Trickster’s Hunt

by Kel Carpenter

  Nope. Nothing left to the imagination other than how his blood pressure fared.

  From the back, he was just as drool inducing, and I found my gaze drawn to an upper-back tattoo running down his spine to the bottom of his shoulder blades. I couldn’t make it out, but it was large enough to catch and hold my attention. I got a full-frontal view as he reached the end of the pool. Judging by the half smile on his handsome face, he knew I was looking. I didn’t bother to look away as he stretched and took position.

  His dive was graceful, effortless, and I watched him swim several lengths before I decided I’d ogled enough. If he were interested, he’d have spoken, wouldn’t he?

  Anyway, sitting half-in and half-out of the water wasn’t particularly relaxing.

  I went back to my bed to retrieve my robe and locker key before walking the full-length of the pool. I could have put it on. I was feeling the chill in my semi-wet, barely-covered state, but I decided my physical response to it would probably be an asset in a last attempt at grabbing his attention.

  He was still swimming, apparently oblivious to me, and I was starting to feel a bit self-conscious. I’ve never been vain enough to think I deserve male attention whenever I want it, but I’ve certainly never had to beg. Not while wearing next to nothing.

  It wasn’t until the very last moment he drew up at the side of the pool and winked at me. I made a point of allowing only a coy smile as I let my eyes rove over what I could see of him. Well-muscled arms and shoulders mainly, but I had the chance to take in his features.

  His nose was crooked, as though it had been broken a few times, but it didn’t detract from his appearance. Not at all. If anything, it gave him a more rugged look. And his eyes. They were kind, deep. Why I was paying attention to them and not the rest of him I still couldn’t tell you, but they sort of swallowed me up. His smile was lazy, but I was just pleased he eventually managed to crack one and he inclined his head as I walked by.

  Ego restored, I went to change so I could have lunch. Strangely, pool hottie was gone when I walked back through the relaxation and pool area. In his place were two older men, swimming and deep in conversation. One of them looked like he still had a few good runs in him, but he wasn’t worth my attention when I knew abs was wandering around the hotel somewhere. I considered waiting for him to come out of the men’s changing room, but a loud grumble from my stomach kept my feet moving.

  I requested lunch be taken to my room. Having gotten my hair wet and not having showered after my very brief dip in the pool, I decided to wash it before figuring out what to do the rest of the day. My initial thought was that I could probably manage a walk, but today was Adam’s half day, and when my phone rang at one o’clock, my time was filled.

  The thing about Adam is that he’s a gossip. Not in a bad way, spreading rumours or half-truths. He isn’t mean; he just must discuss it. All of it. And I’d hate for him to get a hernia or something awful by denying him the release, so, over an hour was filled with him giving me all the weekend gossip from his office.

  I didn’t mind. It had started feeling like I knew these people and honestly, some of their lives were like soap operas. You couldn’t make that crap up. “Carla and Lisa have split up. I know! Left their husbands less than a year ago, poor blokes,” and talk of that ilk.

  Eventually he remembered my existence, as he always does, and asked how my time alone had gone. So, I told him about everything that happened post-masseuse: the weird waiter, the pool hottie, and how much I wanted to go home.

  “Okay. You have until Friday and I’ll be back there, so maybe get off your arse and do something? It’s a big city. You don’t have to shop. You could go and explore the culture of our capital.”

  “The fuck does that mean?”

  “That you’re an uncultured swine and should go out and learn something. Visit an art gallery, a museum, a park—something!”

  I went quiet.

  “Maia, baby, I love you, and I know you’re happy enough, but you need to get out and do something. Chase down one of your admirers and have some fun. Leave the hotel. Do something, anything, but please don’t sit around for the rest of the week. You’re going to end up depressed.”

  He was right. That was the problem of older, more worldly-wise friends. They’d call you out on your shit and you couldn’t argue because they were usually right. The times he hadn’t been right I could count on one hand and I rubbed them in his face at every opportunity. He took it graciously enough, but the fact remained: he was usually right.

