by Ashley Logan
“Okaaay. What did you say to that?”
Covering his face with his hands, he drags them down his face. “I told her I had moved on.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know! I panicked. I thought if she could tell Rick I was moving on, that he wouldn’t make her transfer. I can’t stand the idea of losing her.”
“And?”
“And what?” he asks, looking at me with his tormented expression.
“Did she buy it?”
“Of course not. She knew I was lying.”
Laughing a little, I give him a playful nudge to lighten his mood. “So what did you do then?”
“Lied some more,” he says, laughing at himself a little too.
“And that worked?”
He laughs harder, shaking his head. “She trapped me. Invited me and my new girl to dinner. Declining means admitting that my girlfriend doesn’t exist.”
“Grim. So you had to confess? How awful!” Laughing too, I clink his beer with mine and drink.
“I probably should have done that, yeah.”
Spraying him with beer, I jump onto my haunches, about to demand an explanation, but stop as I see him wiping my beer and spit from his eyes. “Shit. Sorry!”
“It’s fine,” he says, standing up and pulling his t-shirt up to dry his face off, revealing his chiseled abs in the process. “My fault.”
His voice is muffled by his t-shirt, but I don’t respond, too busy staring at his body. He must spend hours in the gym.
“Didn’t mean for you to waste your beer,” he says, ironing his t-shirt flat again with his hands before looking at me. Glancing over his shoulder, he turns back to me. “Vi?”
“Yeah?”
“Um, you’re sending me signals,” he whispers, as if someone might hear us.
“I am?” I look down, mainly to hide what must be a lusty expression, or drool, or something, but then I notice my nipples on high-beam as well and quickly fold my arms over my chest.
“Sorry. I like your abs, I guess. Fuck. Did I just say that?” Turning around as he laughs, I try to get myself under control. “I might switch to coffee. I think the beer might have fried my filter.” Scooting around the side of the room, I escape out the door, hiding my face in embarrassment.
Slipping into the kitchen, I’m relieved to find a pot of coffee already brewed in the machine. Pouring myself a cup, I take a deep breath and steel myself for the return.
Apologizing again as I sit back down, I blow on my coffee to cool it. Raising my eyes, I find Serge watching my mouth, with a look in his eyes that is familiar to me. Blowing across my drink again slowly, I revel in the sensation that runs through my body as his tongue wets his lips.
Power.
Closing my eyes, I force the thought away. That’s not what this is. This is just friends talking. About serious stuff.
“So,” I begin, trying to collect my thoughts. “You were saying that you didn’t confess?”
Clearing his throat, Serge nods and adjusts his position. “Stupidly, I think I wanted her to be jealous, but to be jealous, she’d have to believe me. I told her my girlfriend worked crazy hours and that I’d have to check her schedule before we could give her an answer. Pathetic huh?”
“You’re not pathetic, Serge. A little obsessed and misguided maybe, but not pathetic.”
“Thanks,” he says without conviction, clinking his beer to my coffee cup before finishing it. “I feel so much better.” Making a face at himself, he sighs. “Sorry. I actually do feel a bit better. Thanks for listening to my sordid tale, Vi. Got any advice?”
“Stay over,” I say, getting off the couch and pointing to the clock as I pull the spare bedding out of the closet. “You meant to be working in the morning?”
Serge rubs his eyes and squints at the time.
“You need glasses grandpa?”
Shooting me a dirty look, he focuses on the clock again. “It’s the beer goggles that are causing the problem.”
“4am Batman. What time you need to be there?”
Groaning, he sinks back into the couch. “Six.”
Looking at the state of him, I wobble back to my coffee and plonk down next to him.
“Easy fix. When was the last time you had a sick day?”
“2011. They’ll think I’m dying,” he says, covering his face with his arm.
“You might feel like you’re dying when you try to get up and make it to work at six,” I say, counting our empty bottles and holding out my hand. “Gimme your phone, I’ll call you in.”
Looking around, his eyes land on me and he lets out a defeated groan. Feeling around his person, he locates his phone. Holding it up to his face, he tilts it back and forth with the same squinty look he gave the clock. Groaning again, he surrenders it to me.
