Rebel

by Lauren Lovell

“I have to go and see a building, and seeing as you’ve made me late…”

  I laugh. “Oh yeah, uh huh. I distinctly remember tying you up and forcing you to fuck me.”

  He grabs my hair and yanks until I flop onto my back, and then kisses me, nipping my lip before he pulls away. “You got your tits out. It’s the same thing.”

  Damn butterflies.

  Breakfast turns out to be a muffin and a coffee from the coffee shop because, you know, I made him late.

  I sit in the front of his car, skipping through radio stations and trying to find a good song. He taps his finger on the steering wheel and I smile to myself because I know I’m pissing him off. Eventually, I get Taylor Swift and stop, turning it up.

  He puts up with it for about three seconds before turning it off.

  “Do you know how long it took me to find a good song?”

  He turns a blank stare on me. “Yes. I’m well aware of the hundred fucking radio stations you skipped through to find that shit.”

  “Hey, I like Taylor. She’s my girl crush.”

  He glances at me. “Really? Of all the hot women out there, you choose the girl next door wannabe?”

  “Hey, crushes are not open to judgment. But now we’re here…who would your guy crush be?” I smile, biting down on my bottom lip.

  “I like women,” he says flatly, making me grin.

  “Uh-huh, but you have to have male appreciation. If a guy doesn’t have male appreciation, then I assume he has gay tendencies, because he’s clearly not at ease with his sexuality.”

  He focuses on the windscreen, even though we’re not moving. “Nice try.”

  “Damn, and I so thought it was going to be Tom Hardy. That would have been a lifetime’s worth of spank bank material.”

  He turns and looks at me, a frown on his face. “I worry about you.”

  I laugh. “Oh, don’t be grumpy just because I fantasized about Tom Hardy ploughing you.” I didn’t, it would totally be Rhett ploughing Tom, but eh, semantics.

  He presses a button on the radio, and cranks it up until hard core rock blares around the car, drowning out my laughter.

  The car inches forward through the traffic, and I find myself studying Rhett, because yes, I’m a pervert. He releases his seat belt and leans forward, shrugging out of his jacket. You know the Diet Coke adverts, where they slow motion a hot guy getting all sprayed with Coke and then taking his shirt off, abs glistening, birds singing, a fucking choir in the background…Well, that’s kind of what’s happening in my mind as he takes his jacket off and the muscles of his arms strain against his shirt. He puts a pair of Ray Ban’s on and drags a hand through his hair, and fucking hell, me and my vagina might need to have a quick pep talk. You gotta hold this shit together girl, you can make it.

  This is going to be a long day.

  18

  Blake

  “This place is a shit hole.”

  The estate agent looks embarrassed, but it’s okay because it matches her scarlet red cheeks which she’s had ever since Rhett shook her hand. Poor woman.

  Rhett stands in front of the window, his back to me as he admires the view of the council estate across the street. I step up next to him. “Oh look, there’s your car…on fire.”

  I turn and lean my back against the glass, and he smirks, slowly shifting his gaze to me. “I buy property that will make me money, not property I want to live in.”

  “Oh good, because I think I caught hepatitis when I walked in.” There are actually needles outside this place. Jesus, there was me picturing Rhett buying fancy hotels. Still, if it makes money…

  His lips twitch and he shakes his head as he walks away. He follows the estate agent to the kitchen in the corner of the room. She lays some papers on the work top and he braces his elbows on the side, studying them.

  I get bored after about thirty seconds, so I call Felix. I haven’t spoken to him in what feels like forever. He’s all grown up with his club…and strippers…and drug dealing. Okay, so he’s allowed to call it grown up because technically it’s a business. I need one of those ‘businesses’.

  “Hey, B.”

  “Hey. How are you? Please tell me you’re getting a lap dance off a hooker and snorting a line off her tits? I need some excitement.” The estate agent makes a small choking sound, before clearing her throat a couple of times. The poor woman doesn’t know where to look. Actually, that’s a lie, and I laugh when I catch her staring at Rhett’s arse.