  “Okay. I’ll go out tomorrow. It’s a bit late now.”

  “It’s just after two in the afternoon!”

  “Yeah, and by the time I’ve painted my face, gotten ready and made it anywhere, it’ll be four. Everything closes at five. If I go out tomorrow morning, I can make a day of it.”

  “The British Museum closes at half past, which would give you time.”

  “Then what would I do tomorrow? I do have to go out this afternoon. I’m out of snacks. The food portions here are fucking ridiculous, so I can guarantee I’ll have lost weight before this is done with. I can’t afford new clothes.”

  He snorted down the phone. “She says walking around with a grand cash in her pocket.”

  “I need that for bloody food since the hotel is only providing the three main meals every day in child portions.”

  “What about pizza waiter? Could tap him again. That’ll save you some.”

  “If he’s on tonight I’d like to tap him the other way, if I’m honest. Fit. As. Fuck.”

  “And pizza for afters. Perfect. Where did you say he was from?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t know exactly, but he said he speaks an old Egyptian dialect. But I mean, who knows an ancient language? The masseuse sounded similar. They look like they’re from that region. Bet they know each other. Oh god, do you think they see how many guests they can bed and compare notes?”

  Okay, I know I was making assumptions, but I know guys. I’m not well-travelled, and I don’t have a penchant for languages, so I could only believe what he’d told me.

  “I would. Could always play them at their own game if that’s what they’re doing. Threesome!”

  Now, like I said, I’m confident enough, but I have a limit. And that’s it. So, when he said that, I choked.

  “And on that note, I shall bid you adieu. I have a date tonight since you’re not here making the house untidy.”

  “A-what?”

  “Uncultured swine.”

  His exasperated sigh made me smile. Of course, I knew what it meant. I just liked to piss him off.

  “Ooh, Addie! Before you go, does your phone do this?” I hung up on him and dropped the phone into the bag at my side with a chuckle.

  I really did need to go out and find snacks if I wanted to survive the week. So, I dressed and set out to brave the city streets, grateful to have found a little shop around the corner.

  London prices had me wheezing, but I had enough snacks to keep me going for a day or two. Not that I’d be there to eat tomorrow. No. I’d be out sightseeing.

  Being bled dry and bored out of my damn mind.

  8

  I needed Adam.

  That was all that was going through my head as I stood in the changing room, staring at myself in the mirror. I don’t know why I decided to shop for clothes. I was hopeless at it. The jeans looked okay. They felt okay. It was the top. Who wore blouses anyway? I unbuttoned the damn thing and hung it awkwardly on its hanger. I’d just leave it.

  The real reason I’d left the hotel was because Adam pushed me to get cultured. And to find something decent to eat. Breakfast was as wonderful as it had been the previous day, but there was no way I could handle another measly sandwich and side salad for lunch.

  I’d found a little diner down a side street with an All-American menu. That was what I needed. Two corn dogs, a double burger with extra cheese and bacon, fries, and a grilled chicken tortilla salad, and all memory of the horrifi
c ordeal in the clothes shop faded away.

  I’d been to London once before. It was a weekend trip with my school three years before and it had been every bit as dull as you would expect. Pushed onto a coach at six in the morning, pushed off the coach five hours later, ushered from one attraction to the next.

  We were given the rundown on the Tower of London, its historical guests, and the role of the Yeoman Warders. Then we’d all piled into some hostel where we got to sleep on bunk beds that smelled of drool and sweat. The next day we were herded onto the London Eye, visited some boring museum on the wharf, and piled back on said coach for a long drive home.

  Loved every minute of it.

  This trip was marginally better, so I made the conscious decision to try and enjoy myself. Just a little bit. Heading from Soho back to Kensington, I decided to cut through Hyde Park. The map on my phone said it was only a couple of miles, and after three days holed up in a hotel, I thought I really should get some fresh air.