Suppressing a laugh and another joke about his age, I flip his phone around and swipe the screen.
“PIN?”
“Top secret. I’ll never tell. Police code,” he says, holding his hand out for his phone back.
Snorting, I kick him lightly in the shin. “It’s Gina, isn’t it!” I say, already typing in the corresponding numbers. The welcoming chime of his phone accompanies full access to his apps. “Your security sucks, Serge. Who do I call?”
A shadow crosses his face. “Normally, I’d call Gina,” he says, shaking his head. “But that won’t do. I’ll just wait until Cap. Schnyder gets in and text him. Can you set an alarm for me?”
Watching him a moment, I start grinning. “I can if you let me call Gina when it goes off.”
“What?” he says, sitting upright. “No way.”
“Why not?” I ask, my smile growing. “I can pretend to be your fake new girl all confused about who to call because I’ll be keeping you in bed all day. It’s perfect. It’ll get you out of dinner and as an unbiased party, I’ll try to detect any jealousy in her tone, to find out if she’s stringing you along, or if you’re just imagining it. Isn’t that what you want to know?” I ask, raising my eyes from the phone. “If she’s worth waiting for? Serge?”
Shaking his head, his thoughtful expression turns sour. “Wow. I can’t believe I was actually considering that for a minute. No,” he says firmly. “She needs her rest; she’s sick.”
Setting his alarm for 6am. I toss him back his phone. “You’re too nice, Serge. How do you know she deserves you?” I ask, as I shake out a blanket for him and throw him a pillow. Staring at his stunned face, I sigh. He has no idea how sweet he is.
Grabbing what’s left of my coffee, I head to the door. “The bathroom is across the hall and I’m at the end on the right, if you need. No-one here really gets up much before ten, so don’t be too loud.”
“Ten?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, making me smile.
“We’re night people, Serge. Daylight scares us.”
His face becomes serious, as if the mention of nights has reminded him of the nature of our work and it has him thinking. As I begin to feel the familiar sensation of defensiveness welling up within me, he curls up under the blanket and sighs. “Night, Vi. Thanks for jumping on my back and making me stay. I really needed it.”
“I know, Serge.” Bidding him goodnight, I flick off the light and pad softly to my room.
CHAPTER FIVE
SERGE
Serge dragged himself to the surface from the depths of sleep. The alarm needed apprehending. With heavy arms, he swatted at the source of the irritating noise that had invaded his dreams. Eventually striking the smooth device, he fumbled, grasped, and brought it to his face. The bright light and blurry screen had him wanting to throw his phone across the room. Stabbing and swiping his finger blindly at the screen, he eventually silenced the offending thing.
Now he could sleep again.
Relaxing back into bed, he cursed as the need to piss out-ranked sleep. Throwing back his blanket, he hauled himself off the couch. Couch? Wary, he stared at the foreign couch a while, before remembering he was at Vi’s. Tripping on the blanket, he cau
ght the arm of a chair and stumbled to the faint glowing outline of the door, cursing as he pulled it open into his own head.
He clung to the door as the room tilted a little, but slowly let go when it didn’t turn into a whirlpool. Someone had conveniently left the light on across the hall, illuminating his new best friend; the bathroom.
Swaying, Serge flipped the lid, held the wall for support and struggled to keep his eyes open. Sighing with relief, he flushed. Splashing his face with water, he glanced at the blurry face in the mirror and cringed. He was getting too old to drink that much so quickly. Hiccuping, he kept his eyes shut against the water and felt around for a towel, but found none.
The rank taste in his mouth was enough to make bile creep up his throat. Splashing more water on his face and cupping his hands to drink some, he wiped his dripping face on his t-shirt.
Bad move. It smelled of stale beer and now he felt as if the smell was clinging to him. The bile crept closer. Peeling his shirt off, he threw it to the floor and steadied himself in the doorway. Why was he even awake?
The alarm. Work.
