Chapter 1
The screeching of the alarm could probably have been heard miles away.
Was I awake or dreaming?
I couldn’t open my eyes. It was like they were glued together. I lay there for a few more seconds, before coming to a conclusion.
Awake. Definitely awake.
I rolled towards my bedside table and blindly fumbled for my phone to quieten the alarm, before flopping onto my back again.
Silence.
I eased my eyes open, the red ceiling now visible through my crusty eyelashes, a movement that seemed to trigger a thumping in my head. It mimicked my heartbeat, and the now-familiar icky feeling deep in my belly confirmed my diagnosis, based on previous experiences of most weekends, and even some week-nights.
I am so hungover.
I needed tablets. More than that, I needed fluid. Water, cat pee, wine…well, maybe not wine…just anything. I felt like liquid had not passed my lips in a year. I turned to my bedside table again and was relieved to see a glass. I gulped its contents down, not caring that it was warm, had bits in, and had probably been there since last weekend. I was just thankful that it coated my throat with something other than the sandpaper currently in situ.
The room felt stifling. I was finding it difficult to breathe. And I needed to pee, which was the deciding factor that made me move.
I did a full body stretch, starfishing to my body’s extreme, preparing it for motion; my hands and feet reached for the corners of my king-sized bed.
What was that?
I touched something warm and silky. A grunt followed. I turned my head nervously to take a look, despite knowing full well what I’d find.
Oh, God. No. Please, no.
Hair, obviously attached to the head that grunted, that, in turn, was attached to a body. The face belonging to the hair was buried under the quilt. Listening carefully, I heard gentle snores.
Shit, shit, shit, I screamed inside my head, for fear of waking the person laid next to me.
I gazed back at the ceiling, my eyes now fully open and my body wide awake, trying to piece together the events of the night before. I searched my mind for any clue as to who was in my bed.
I remembered the beginning of the evening with no trouble. Starting down the local was always best at the end of the month when money was running low. Drinks were cheap in The Crossed Swords, where I used to work part time; plus, friends behind the bar passed over free drinks when the manager wasn’t looking. And the locals were always eager to buy ladies a drink. Many shots were downed to start the evening with a bang, and from there it was a taxi into town. We went to a club, where there was plenty of chatting, singing, maybe a little flirting with a few handsome guys - then, if my memory served me right, I just danced the night away, even if I was a little worse for wear when I got home. End of story.
So, who the hell was that? I continued to stare at the ceiling, as if doing it for long enough would give me the answers I needed.
A revelation! Snippets started coming back to me. I slowly lifted the quilt covering my body, not wanting to disturb my guest, in case my assumption was wrong. I found I was still in my tight-fitting jeans and sparkly top; I’d even added socks at some point before getting into bed. That could only mean one thing.
I stood on the bed slowly and unsteadily, due to my extra-soft mattress and my fuzzy head. I then belly-flopped onto my sleeping mystery guest.
“Pile on!”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Her groans escaped involuntarily as I bounced on my best friend, Nicole. From her wails and lack of movement I guessed she was in a worse state than I was, which was usually the case. Nicole liked a drink even more than she liked men…and she liked men a lot.
“Wakey, wakey, dude. My alarm’s just gone off. Remember me saying I’ve got a builder coming round? He should be here in half an hour. I want you with me when he checks out the garden, pretty please. Just in case he’s a weirdo.”
Nicole giggled as best she could in her sleepy, hungover state. “Mai, if ever there was a girl that could fend off a weirdo, it’d be you.”
I giggled with her. She was right. I wasn’t the type of girl who suffered fools gladly. Well, not anymore. After putting up with an abusive boyfriend in my younger years, I promised myself I’d never be bullied again. Five years of kickboxing training gave me the physical strength and techniques I needed to protect myself, though my quick mouth and new-found confidence usually put a stop to anyone even thinking about trying anything with me. I never wanted to be in that dark place ever again. Unfortunately, I took this resolve a little too far. I could be defensive and awkward with those I let into my life.
I rolled off Nicole, off the bed, and started to remove last night’s clothes. Taking off my socks, the luxurious beige carpet felt blissful under my aching feet that were blistered and bruised from dancing in my obscenely high but beautiful shoes. I threw the rest of my clothes in the wash basket and padded to the bathroom.
One of my favourite places, my bathroom was bright blue and white; it had a seaside feel to it that, even with a hangover, brightened up my mornings and helped me start my day. I was up and out at the crack of dawn when working the early shift, so a boost was always welcome.
