Shit. She’s right, she’s mature for her age. What harm would it really do?
But I don’t ring her back. As bad as I feel, tonight is my eighteenth birthday night out and I want to enjoy it to the hilt with my friends. If Regan were there, I wouldn’t be able to relax. She’ll get over it, another few months and she’ll be out there anyway.
I heave a sigh and turn to my now powered on iPad, logging onto Facebook and connecting with my closest friends. I smile when I think about them.
Donna Holland, the woman who was pivotal in saving my life. She rescued me from the streets after running me over one night when I was crossing the road in the dark and the rain. Donna has an awful facial scar, the result of a knife wound inflicted upon her by a coked up punter when she was a sex worker. She took me in, helped me get back on my feet and unwittingly provided me with key information that enabled me to save Justin and his family. Donna now works at The Guardian, she has given up the sex trade for good and I have never seen her happier. Despite her dreadful scar, she’s beautiful inside and out at twenty nine years old and I love her dearly.
I quite literally bumped into Gemma Wilkinson one day about a year ago, coming out of Starbucks and we spilled our coffees all over each other. The shock and horror that I saw in her face was mirrored in mine as we stood, soaked in each other’s steaming drink. We stared at each other before apologising in unison and then collapsing into laughter. We became friends that day, me insisting that I buy us two more drinks and we swapped phone numbers that day, connected on Facebook. We’ve so much in common, with a similar sense of humour and as the months have gone by, she’s become so very important to me. Two years older, at twenty, she’s smart, funny and beautiful, with jet black hair in a shiny shoulder length bob and a sweet personality. She’s also currently single, despite trying not to be.
And finally… Aaron Palmer. The Guardian’s ex-apprentice and now a junior IT Officer, working under Dillon. I’d been working at The Guardian for about six months when he approached me one day and asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee with him that lunchtime. I remember looking up into his plain but kindly face, his soft grey eyes and nodding. We went for the coffee and he made me laugh with tales of his life on the streets and his caustic sarcasm about his drunken, useless father and we just seemed to click. We gradually drifted into being boyfriend and girlfriend and I recall Justin and Ellen gazing at us fondly as we walked through the foyer of The Guardian holding hands.
But it just wasn’t to be.
I enjoyed Aaron’s shy, tentative kisses. They were nice, but akin to eating a slice of hot buttered toast when you’re hungry is nice. The feel of his lips didn’t ignite anything inside me. I’m no expert, certainly, but Ellen and I have had some very deep and intimate conversations. She’s described how her first husband, Nick, made her feel compared to Justin. How just the touch of Justin’s hand set her whole body on fire, robbed her of the ability to live her life, unable to eat or sleep for wanting him so badly. Despite never feeling this way myself, I knew immediately that Aaron was never going to ignite any infernos and our relationship gradually fizzled out.
Surprisingly but thankfully though, we’ve remained close friends and I connect with him on Messenger, telling him what time and where tonight. Heebies to start with, at half seven. I grin at my iPad as he shares it with his world and I make my way out of the attic, grabbing a towel on my way out, down the spiral stairs and towards the gym. I open the door and pull my iPhone and wireless earbuds out of my pocket, stripping down to my leggings, bra and bare feet.
Opening the small fridge, I take out a bottle of Evian before plugging my iPhone into the dock, selecting a hard dance playlist from Amazon Music. I shove the buds into my ears and programme the machine for nine miles. I step on at a walk and the speed gradually increases until within a few minutes I’m at a steady jog. I try and clear my mind as I run, dance music pounding in my ears, heating my blood with excitement in anticipation of the night to come.
Is the man of my dreams waiting for me out there somewhere tonight? I snort at my own naivety. Hardly likely, is it? And, even if he was, he’d be sorely disappointed if he bagged me. I’ve only ever been kissed, chastely, by one man, who I never really fancied. I’m inexperienced in the extreme. If a hot man dropped his pants in front of me I wouldn’t have a clue what the hell to do. I’ve never even seen a naked penis in the flesh, hard or not! I roll my eyes in self-deprecation at my embarrassingly poor sex life and I start to huff a little as the running machine steps into the next phase of its cycle.