Rubbing his eyes, he hiccuped his way back to the couch, grabbed his phone and swiped at it, but couldn’t see shit. Either he was still drunk, or he really did need glasses. Maybe both. Sighing, he looked out to the dimly lit hallway.
Heaving himself off the couch again, he kept one hand to the wall as he walk to the end of the hallway. Last on the right? Is that what she’d said?
The door was ajar and there was music playing at a low volume. Serge nudged the door open further, hoping he’d done so quietly. Lit by a small night-light, Vi’s room was simple and tidy, apart from the bed.
Violet Wheeler lay diagonally, upside-down, with one arm hanging over the side of her bed and her long dark hair covering her face. The only blanket that hadn’t fallen to a heap on the floor, was twisted around her middle, so that she resembled some sort of long-legged, pastry-wrapped appetizer.
Struck by the thought of how delicious that pastry might be, Serge scolded himself. He wanted to kick himself for being in this position. He barely knew this girl and yet somehow he thought it’d be alright to crash at her place with a ton of other young, hot girls and their entourage of muscle. Shaking her shoulder gently, Serge whispered her name.
Rearing back as if burned, Vi stared wide-eyed as if about to attack.
“Vi, it’s me,” he whispered, holding his hands up so she could see them. “It’s Serge.”
Recognition crossed her face and she relaxed a tiny bit. “What time is it?” she asked, looking about and pulling her blanket around to cover her bare legs.
“Too fucking early,” he replied. “Sorry to wake you.”
Tucking hair behind her ears and running her hands over herself as if making sure she was all in one piece, Vi squinted up at him. “Then why did you?” she asked, taking a few deep breaths. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m really sorry,” he hiccuped and closed his eyes as the room swayed. “I gotta text Schnyder, but I can’t see the letters. I need your help. And I feel like crap.”
“Looks like it,” she confirmed. “Sit down and gimme your phone.”
Crossing to her, he fished the phone from his pocket, dropped it, felt around for it and then held it out to her. The movement made him want to be very, very still for the rest of his life.
“You look green, Serge. And if you keep swaying like that, you’re going to fall like a tree.”
Taking his hand, she led him to the bed to lie down. Grateful to be horizontal again, Serge closed his eyes, breathed deeply and felt himself drifting.
“Don’t go to sleep yet!” she said, nudging him. “Tell me what name you keep Schnyder under, I can’t find it.”
“Just Cap,” he mumbled, not sure if his lips actually separated.
“And what do I say to Just Cap?” she asked, her light tone making him warm inside when the rest of him felt rotten. His body was so heavy, that he felt it might be possible he was sinking through the mattress. With his eyes closed, he tried to pretend the room wasn’t spinning, hoping that sweet sleep would protect him soon.
“Sick. Wishing I was dead, but not actually dead. In tomorrow.”
“Done,” she said in an impossibly short time. “You can sleep now.”
Smiling his thanks, Serge obeyed.
CHAPTER SIX
VIOLET
The phone is ringing.
Too early! My brain is convinced it’s still dark out, but the sun filtering in through the gap in the curtain says otherwise. Struggling to open my eyes any further than a squint, I feel around my bedside table, grabbing at the elusive thing. Swiping the screen, I hold it to my ear and gratefully close my eyes again.
“Hello?” I croak, realizing I have the driest throat in the world.
“Serge?” The voice belongs to a very confused sounding woman.
“Huh?” My brain pricks awake and I open my eyes wide. “Oh. Um, hold on a sec.”
Sitting up too fast, I wince and hold a hand to my head. Reaching out to steady myself, I come into contact with a firm, denim-clad leg. What the -?
Spinning around, I see Serge blissfully asleep. Sprawled half-naked across the other side of my bed, he’s hugging my pillow.
Kneeling over his still form, I shake him. “Serge.”
No response.
“Serge! Shit. You’re taking up my whole fucking bed!” With more effort than I thought I’d need, I lift his arm into the air and let it fall. “Serge!”
Sighing at the lack of response, I check that he’s still breathing and feel around for where I dropped the phone. “You there?” I ask dubiously.
“Yeah I’m here. Who’s this? Where’s Serge? Is he okay?”