  I didn’t pay too much attention to what was going on around me until I came to the U.S. Embassy. Cars were backed up, as I’d expected, and I groaned as I realised why. Two cyclists were locked in a screaming argument with a taxi driver who had left his cab, and it was descending into fisty-cuffs. I like a good brawl as much as the next person, but I prefer to be watching from my sofa. Having to walk past that madness…nah.

  But I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t know my way around.

  I couldn’t hear what was being said, but the whole ruckus died down when I was only a few yards away.

  I kept walking. I just wanted to get back. With my head down, I didn’t see the cab driver get back into his car. With all the traffic, I didn’t realise the rev of the cab engine was something to worry about. But something told me to move to the side, to step into a small gated entrance to the building on my left, and just as I did, a deafening crunch made me turn in time to see the cab ploughing into the railings.

  I staggered away as the railings buckled, landing on my arse with my back against the door of the building, convinced I was going to be crushed. My stomach lurched, and for the first time in who knows how long, I was sure my lunch was going to make a reappearance.

  By some miracle, the railings were enough to stop the car, and I sat there glaring at the mangled mess of car and metal.

  The driver leapt from the cab, I assumed he’d bothered to put on the handbrake this time, and shouted, “You alright, love?”

  The dust cloud descended. I’m not usually one for conflict, but the daft prick could have just run me over.

  “No, I’m fucking not! You could have killed me!”

  He seemed taken aback.

  “What the fuck was that?” I shouted, waving my hand at the cab like some sort of lunatic. I was raving mad.

  Red-faced, he began to bluster, but I got up from the ground and took a step toward the railings. It was lucky he had them, because honestly, I think I would have punched him if I could have gotten to him.

  “And now I’m fucking stuck here while you move that heap of shit.” I was pointing between him and his car, shrieking, and a crowd was gathering. Incredibly, the one person I wanted to slap was the only person who had bothered to ask if I was okay.

  With the Embassy over the road, it was only moments before the police arrived to smooth things over and I was forced to calm down or, as an officer informed me, I could be arrested for breach of the peace, whatever that meant. It didn’t matter that the moron had almost mowed me down with his unsecured car.

  Arseholes, the lot of them.

  I sat myself down on the step behind me and wished for it all to be over. I just wanted to go back to my room and stay there until Saturday.

  It only took ten minutes for everything to be sorted. The taxi was backed up, creating a space for me to scramble free and I left my details with the police after insisting I didn’t need an ambulance. The one who had threatened me with arrest hailed another cab to get me safely back to the hotel.

  Still shaken, there was only one thing for me to do. I had a nap.

  I was tired of dressing for dinner. I could probably have gotten away without it, but I’d have felt out of place there in jeans and a plain t-shirt. So I chose the little black dress with the exposed side. Adam had bought it for my birthday since I didn’t own loads of dresses. I spent most of my time in shorts or cropped yoga pants, so it was a case of recycling the ones I had at times like that.

  I left my hair down. Not something I did often because it irritated the hell out of me and Adam usually helped me pin it up for functions, but looking in the mirror, I was pleased with what I saw.

  I walked into the restaurant and took a seat by the window. I was hungry for a change, so I decided to try the soup followed by a pasta dish. It was four under stuffed pieces of ravioli. What I needed was a dirty great pile of spaghetti and meatballs. And garlic bread. And probably cake. I wouldn’t even care if they were all on the same plate. But I ate with as much feminine grace as I could muster and took myself to the bar in the hope there would be snacks.

  There weren’t.

  Everything about the place was a cliché: the polished wood floors, the sleek marble bar, and the piano jazz playing in the background. I took a seat on a very comfortable, but ridiculously high stool at the bar, ordered a globe of gin, complete with that shrubbery they liked to stuff it with, and sighed.

  The bartender made a good job of ignoring my presence entirely until another couple arrived and placed their orders. Movement to my right drew my attention and I glanced over.

