Trouble By Numbers Series

by Alam, Donna

  ‘Oh, babe, I’m so sorry!’ On her feet now, too, Fin begins dabbing her napkin against the dark stain spreading across his tailored grey pants. ‘I must’ve knocked my water glass with my elbow.’

  ‘Really?’ he replies, laughing and adjusting the damp fabric from his crotch. ‘You might want to stop rubbing there, titch.’ He takes her hands in his. ‘Or there might be another reason for my trousers being wet.’

  ‘Rory Tremaine,’ she chides with a gasp—a gasp tinged with laughter and feigned feminine shock. ‘You’re so dirty!’

  ‘Aye, so you told me last night.’ His eyes gleam with mirth as she stares up at him like she can’t quite believe what he’s just said. ‘Not with quite the same intonation but your mouth was open. A little like it is now, as I recall.’ He tilts his head to the side, his mouth fighting a massive fucking grin.

  ‘Do I need to make you an appointment with my friend the urologist, Rory?’ A tall blonde slides into the empty chair next to me, her voice husky and her tone teasing as her large purse hits the floor with a responding thunk. ‘Incontinence at your age is a worry. You’re sure you want to move in with him?’ Her facial expressions are a curious mixture of false pity and disgust, though the sparkle in her gaze belies pure mischief.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with my pipes,’ Rory scoffs.

  ‘There’s no shame in it,’ she says, her gaze sliding to his wet pants pointedly. ‘Maybe I should book you in for a prostate exam, too? Though he might like it too much from what I’ve heard. Those bedroom walls are thin. What do you think?’ she asks, turning her attention to Fin.

  ‘I think you should stop teasing him.’

  ‘Me?’ She touches her tanned collarbone with the tips of her fingers, bringing attention to the dusting of freckles there. ‘I was merely offering sympathy to the man who just experienced a very embarrassing accident in view of the patrons of this fine dining establishment.’

  ‘Stop that,’ Fin chides, swiping her napkin at the blonde. ‘Kit, I don’t believe you’ve met Bea, my friend.’

  Bea. The roommate? She’s definitely not the ugly friend. Compared to Fin, she’s tall—maybe five-foot-eight or nine? Her honey blonde hair is pulled into some sort of messy knot on the top of her head, and she wears nothing more than a lick of mascara as far as makeup goes. Maybe a little lipstick? It’s hard to tell if her lips are ordinarily that pink or if they’re flushed from the outdoors. And her eyes? They’re something. Brown with flecks of honey to match her hair.

  Was she a dentist, did Fin say? Something medical, at any rate.

  ‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,’ I say, holding out my hand. Scratch that—I don’t say, I purr. Talk about overshooting, I think as I realise how that sounded. No wonder Rory looks confused.

  It always comes back to that blow job again.

  As Bea takes my hand, I get a small thrill at the innuendo in her cocked brow. And as her soft grey sweater falls from her shoulder, I have the sudden and insane urge to join the dots of her copper coloured freckles from collar to cuff.

  With my tongue.

  Double fuck. I pull back, managing to turn my response into something less interesting. ‘I’m glad you could make it, even if it is two hours late.’

  The taunting brow now more resembles pinched as her eyes narrow.

  ‘Yeah, what time do you call this, young lady?’ says Rory in his best dad tone. Not that we had a dad, but I assume this is his best approximation.

  I hope his daddy game in the bedroom is better than the weak chastisement he just dished out.

  I know mine is.

  In that instant, Bea’s shoulders roll inwards to a very expressive collapse. The insane thought occurs to me that she’d look exquisite on her knees.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, turning to Fin. ‘I’m a really awful friend!’

  She has an interesting accent; a sort of sensual drawl with unusually clipped vowels and sharp fricatives

  ‘Aye, the worst.’ Rory leans over, flicking a wisp of honey blonde hair. ‘All work and no play makes Bea a very dull girl.’ I’d be lying if I said her response didn’t make my dick twitch just a bit as she pokes out a wet, pink tongue. Thank God for table linens that hide two kinds of wood. ‘I’m away to sort this out,’ he finishes, referring to his damp crotch.

  ‘For shame, Rory. This beautiful girl to take home, and you’re forced to beat one out in the restroom?’ she says, no longer contrite. ‘You can get pills to help with that.’

  ‘And you think I’m the dirty one,’ he murmurs, kissing the top of Fin’s head before striding off in the direction of the restroom.

  ‘Scratch the urologist appointment,’ Bea responds, pitching her voice louder. ‘It’s bound to be the result of some kind of sexual deviancy.’

  Her words carry through the restaurant, causing nearby diners to turn around. True to form, Rory doesn’t react as he strides through the space like he owns it and all the space around.