Sweat starts to sheen my body as the machine forces me faster still. It’ll start to tilt on an incline in a few minutes. This is Justin’s favourite programme and he laughed when I told him I could handle it. That slid off his face the first time he saw me do it, mind you. It’s also Ellen’s favourite programme, even though she’s not a runner. I remember her telling me about Justin acting out her fantasy of running naked in front of her. I shouldn’t be thinking about this at all, I am already a sexually heightened mess and the last thing I need in my head is an image of Justin Walker running naked, dripping sweat and hot as flaming hell.
What is up with you? It’s like a switch has been flipped in your bloody head!
The running machine enters its final sequence now and my mind clears as all I can think about is keeping pace with the rubber tread. The speed and incline make me gasp, my body running with sweat. My muscles begin to burn and I bite my lip as I count down the seconds in my head. I’m struggling now, the burning in my muscles real fire, my breath catching at the back of my throat as I desperately try and keep my lungs filled.
I sag in relief as the machine begins to coast me down from a flat out sprint to a gentle jog, eventually coming to a soft halt. I bend over and clutch my knees, my body pouring sweat and I feel a drop slide down my nose and bounce on the rubber tread between my feet. I grab the towel and wipe my soaking face and body, dragging the tie from my hair and tipping my head upside down, scrubbing my fingers through it.
Nothing like a shot of endorphins to get the blood pumping for your night out!
I drain the bottle of water before moving to the door and down the corridor. I’m still breathing heavily and as I walk to the attic stairs, I pass the master suite and my steps slow involuntarily as I hear a gasp and a deep groan. I hurry past quickly, a slight smile playing at the corners of my mouth. Seems as though Jared has finally fallen asleep and Justin and Ellen are doing what they do best.
I jog up the stairs to my attic apartment, throwing the damp towel into the hamper and moving towards the wardrobe to find something to wear. I bought a dress recently but have never worn it and, as I pull it down from its hanger, I raise an eyebrow at it, chewing my lip.
Yeah. You definitely deserve an outing.
It’s dove grey, tight and backless and I select a pair of black suede heels from the bottom of the wardrobe before moving towards the shower and switching it on. I check my Facebook and see confirmations from my friends that they will be in Heebies at the allotted time. I check my phone… nothing from Regan.
That’s good though and I shake my head to try and rid myself of the guilt I still feel. I peel my damp clothes off, dumping them in the hamper before standing under the shower. I stay there for an age, the hot water relaxing my muscles and I feel almost boneless by the time I pick up the shampoo. I wash my hair, shave everywhere and eventually leave the stall, grabbing a huge towel and wrapping it around myself.
I was going to put my hair up and curl it, but I actually can’t be arsed now. I smooth moisturiser into my face and body, chucking the towel into the hamper and sliding into a lace thong. I stare at my face in the mirror. I feel different. I don’t know whether it’s the thought of a legal night out ahead of me or whether it’s the hormones that for some reason seem to be bouncing through my body. I shake my head, trying to send them away. This is getting ridiculous. I feel decidedly horny and that is not a good sign. I’m likely to pounce
on the first halfway decent looking bloke that glances in my direction at this rate!
I sit and apply my makeup slowly and carefully, going for understated now that I’m legal, the need to pile it on not there anymore. I have ID! My blonde hair is so long and thick, it takes over half an hour to dry and straighten it. I take my time though and by the time I’m done, I know it was worth the effort. My hair falls in a bright blonde waterfall past my breasts and I smile at my best feature.
I wriggle into the little grey dress, slipping on my shoes, stuffing a clutch with my phone, assorted items of makeup, my keys and bank card. I pull a sheaf of notes from my top drawer and stuff these in as well, checking my watch and running a hand through my hair.
I take one last look in the mirror, satisfied with what I see. I actually look quite hot! I clench for a moment, excitement fizzing through me as I exit the attic and pick my way down the stairs in my ridiculous shoes. I reach the bottom, gathering my breath and my wits, before walking towards the kitchen and pushing the door open.
Ellen is stirring something on the stove, Justin bending down and blowing raspberries at his son, who’s seated in his highchair. All eyes turn to me as I stand before them in the doorway, feeling unexpectedly very shy and nervous. Justin’s mouth drops open as I raise my eyebrows.