  “No,” Felix says. “I’m doing paperwork sadly.”

  “You’re ruining my fantasy.”

  “Sorry. You’re welcome to partake in my stead,” he offers.

  “Ugh! I can’t, I’m…actually, I don’t even know where I am. Tooting, I think.”

  “Tooting?” He spits the word like it’s offensive, because it really is.

  “Believe me, I know. I’m with Rhett. Apparently his interests now include purchasing crack dens and HIV risks.”

  “Who knew? I take it that means you got home okay?”

  “Yeah, he did the White Knight thing.” I hear a voice in the background.

  “Shit. Babe, I have to go, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Bye.” I shove my phone back in my bra.

  “You ready to go?” I look up and Rhett is standing in front of me with some papers in his hand. Well, that was quicker than I thought it would be.

  “Yep.”

  19

  Blake

  I promised Felix and Milly a night out because I’ve been keeping a low profile. Okay, that’s a complete lie, I’ve been with Rhett, trying to fuck him out of my system. I think it’s made it worse. The more I fuck him, the more I want to fuck him. A drug, he’s like a damn drug, and I’m a hopeless addict.

  I could pretend that it’s still just to piss my father off, but honestly, we’ve done all we can on that front. Every time we go anywhere together, the press are there. The gossip columns have been at it all week. As far as the outside world is concerned, there is no way I’m not dating Rhett Torres.

  He’s been at my place for the last two nights, and honestly, my snatch needs a rest. That man is ruining me. So, I’ve traded up for Felix and a different kind of good time.

  I hold onto Felix’s arm as we walk into Sparkle. Shit name. Good club. It has these big pillars filled with glittery water and multi-coloured lights. I love this place. It’s like a unicorn walked into a rave and threw up.

  Felix waves at someone as soon as we walk in, so I go to the bar and leave him to his socializing. I can’t take him anywhere because he knows absolutely everyone.

  I lean on the end of the bar, waiting for Todd, one of the barmen. He spots me and smiles as he serves a guy his beers. As soon as he’s free he comes over, flashing me his bright smile. He’s cute, with a dusting of freckles over his nose and a coppery tinge to his hair. He’s been here for years.

  “Blake. How are ya?”

  “Good thanks. You?”

  He shrugs and nods. “You want your usual?”

  “Please.” I hand him a twenty and he sets to making the drink. Todd’s uncle owns the bar and for a select few customers they offer their own home made alcohol. It’s basically moonshine. He paces a ‘Moon Martini’ on the bar in front of me and I swear I could get drunk from the fumes alone.

  I neck it in a few gulps before turning away from the bar, searching for Milly. I know she’s here somewhere with one of her artsy guys. It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s in the middle of a group of guys and they’re all looking at her like they want to eat her. I guess she dropped the art dude. She tosses long dark hair over her shoulder as she dances, trailing her hand over her chest. Yep, she’s already drunk. I move through the dance floor, and push into the group of guys, sliding up behind her. She leans back against me, giggling.

  “Blake. You look so pretty.” She strokes my hair, a wide grin on her face.

  “Yeah, pretty. Now come on, let’s go dance.” I drag her away
from the guys and we dance on our own. I have no idea where Felix went. The drink is starting to kick in now, and it hits me in a gradual wave, making my head swim and my inhibitions drop.

  My body moves with the music of its own violation. It’s like instinct, non-conscious. I smile as a false confidence washes over me, lifting me, making me feel invincible. Todd brings me over another drink, and I neck that one too, cringing at the burning sensation as it trickles down my throat. With a knowing smirk, he disappears again, leaving me to dance.

  I lift my hair off my neck as I feel a bead of sweat roll down my nape. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been dancing, but when I glance down, I realize I’ve taken my shoes off. There’s a cut on my foot where I guess I stepped on some glass, but I don’t care.

  I want another drink, and then I want to party until I can’t even remember my own name.

  Meow.