I switched on the shower then turned to my full-length mirror. My panda eyes told me I’d not removed my make-up before getting into bed, and my long, usually-straight, blonde hair made me look like the fifth member of the nineties’ band Poison. I twisted my naked body this way and that, to see it from all angles. I found a bruise on my calf, and one on my bum; I must’ve fallen over at some point. And I had a broken fingernail. But all in all, I was in pretty good shape.
My job as a fitness instructor at Ph@t C@ts, one of Birmingham’s swankiest gyms, kept me fit, although I’d always been quite sporty. A slim build, standing at 5”6’, but with curves in all the right places, I’d only recently learned to appreciate my body. I wasn’t ugly, it was just my so-called boyfriend that told me that. I had a few tattoos; my most recent was on my back - a black and grey corset with a bright red ribbon running through it. It was an unfinished masterpiece; I couldn’t wait until my next session to see it complete. My hair was long and naturally straight, but not naturally blonde; neither was my body’s golden sheen. I was lucky; Ph@t C@ts also had a beauty salon, and the management saw the benefits of having good-looking, beautifully primed trainers amongst their staff. Therefore, treatments were heavily discounted.
I bunched my hair on top of my head and threw a towel over the top of the shower rail before stepping into the steam. The water was slightly too hot, but a few minutes under the jets washed away my heavy head and the aches in my body.
Scowling, I cut the soothing sensations short, after hearing the shrill ring of my doorbell. I stepped out of the shower, threw my towel around me, and headed downstairs, wiping my wet feet on the carpet as I went.
I opened the front door to the back of someone’s head. The man was chatting animatedly on his phone, though I noted his head still turn towards the lean, young woman jogging past my front gate.
“Babe, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Yes, I know I left before you woke up. I had...stuff to do. It’s been a month? Really? Well...I, erm...promise not to leave it so long next time.” He was still chatting as he turned round.
He stopped dead and his mouth gaped open after he clocked me in my tiny towel.
“How you doing?” He grinned at me predatorily, snapping his phone shut and cutting off his female mid-rant.
“Better off than you’ll be, next time you see her,” I chuckled, nodding towards his phone.
I could tell his type straightaway. He was gorgeous and he knew it. He was around 6ft tall, with a slim build, but definitely not skinny. His clearly-defined muscles and latte-coloured skin were proudly exposed in his white vest. I’d noticed a tattoo on his neck when he’d had his back to me, but I wasn’t able to make out the inked words. He seemed a cheeky, loveable rogue, and I imagined the ladies loved him for it.
He offered me his hand and I took it. “I’m Nathan, at your service. I’m here to give you a quote for the work in the garden.” He pulled my hand to his lips. His touch was gentle on my skin.
“Mai,” I replied, laughing. “I can see I’m going to have trouble with you.”
“Mind you don’t drop that towel. Which way to the garden? The boss will be along in a minute, he’s just sorting some business in the van.” He let go of my hand, giving me a cheeky wink as he squeezed past me and headed towards the back door I’d pointed to.
Then I saw him, stepping out of the driver’s side of the white van. The sign on the side read: Joe Jones and partner. Builders, maintenance and repairs.
He must have been 6”3’, and he had the broad build of a second-row rugby player. His shoulders were wide, and his long, muscular arms stretched his tight, white t-shirt to capacity. His jeans were snug against his muscular thighs and pert butt, of which I got a great view when he bent to retrieve the pen that dropped from behind his ear. His gelled, messy blonde hair complemented his sun-kissed skin, and his aviator sunglasses completed the look.
If someone was able to build a man to my desired specifications, he would be the result. Perfection.
I stared at him in awe as he strolled down my garden path. His head was bowed, his attention solely with his mobile phone. I wondered if he knew how glorious he looked. He even made dirty rigger boots sexy.
He reached my front door and looked up. His eyes took in my near-naked body until they locked on mine.
“Nice towel,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow.
Great. The man of my dreams has just landed on my doorstep, and I’m dressed in a towel. And an old faded one at that!
“Nathan’s just gone through to the garden,” I mumbled shyly. “Go on through. I’ll just grab some clothes.”
He smelt divine as he passed by me: a mixture of heat from the summer sun and aftershave - a sweet, clean scent that made me want to chase him and inhale more.
I ran up the stairs and riffled through my wardrobe, trying to find something half-decent to put on. The heat made its way through the open window, suffocating me, and the pungent smell of last night’s booze was thick in the air. I threw on some denim shorts, a bra and vest, then jumped on the bed again, to open the curtains, and also to rouse Nicole once more.