‘Well? Do I look okay?’ I’m becoming anxious, their lack of response to my appearance is making me think that I’ve got the whole thing wrong. That I look like an eighteen year old tart, desperate for a shag, which is exactly how I suddenly feel.
‘Jesus fucking Christ…’ The words slip quietly from Justin as he straightens up, Ellen turning from the stove, leaving the wooden spoon in the pan of whatever it was she was stirring. They both just stare at me and I drop my eyes.
‘Please? Say something?’ My gaze swings between them both, my cheeks heating as Ellen comes over to me.
‘Pearl, you look absolutely bloody stunning.’
I bite my lip, wincing. ‘Really?’
‘Hell yeah, really…’ Justin says huskily as he approaches. His eyes narrow for a moment. ‘Remember what we talked about?’
I roll my eyes at him, dragging my iPhone out of my bag and checking for the taxi that I’ve pre-ordered.
‘I will, don’t worry.’ I lean forward and kiss them both. ‘Have a good evening. I won’t be late.’ I turn towards the door and Justin slings an arm over Ellen’s shoulders as they watch me go. I smile at them.
‘I love you both, so much.’ My phone pings with a text to tell me that my taxi has arrived. I blow them both a kiss, before heading down the hallway to the front door, opening it and trotting down the steps to the waiting cab and the first night of my now happy, adult life.
Four
I slide out of the cab outside Heebies.
I’ve never been in here before and I feel a shudder of excitement. They’re red hot on ID here. The few times that I’ve been out as an underage, I’ve managed to sneak past any door-staff without them asking to see my ID, which is a good job, since I didn’t have any. Surprisingly and almost disappointingly, I’m waved through without scrutiny and I throw my head back, pushing the doors open and making my way into the dimly lit bar.
My ego is boosted further as I see several men look at me as I walk in, raking their gaze up and down my dove grey clad body, my size 8 figure and my waterfall of blonde hair making them stop in their tracks. I hear a faint wolf-whistle as I walk past a group of blokes standing around a tall table near the small dancefloor.
I spot my friends, waiting for me by the bar and I pull them into a group hug. We’re all very different people, drawn together largely because of Justin Wonderful Walker in one way or another, but despite our diversity, we care about each other very much.
Gemma shoves a glass of white wine in my face and they break out into a loud and resounding “Happy Birthday to You!”
I dump my wine onto the side of the bar as about twenty other people within earshot join in and I drop my head into my hands. This is beyond embarrassing and, as the song reaches its crescendo, it feels like the whole pub is suddenly singing to me. My face heats as they finish and I give them a mock fierce scowl as applause, cheers and whistles break out all over the bar.
A good-looking barman bends towards me. ‘How many years?’ he asks, his handsome face creasing in a smile, he really is cute. I grin back at him.
‘Eighteen.’
His mouth pops open. ‘Are you serious?’ He looks dumbfounded and I nod at him.
‘Yeah, today, actually. I am eighteen today.’ His smile widens as he picks up my hand that was lying on the bar bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently. I feel a faint throb in the pit of my stomach as I look into his sexy eyes, his light brown hair flopping over his forehead before he shoves it away with his spare hand.
‘Well, happy eighteenth birthday, beautiful woman. Enjoy the rest of your night.’ He pauses and I can’t look away from him, not even drawing in a breath. ‘Here, this is on me.’ He puts a glass of white wine in front of me and smiles once more before retreating off down the far side of the bar. He looks over his shoulder at me has he goes, giving me a wink. My heart is starting to knock as I look at him, serving a customer and I drag my eyes away reluctantly as Gemma pulls at my arm.
‘Oh. My. God!’ she squeals. ‘You’re bloody eighteen! We’re going to have so much fun!’ She beams at me, her beautiful face animated with pleasure as she hugs me briefly and we all retreat away from the bar to a corner table, where we sit for the next few hours chatting, drinking and relaxing. As the time ticks by, I eventually look at my watch.
‘Okay, it’s nearly eleven. What are we doing?’ I ask as I drain the last of my wine.