  My heart stopped.

  Somehow he was even more impressive in clothes, probably because I knew how good he looked without them. He was wearing light coloured pants that clung to his muscled legs and a light kaftan shirt that flowed over his body. I knew what it covered. I couldn’t get that image out of my head and I gave a nervous smile before taking a careful sip of my drink.

  His eyes shone. “Hello again.”

  Again? He bloody ignored me yesterday.

  “Hi.”

  I tried not to blush since the image of him in his swim wear was flashing in my brain. I don’t think I pulled it off. I knew I hadn’t, and I think he knew what I was thinking, given the half smile on his lips.

  “May I join you?”

  His accent was making my toes curl, but I tried to play it cool. I gave what I hoped was a pretty smile as I turned the seat to face him.

  “Yeah, by all means.”

  “I would offer to buy you a drink, but…” he trailed off, looking at my glass. “I’m Amos.”

  “Maia.”

  I took the offered hand and he turned mine over to brush his lips over the knuckles. The barely perceptible contact sent a chill up my spine and I tried not to visibly shiver.

  He looked up at me, still holding my hand, and smiled. “That’s a beautiful name.”

  “Thanks. Amos is…”

  I was going to say biblical, but that was a fucking stupid thing to say. When I failed to finish my sentence, he laughed and took his seat.

  “Tell me, why is a beautiful young woman dining and drinking alone in a hotel in London?”

  I puckered my lips and raised my glass. He watched me drink, his eyes fixed on my mouth. “I’m here for work.”

  It wasn’t really a lie. I was there on a freebie, but I suppose I had earned it…worked for it…stuffed my face for it. Yeah, that was work.

  “The competition?”

  So much for making myself sound smart. I must have looked horrified, because there was definite amusement in his eyes.

  “Yeah. I’m a competitive eater. I won the semi-final and the prize was a week here, expenses paid, until the final.”

  He laughed again, looking me up and down, and my stomach did something odd. Whatever it was, the niggling hunger vanished. “I should like to see you in action.”

  I had to tell my filthy mind to shut the hell up as I carefully constructed my response.

  “It�
��s the final on Saturday. I think they still have tickets at reception.”

  “I’ll be sure to attend. How long have you been competing?”

  I shrugged. He maintained eye contact most of the time, but his gaze had slipped down my body and back up more than three times in the space of a minute. It was no different to how I’d looked at him, and to mind would be hypocritical, but it was making me nervous. Not in a bad way; more of an excited nervous way. It was distracting.

  “Couple of years. It started as a bit of fun when I left school and now I have a whole channel, followers, people coming to watch. It’s a bit odd, if I’m honest. I didn’t plan for it to go this far.”

  He waved his hand in my direction, gesturing the whole of me. His eyes began to follow but stopped at my chest. I flushed. “Yet here you are: one meal away from U.K. champion. That is an impressive achievement for a…”

  He gave me a questioning look. Fishing.

  I obliged him. “Nineteen-year-old.”

  He grinned.

  I was genuinely flattered and lowered my eyes.

  His finger pushed my hair aside and I looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re here until Saturday?”

  Swallowing hard, I tried to reply, but my mouth had gone dry. His hand so close to me, almost touching me, sent a zing through my body.

  “I leave Sunday morning.”

  His finger ran the length of my hair before he withdrew it, turned, and took a drink. He drained the glass in one large swallow and raised a single finger at the barman. That was my cue to leave.

  I slid from the stool, tugging the skirt of my dress down, and smiled up at him. “It was lovely to meet you, Amos, but I really should be going. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

  Cocking his head, he studied me for a moment. “May I walk you to the elevator?”

  I didn’t even think. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Allowing me to go first, he settled into a leisurely gait at my side. I could smell his aftershave. Sweet, like liquorice, and leathery. It made me feel relaxed and I found myself stepping closer into his side. If he noticed, he didn’t react.