“Nic, you should see what’s in my garden. POA times two. I think I’m going to give them the work, just so I can sit and watch them do it.”
POA was our code for ‘piece of ass’, and what Nicole and I used to describe men we found attractive. My words stirred her.
“Let’s have a look.”
She lifted her head from the bed, positioned just under the window, and squinted through the sunlight. Her eyes grew as big as saucers.
“Mmm. Dibs on tall, dark and handsome. I’m guessing your eyes are on the taller, blonder, and just-as-gorgeous-anyway?” she croaked.
“Deal.”
We sealed it with a high five. We had quite different taste in men, though we generally knew what, or who, the other liked - which was one of the many reasons we were best friends. We were both confident as individuals where men were concerned, but together, our power over the male species was formidable. We could get almost any man we wanted, and did so, whenever one took our fancy.
We’d both had a bad time with men before we became friends. The love of Nicole’s life, James - the guy she was due to marry - managed to hide his drug addiction from her, along with the credit cards and debt he’d taken out in her name. For three years he lived two lives. One, as a perfect, hard-working fiancé, who Nic loved more than life; the other, a robbing coke-head, who stole from the wrong people and sent them straight to Nicole’s door. When she assumed he was going to work each day, he was, in fact, out with bad people getting high. It only came to light when she opened the door one morning and got a slap from some gorilla of a man, who then handed her a phone. James was on the other end, crying like a baby, saying she had to give them her flat to pay them off.
Nicole gave them the keys. She had no choice, if she wanted to avoid what they had planned for her. She also threw in her engagement ring for free, and told the gorillas where James’ garage was. Inside was his precious Suzuki GSXR750K5 motorbike he worshipped. It wasn’t such a hard decision really, after they showed her a photo of James enjoying a blow-job from some girl. Whether he’d been high as a kite at the time or not, Nic couldn’t accept that.
Nic and I had worked alongside each other at The Crossed Swords, and quickly became inseparable. We helped each other through bad times, and had some wonderfully crazy times together. Slowly, our confidence grew. We eventually realised that we weren’t the shy, ugly ducklings we’d been labelled, but beautiful swans who had it within themselves to be whatever they wanted to be.
Nic threw on some clothes in a rush. “I’ll follow you down in a minute,” she said.
Stepping into the back garden, the heat from the sun saw my hangover headache return.
“What exactly do you want doing?” Joe looked to be the brains behind the business, although, from his toned body, he obviously did enough of the manual work too.
I explained the problem with my fencing. My neighbour owned two big dogs who kept poking their heads through the many holes in my old fence; it was rickety and unsightly, and had been here way before I moved in four years ago. Lovely as the dogs were, I wanted to put a stop to their voyeuristic tendencies before they pushed themselves all the way through.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Joe, checking out the ground. “Not sure how quickly you want the work to start but we’ve just had a cancellation. We can be here on Monday, if the quote’s acceptable. I’ll email it to you tonight if you give me your details.”
Monday was perfect for me. I’d booked some leave from work, so, as long as their price wasn’t extortionate, they were hired. They’d been recommended by a good friend, plus, I’d pay a high price to see these guys getting hot and sweaty in my garden.
Nathan sauntered over. “Give Joe your email address and I’ll take your phone number, just in case.” He winked at me again and smiled his cheeky, boyish grin.
“Not a chance, Romeo. Here you go, Joe.” I handed him my contact details.
“Lesbian,” whispered Nathan, behind his hand, to Joe.
I burst out laughing, not sure if I should punch him or pat him on the back for such a good comeback.
Nicole appeared, and I watched Nathan give her the once over. She’d thrown on some jogging pants and a vest, and had rolled her thick, long, dark hair into a neat, tidy bun at the back of her head. I spied fresh make-up; she obviously wanted to make an impression, which, from the way Nathan was looking at her, she’d done.
“Can I get anyone a cuppa? I’m just making one,” she offered.
“No, thanks. But you can get me a pen and paper to write your number on, darling,” said Nathan.
“Do you get your chat-up lines from Christmas crackers?” she replied, laughing at his cheekiness.
“Play your cards right and you’ll pull a cracker tonight. Get it? Cracker…pulled. Oh, forget it.” He was in stitches at his own joke.
Nicole rolled her eyes and groaned. “Somebody stop him, please!”
Joe grabbed Nathan in a playful headlock and dragged him towards the door, getting in a few digs at his expense as they went.
“They’re just leaving, Nic. No need for the drink,” I said.
“Shame,” she whispered, giving me a sly smile.
