, and I wonder if he has seen it yet. Popular celebrity gossip websites are going crazy with it. And pictures, gifs, and memes of him bending over in the shower are plastered all over the Internet. Only the blind could miss it. My body thrums with excitement, anticipating the aftermath from the raging Tempest.
Setting up the lighting and connecting the camera to the computer, I bound upstairs and jump straight into the shower, before applying dark glamour make-up and blow-drying my natural long loose soft curls. I decide on wearing my new Victoria Secret outfit. A pair of cute black capri shorts, and a strapless black-and-white-chequered crop top that buttons down the front.
Grabbing a quick chocolate muffin and a hot brew of coffee from the kitchen, I dash downstairs and glance at the clock. Thirty seconds left. I click on the Start Streaming button, smoothe down my hair, then quickly reach over to open the blinds—
My heart rate skyrockets like a racehorse is galloping a mile per second inside it. Lenic is storming over across the Square, heading straight for my front door, with a look that would back off a charging rhino. I can literally see steam coming out of his ears and through his nose. He is like a charging bull and I am the red flag.
Bad timing, Tempest.
Wait…
Make that good timing.
“Change of plans, my lovelies,” I quickly say to my viewers through the camera. “Seems like I won’t be able to answer your questions today, but I promise, you are going to be blown away with what is about to happen.”
I grab the door handle, but it is thrown open, my eyes tracking the bull’s path. Lenic barges past me so hard, I’m not sure if I opened the door, or if he broke through it.
We are being watched by maybe tens of thousands of viewers from across the world, so I know I should remain prudent. But this goes out of the window as soon as he storms inside. My heart races, my body heats up, while I stare into Lenic’s dark eyes. Furious Lenic is absolutely gorgeous, and angry sex with him pops into my mind again.
He stands in the centre of the room, facing the camera, and glowers down at me. I have the patience of a saint, despite my less than pious past, and I take it in stride. An intimidating glare — whatever. I can glare back with the best of them, and I never stand down from a challenge like this, never blink or avert my eyes.
Time passes and he is yet to utter a word. His glare soon turns into a strained expression.
Is he OK?
“You look real pretty today,” he says in a gruff voice, like he is vehemently annoyed at himself for finding me attractive in my cute Victoria Secret outfit.
Not what I was expecting…
“Um … thank you—”
“Christ, Felicity,” he suddenly spits out. I jolt. “There is something so wrong with you.” He rakes his hands through his hair and locks them behind his head. The furious look in his eyes could pierce a hole in the sky.
“Hey, with those killer looks, relax a bit.”
“The hell you think you’re playing at?” Tossing his hands down, he curls them into fists.
He is right. There is something so wrong with me. I am getting turned on by all of this angry testosterone emanating from him. Lenic is rude and hotheaded, but it can’t be denied that he is the most stunning man I’ve ever seen in real life. The kind of face you have to blink a few times just because it can’t be real. It just can’t. But he is. Something flitters in my tummy just thinking about how he stands there in a pair of motorcycle boots and tight, low-slung jeans. He’s wearing a navy-blue T-shirt that seems to emphasise his dark eyes. The icy glare in them makes me all the more smitten.
“In the future, if something is bothering you — give me a call. Talk it out like a normal damn person. Don’t film me in the shower and show it to the goddamn world because you’re pissed at me.” That jaw of his tightens.
Adrenaline starts to hit my bloodstream in anticipation of a true fight — in front of a live audience. I smile devilishly towards the camera, then step towards him with my hand on my hip. “I’ve seen the towel shots on Men’s Fitness magazine. It’s not like he’s shy to the world.” I shoot a glance at his crotch, then turn quickly to wink at my viewers.
He crosses his arms, lifts his chin. “I got paid.”
I empty all the loose change in my grandpa’s penny jar on the desk. “Here. One pound … and thirty … three pence,” I count. I raise a smile that is meant to get under his skin like a tick, and by the way his jaw clenches and his dark eyes go almost black, I'm guessing the smile and the gesture of payment does what I intended them to do.
“You told me you did make-up tutorials and shit.” His eyes burn into mine, all liquid ice, angry and cold.
“I like to broaden my horizons. I’ll try anything once.”
“It’s humiliating.”
“Your fans love it. There are loads of comments expressing how much they love you. Love ‘The Tempest’. Is it really all that bad?”
He looks at me. “That’s not an angle you wanna see yourself doing. Nobody should see that. I don’t even wanna see me do that. And I definitely don’t want five million people watching me do that.”
“It’s amazing ... You wouldn’t think a man the size of a mountain could be that … flexible ... It’s impressive. You’re a real inspiration to the big guys.”
His voice crackles with growing temper. “I don't know if you're doing this because you took some medicine or haven't taken your medicine.” His chest rises and falls, and he remains quiet, glaring at the smirk on my face.
Then I look at him sharply.
He sort of laughs, like a chuffing sort of sound. It puts me on edge. Then all of a sudden, he runs his tongue slowly across his top teeth and around the side of his lips, grinning devilishly, like he knows he is a sex-god badass. And he is. Oh God, he is. And his eyes are…
Holy Mother of God.
He is eye fucking me.
His dark eyes have locked on and they are fucking every inch of me.
Hear that sound? That distant boom...? Those are my ovaries exploding.
I think I feel … maybe … is that? … Oh, yes. An orgasm.
He must make women cum all the time just by flicking those full-of-dirty-carnal-desire eyes their way, and sliding his tongue around his lips like he’s ready to taste every inch of you until you die. The sensation is so intense, so deep, I am sure he could get me pregnant solely by this one perfect sexual manoeuvre.
“Quit denying it, Hazelnut.”
Hazelnut?
“You’ve got a thing for me, real bad, huh?” His words are slow, almost teasing, smug in his certainty. “Could it be you’re the one who’s lonely and miserable? Is that why you want my attention?” He looks at me as if I’m his deepest, darkest sexual fantasy.
I don’t like this. I can’t read him and I sure as hell don’t know all his motivations. I do know I’m being watched by thousands of viewers so I force myself to keep eye contact, force myself to school my face and keep it blank. But his relentless eye fucking makes me drop the ball.
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