  She’s an interesting girl, this one.

  ‘Hard day at the office?’ Fin asks, facing her friend. ‘I see you made an effort to dress for dinner.’

  ‘Come on!’ Bea slumps across the table theatrically. ‘If I’d taken more than five minutes to strip from my scrubs, you’d have left.’ She gestures to our almost empty plates. ‘Would you feel more inclined to sympathy if I told you I hadn’t eaten all day?’ Her brown eyes stare mournfully at her friend. ‘I’m starving!’ Her hand suddenly darts out, grabbing a roasted carrot from Fin’s plate.

  ‘Let me get you the menu,’ I murmur, noticing the waiter on his way with our drinks.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ she protests, ‘you’ve all eaten. I’ll just get something on the way home.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You must eat.’ My response is gruffer than I’d intended, and if looks could burn, I’d be a little crisp at her results.

  ‘Why?’ she asks imperiously. ‘Why should I eat?’

  ‘Because you’re here for dinner. Because of social convention.’

  ‘Why do you care?’ What I wouldn’t give to correct her attitude.

  ‘Because of the joy in watching a beautiful woman eat.’

  More correctly, I enjoy feeding them my cock. But I likely shouldn’t have said that—not in front of Fin and not in that tone. Because mixed messages are likely to give way to questions. The answers to which are too complicated to even begin.

  ‘K-Kit’s in hospitality,’ Fin stutters in apparent explanation.

  ‘Well, he’s not being very hospitable right now.’ She folds her arms over her chest, which is a shame because it’s pretty magnificent. ‘He’s being downright rude.’

  ‘Says the woman who turned up two hours late to dinner.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘What? You’ve kept us waiting long enough? I agree, so be a good girl and order something from the menu.’

  Her head swings to Fin, and her expression is classic. ‘Is he always this charming?’

  ‘I reserve charm for those who deserve it.’

  ‘Stop that, you two,’ chastises Fin. ‘Don’t mind Kit,’ she adds. ‘His bark is worse than his bite.’

  Her eyes dip to my mouth, and my dick twitches. Maybe she likes being chastised. I brush the thought away. Quickly.

  ‘Be that as it may, I’ve decided to get a burger on the way home. Yes,’ she adds, warming up to the idea. ‘A big, fat, juicy burger.’ She says this with such delightful relish, darting her tongue out to wet her lips as though she can already taste it. In contrast to the thoughts I should be having, I’m suddenly overcome with the urge to see her lick the taste of me from those lips.

  I brush the urge away because, reasons. Many and varied, the first of which is called Rory.

  ‘Bea is South African,’ Fin states as if it answers everything. ‘She’s a big fan of meat.’ I’m pretty sure I almost swallow my tongue. ‘I think it’s a cultural thing. They had burgers on the menu, you know? Posh ones, but burgers all the same.’
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br />   ‘But they won’t be the same,’ Bea replies, turning physically to her friend as though she’d happily ignore me. ‘I’ll get one on the way home. You remember home? That cold, lonely place.’

  ‘Stop it! I’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘And your happiness will be sickening.’

  ‘You’re making me feel bad.’ Not so bad to keep her from giggling, though. I sit quietly, fascinated by the exchange.

  ‘Good.’ Bea’s hand reaches out to steal a handful of pretentiously titled chips from my plate. Thrice cooked fries. Ridiculous.

  ‘By all means, be my guest,’ I respond sardonically.

  ‘Oh, God, yes,’ interjects Fin, sliding her plate Bea’s way. ‘They’re ridiculously good.’

  ‘At least they were when fresh.’ She doesn’t bite. Shame.

  ‘It’s all like manna from heaven when all you’ve ingested all day is a packet of chocolate peanuts and an energy bar.’

  Now I really want to help her ingest something else, but it’s not what I’m about to suggest.

  ‘I thought you weren’t working today,’ Fin says.

  ‘I-I just called in. You know how it is.’

  By the look on Fin’s face, it appears not.

  As the waiter sets our drinks down, I order a burger.

  ‘I believe we have a chermoula infused chick pea—’

  ‘I’m told the lady is a big fan of meat.’

  ‘No!’ I’m not sure if it’s my insistence on ordering or the meat quip which annoys her most, but either suits me. ‘Really, I’m fine.’

  ‘Any one with eyes can see that.’ Balls. Both women now look stunned. ‘You must let me feed you. I insist.’

  Because that didn’t sound sexual in the least.

  What is it with my reactions right now? I never overplay my hand and never flirt in this sort of company.

  Vanilla. Family. Take your pick.

  ‘There really is no need.’

  ‘You’re obviously hungry,’ I retort opening my hands oh-so reasonably. ‘And burgers are on the menu, apparently.’