  What the hell? I groan and roll over, burrowing deeper into the duvet.

  Meow.

  Okay, two scenarios here. One, I’m dreaming. Two, I’ve finally lost my shit.

  Meow.

  I crack an eye open and pull the duvet back. Three, there actually is a cat here. The little black and white cat is staring at me, it’s face inches from mine as it kneads the pillow, purring like a little train.

  “Milly?” I shout.

  No response of course. I slide out of bed and scoop the cat up, cradling it against my chest as I make my way to Milly’s room. I push the door open and it’s pitch black inside.

  I grab the string for the blind and yank it up, allowing daylight to flood into the room. “Milly!”

  “Fuck!” she shrieks, rolling over until she’s face down in the pillow with her arms at her sides. I’m pretty sure she might suffocate herself.

  “Milan.” I shove her shoulder and she rolls onto her back, shielding her eyes from the light.

  “I fucking hate you. You are the worst friend in the history of ever, and I will remember this,” she hisses.

  “Whose cat is this?” I point at the cat but she keeps her hand over her eyes.

  “Is that like a figurative term for the fact that you accidentally ate pussy again?”

  “No.” I sigh. “By cat I mean cat.” I hold the cat out in front of me and it lets out a pitiful little meow.

  She lowers her hand from her eyes and frowns. “What the fuck? I hate cats. Get it away from me.”

  I pull him close to my chest and stroke over his head. “You’re mean.”

  “And you stole someone’s cat!” she shouts after me as I leave her to her hang over.

  I trudge back to my bedroom and climb back in bed, because yep, hung over, banging headache, and a cat. The cat curls up on the duvet and goes to sleep. I guess that’s a reason not to like cats. I mean, where’s the loyalty? He has an owner somewhere, and yet, he’s happy as Larry here. That’s what I’m going to call him, Larry…until I find his owner of course. Though, that might be difficult given the circumstances.

  I’m woken up when my bedroom door bursts open, cracking against the wall. The cat practically lands on my face and I almost have a damn stroke and fall out of bed.

  “Jesus. What the fuck?” I sit up and see Rhett in the doorway, both his hands braced on either side of the frame and a face like thunder. His chest rises and falls as he breathes raggedly. He says nothing, just stares at me.

  “Uh, you realize this is total creeper territory?” Still nothing. “What with the bursting into my apartment and the staring.”

  “Do you know where your phone is?” he asks, his voice icy and his eyes tight.

  My phone? “Uh…” I climb out of bed and grab my little sequined clutch bag, opening it. “Nope. Guess I dropped it somewhere. Happens all the time.” I shrug. “Is that why you look like you’re about to stab someone? Because you tried to call and I didn’t pick up? Because that’s moving out of creeper and slightly into psycho.”

  He throws something on the bed, and I peer over to see my phone nestled into the duvet. The screen is cracked for what must be the hundredth time. Really, it’s a wonder I don’t lose all my belongings every time I go out, but no, the designer clutch and the hundred-quid lipstick, those I keep safe. My phone though—my only means of contact—that I lose and break.

  He then throws a shoe on the bed next to the phone and finally pulls a pair of lace knickers from his pocket, dangling them from one finger. My lace knickers to be precise.

  I frown and rub my temples. “Uh…”

  “I had a phone call this morning, from your phone. A woman a couple of streets over found your shoe, panties and broken phone in a bush this morning. She managed to call the most recently dialed number and got me. You can imagine both her and my concern.”

  “Okay.” I hold up my finger. “I admit, that looks bad, and I have no idea how it happened, but I’m alive, so can you stop looking at me like…that,” I grumble. He takes his hands off the doorway and folds them across his chest, the scowl remaining on his features. “Oh yeah, because that’s so much better.” I roll my eyes and then spot a flash of movement behind Rhett.

  “Hamster!” I shout, pointing. He turns around but that furry little shit is gone. “Motherfucker.” I jump off the bed and shove past Rhett, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

  When I turn back around Rhett is staring at me like I’m about to bite him. I throw my hands in the air. “Why does no one believe me when it comes to the hamster?”