Rubbing my face, I try my best to ease the anxious voice so I can get back to sleep. “Depends what you mean by okay. He sleeps like the dead. I’m his friend Violet. Can I give him a message for you or something?”
There is a long pause on the other line.
“Hello?” I ask, hoping no-one answers so that I can sleep more.
“Um, yeah. I’m still here. Could you maybe just tell him Gina rang? And that I’m worried about him,” she added.
I snap to attention. “Gina? His partner, Gina?”
“He’s told you about me?”
I don’t really want to engage in this conversation, do I?
“Of course,” I reply, urging my neurons to fire. “You’re very important to him.” The voice in my head laughs. He’s so freaking in love with you that he’s going crazy, I want to say, but I don’t. Glancing at Serge, I start to rearrange myself so I can observe him better. “He says you’ve been unwell. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. That’s okay, I’m on the mend. I was actually just calling because I was worried about him. I stopped by the office and found he was off sick today. We were all worried, because Serge never calls in sick, but I guess he has someone looking out for him.”
Is she fishing?
Serge begins to stir, rolling on to his back and giving me the full view of his athletic physique. This guy is as cut as Bruno.
“Um, yeah. I guess,” I say, sort of forgetting what she’d asked as Serge stretches, making every muscle in his bare torso come to full definition. Rubbing his face, he looks about with weary eyes, locks on me and smiles. Smiling back, I’m a million miles away when Gina speaks again. What did she say?
“Pardon?”
Serge’s expression becomes confused, until he realizes I’m holding a phone to my ear.
“I was just asking if Serge had happened to mention meeting for dinner this week?” she repeats.
“He did mention dinner, actually.” Holding my hand over the phone, I whisper to Serge, “It’s Gina, she rang to see if you were okay.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him as his expression slowly changes from puzzled to horrified. He thrusts his hand out for his phone, but I shuffle backwards, keeping it.
“The thing is, Gina; it’s like Serge said. I work
crazy hours. Evenings mainly, and often until one or two in the morning. And I only have one day off in the next two weeks, so I’m sure, you can understand why he was reluctant to confirm a date with you.” Smiling at Serge, I give him a big thumbs up.
Shaking his head at me, a slow smile graces his handsome, not-so-green-now face.
“Well Rick and I would sure like to meet the girl that’s got Serge busy after hours,” Gina says, with dare-I-say-it, a hint of jealousy?
“Um, how about I see how wrecked I am by the end of the week. If I’m up for dinner, Serge can let you know and we can do something easy, without preparation needs. Like pizza,” I say, grinning at Serge. “Nah, I’m just kidding. Serge would kill us.”
I think I must have stunned her momentarily, because the silence is thick on the other end of the phone.
“Gina?”
“Yeah. Um, that sounds good Violet. Really good.” She sounds as if I’ve scattered her thoughts across the board of this weird game. “Well, tell Serge I called. And maybe I’ll hear from him about dinner. Okay. Bye,” she says all in a rush like she can’t hang up fast enough.
Tossing his phone back on the bedside table I make a face at him.
“That is the weirdest phone call I’ve had in a while, Serge. I don’t know if she’s thrown off that you had a girl answer your phone, or that your lies have all suddenly been backed up, but I’m pretty sure she’s off-balance. She was still pushing dinner, but you heard what I said, so you’ve got an out. I’d kinda like to meet her. There was definitely something odd about her tone at times, but I couldn’t be sure if it was jealousy or just shock.”
I watch his face become distant as he processes. My gaze leaves his face and considers the rest of him, laid out on my bed. I wonder how hot Gina’s husband must be, if she hasn’t found herself swayed by Serge’s charm and rugged good looks. Suddenly aware of my body leaning toward him, I scoot off the bed.
Cheeks flaming, I dash to the closet for my robe, pulling it on over my underwear and tank combo. When I turn back to Serge, I catch him staring at me.
“What?”
Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head and studies my quilt. “Thanks for letting me crash in your bed, Vi. I’m pretty sure I might have fertilized your carpet if I hadn’t lain down when I did. Definitely wanted to die when the alarm went off.”