Aaron shrugs. ‘It’s your birthday Pearl – where do you want to go?’
I snort at him. ‘I’m hardly a bloody expert on Liverpool’s club scene, am I? I’m relying on you lot to show me a really good night!’
I can feel the alcohol singing in my bloodstream now, I’ve never been drunk before tonight. I’ve had the odd glass of wine at a family meal, but I’m revelling in the gentle warmth spreading through my bones, the soft electrical buzz in my tissues, my inhibitions sliding away. I’m really enjoying myself now, I feel alive, powerful and incredibly happy.
Gemma grins at us. ‘Pulse is the closest, but the drinks are expensive. Other than that, there’s Warehouse or Obsidian that aren’t miles away.’
‘Let’s go to Obsidian,’ Aaron pipes up. ‘I’ve heard good things about that place.’
We drain our glasses and collect our things, piling out of the bar and turning right, chatting vaguely about nothing and wander down the pavements until we reach the entrance to the club.
We stand in line for about ten minutes before we’re paid and in. Making our way through large swing doors we find ourselves a very darkly lit club, the only real light coming from the bars that hug three walls of the massive black room with an almost menacingly low ceiling. It’s not what I expected at all and a bit disconcerting.
Obsidian. What is that, black?
Yeah, black glass. I remember it from school. Jesus. I grab Gemma’s hand as we make our way over to the nearest bar area and some welcome light. There aren’t even any coloured lights or strobes on the dancefloor, there are a couple of weak green lasers but that’s it. You could dance in front of someone and not have a clue if they were male or female.
We make it to the bar and slide into a space. Jenna stands next to me, Donna and Aaron standing to the side of her. I turn to her.
‘I’ll get these.’ It’s my round and she nods as the bartender appears in front of me.
‘What can I get you?’ He tips a smile at me and I give him one back. ‘Three large dry white wine, please and a JD on the rocks.’ He nods and turns away to make the drinks returning to me in a few moments with a white wine and Aaron’s short. I slide them over, turning to wait for him to come back with the other two glasses of wine.
He does and he places the
chilly glasses in front of me. Gemma has turned away and is talking to Aaron and Donna, leaning away from me and into them to make herself heard over the music. .
I hand the bartender a twenty pound note and he nods, sorting the change quickly and handing it to me. His smile tips wider and he thanks me as I drop a pound coin into his hand before turning away from him. I pick up the two glasses of wine and turn to move away from the bar but as I take a step someone bumps into me hard from the left, making me stumble forward and lose my balance. In a split second, I’ve tipped both glasses of wine down the white shirt of the man standing in front of me.
Oh for fuck’s sake…
I’ve drenched him, they were large glasses. He’s just had more than half a bottle of wine poured all over him and I clench my eyes shut in humiliation, not wanting to open them and face him. He’s got every right to be furious, and at the very least I need to apologise, so I look up, tipping my face to his, wincing in advance. The expression is wiped from mine in an instant and my mouth drops open when I realise exactly what I’m looking at.
He’s young, early twenties and tall, around Justin’s height. He has a tumble of burnished curls which fall softly around his perfect face. His eyes are a captivating green, threads of cobalt snaking delicately from his pupils, which start to expand slowly as he stares down at me.
Oh my God.
I manage to tear my eyes away from his, dropping them to inspect the rest of his face and I’m not disappointed. I take in the sharp cheekbones and square jaw, the straight, narrow nose slightly tilted at the tip, the full, sexy lips and my heart starts to thump heavily in my chest. Jesus Christ, this man is beyond perfect. I think back to earlier in the evening, when I looked at Justin and knew that I’d never seen another man as beautiful as him in my life.
Well, here he is. Standing right in front of you.
My breathing shallows as I drop my eyes from his flawless face, down his graceful but powerful neck and further, to his wine soaked shirt. The fact that the bloody thing is white, tight-fitting and now transparent does nothing to help my poor confused brain. He’s built, I can clearly see the slope of his smooth pectorals and sharp abs, his nipples peeking darkly through the scant material. There’s a long shadow on his torso, but I’m unable to make it out. A scar, maybe? I gulp, shooting my eyes back to his face.
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