  “Seriously? You have to ask?” He lifts one eyebrow in that condescending way of his. “Shoe, phone, panties, a ghost hamster…” He looks behind me. “A cat, and there’s a homeless man sleeping in the hallway outside your door. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

  “Really? Is that his cat?”

  He drags a hand over his face. “Don’t get me wrong Blake, I like your wild side, but don’t you think that maybe you should lay it a bit?”

  “It’s real!” I argue. “That bastard is taunting me, and he’s like a fucking ninja!” He shakes his head and turns, walking down the hallway. “Where are you going?” I shout after him.

  “To get breakfast,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “Fine,” I huff. “Oh, while you’re there can you ask the homeless man if he lost a cat.” He says nothing. “Please.”

  I sit at the breakfast bar and watch as Rhett moves around the kitchen. I’m not sure the cooker has ever actually been used.

  I brace my elbows on the side and rest my chin in my hands. “You know there are like fifty possible take out options within a mile radius, right?”

  He glances over his shoulder briefly before going back to his task. “Blake, it’s eggs and bacon. A complete idiot could make this.”

  “I take offense to your statement,” I grumble.

  The cat, which, incidentally does not belong to the homeless man, starts circling my ankles, rubbing his little face on my legs. I smile and bend down, scooping him up.

  “Hey, you.” I stroke over his soft fur as he purrs loudly.

  Rhett turns around, frying pan in hand. “You know you have to give that cat back to whoever you stole it from, right?”

  “I did not steal it!” I defend. “I…seem to have acquired him. Temporarily.” Or permanently. He’s cute.

  He starts spooning scrambled eggs onto two plates. “Breakfast and then we take that to a vet, see if they can track down its owner.”

  “Fine,” I huff. “But if they can’t find them then the right thing to do would be to keep him.”

  “No…”

  “I call him Larry.”

  He sighs and tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling. “And you named it.”

  “Shush. Feed me.”

  He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Happy to. I take payment in kind for my cooking services.”

  “Well, if you weren’t so gnarly and judgy this morning, you might have gotten laid.”

  “Judgy?”

  I scowl. “The hamster is real!”

&
nbsp; He laughs and slides a plate in front of me before taking the seat beside me and squeezing my bare thigh. “Of course, it is, Duchess.”

  Despite the fact that I want to impale my fork in his forehead, I’m starving and this smells amazing. That is the only reason I am tolerating his presence.

  20

  Blake

  Turns out, watching Rhett try and get a cat in a box is amusing, to say the least. I made him go and buy a proper crate because no way am I having a cat lose in the car…attached to my face.

  Milly is cocooned in her duvet on the sofa because she’s got a category five. I perch on the arm watching the show.

  “Fucking cat!” Rhett says, scruffing the poor creature and attempting to pry its limbs from the doorway.

  “Why is he fighting with a cat again?” Milly asks, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead.

  “He won’t let me keep it.”

  “Good. It looks feral,” she grumbles.

  “Only because Rhett is upsetting him. Larry’s friendly.” Poor thing looks traumatised.

  “You named it. Oh, god.”

  “Shh,” I hiss at her. “I’m taking it to the vet okay? If he has a chip, then his stupid owners can have him back.”

  “That is not living here!”

  “Shh, hush now.” I stroke her hair and she swats at me.

  “Blake!” she growls. “It probably has fleas, and it’ll have to shit in a litter box. Ugh! I think I’m going to vomit.”

  “No, look, people have handbag dogs…”

  “So you want a fucking handbag cat?” She raises her eyebrows.

  “Larry’s cuter than a Chihuahua.

  “You forget, you kidnapped him. You can’t take a hostage out in public.”

  I choose to ignore her.

  Finally, Rhett wrestles the cat into the box, and then stands, bracing his hands on his hips as he catches his breath. He has a line of scratches across his cheek, and his hand is bleeding.