  ‘Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I don’t want a burger,’ she challenges. ‘Maybe I have it in my mind to grab twelve inches on the way home.’

  I tried not to laugh—really, I did—as Fin cuts in.

  ‘I’m just coming to realise you’re as bad as your brother is. She means a sub; you know, a sandwich? Not what you keep in your pants.’ She smacks a sudden hand over her mouth again.

  And now I really am laughing, or maybe chuckling, especially as Bea’s head does a cartoon-worthy double take.

  ‘Not what he keeps where?’ Her brow furrows as she tries to comprehend the string of words Fin’s mumbling behind her hand.

  Meanwhile, the waiter is still standing at the table. Probably keen to hear more about that footlong.

  ‘Do you have any other kind of burger?’

  ‘We have a beef fillet infused with—’

  ‘Good. And could we have a side order of fries, and one of the glazed carrots.’ I gesture to both our plates, both a little emptier thanks to Bea’s current ravenous state. ‘Would you prefer them cold or warm?’

  ‘Warm.’ She sends me an arctic look before adding a sweet, ‘Please,’ in the direction of the waiter. ‘And a beer; Heineken or whatever.’

  ‘She’ll have the Belgium blonde,’ I amend.

  God bless a stubborn woman—the kind who wants to be in charge until it’s stripped from them. The kind who turns compliant once their hair is held tight in my fist.

  Fuck.

  I should’ve taken a rain check on dinner tonight and gone to the club—put my needs above Rory’s tonight. The lack of control I have on my reactions has to be pent-up sexual frustration—a response to not having gotten my dick wet enough this month.

  ‘Is he always this bossy?’ Bea hisses to her friend, though I don’t hear her response.

  Tip of the iceberg, sweetheart.

  ‘Here’s an idea. Arrive on time, and then you can order for yourself next time.’

  ‘That’s rich coming from the man who had to be dragged out in the first place,’ taunts my brother, suddenly appearing and taking his seat.

  ‘Creeping Jesus much?’

  ‘Funny, Fin also confuses me with the Lord sometimes.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she asks, turning her confused gaze his way.

  ‘You scream his name plenty instead of mine.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ She groans in response.

  ‘Aye, a bit like that.’

  ‘And that’s why I call him Randy,’ Bea interjects. ‘Randy Rory is the perfect name for him.’

  ‘How’s your crotch?’ I ask, hoping to wipe the smug from his face.

  ‘Perfectly fine. How’s your footlong?’

  Bea chokes on a sip of Fin’s water, her eyes simultaneously flicking to the table in front of me as though confirming the lack of sandwich.

  ‘Is the dinner table conversation always this enlightening?’

  ‘It’s usually worse,’ says Fin with a sigh. ‘You know how bad he is.’ She hooks a thumb in Rory’s direction then flips it so it’s facing me. ‘It looks like he’s the same.’

  ‘Din’nae worry. You have to give Kit at least a month’s notice to make dinner plans with him. What was so important, anyway?’ he demands, ensuring all eyes turn my way. ‘Where do you usually slink off to on Friday night?’

  Nowhere I’ve any intention of sharing.

  ‘I don’t slink anywhere. And what do you care? I’m here now for this lovely bonding experience.’ I find myself adjusting my cuffs to avoid his gaze.

  ‘You should bring someone to dinner next time,’ says Fin. ‘A friend? They don’t have to be a significant other or anything.’ From Rory, this would’ve sounded like a taunt, but from Fin, it’s a not so subtle hint.

  ‘ ‘Cause he prefers them insignificant,’ Rory deadpans.

  This happens to be the truth. I also like them plural, but I add neither comment.

  ‘How about you?’ I ask, turning the questioning to Bea. ‘Will you be bringing someone to dinner next time? Significant or otherwise?’

  ‘Good idea,’ interjects Fin. ‘We should definitely make dinner plans when Jonathon gets here.’

  ‘Your boyfriend?’ I don’t miss her briefest of frowns.

  ‘Yes,’ pipes in Fin. ‘A long-term, long-distance, on-and-off relationship. Hell, I didn’t say that, did I?’ she says, looking horrified. ‘I’m sorry, Bea. You know I shouldn’t drink red wine.’

  ‘And what is it now?’ I ask, oh-so reasonably. ‘On or off?’

  ‘On,’ she replies emphatically. ‘Definitely on.’

  Chapter Four

  BEA

  ‘On.’ Like Donkey Kong.

  Okay, so I lie. But I’m unlikely to announce I heard my ex-boyfriend screwing someone else by phone.

  More tongue . . . .

  The whispers echoed through my head all day long—his sighs and his moans—the accompanying images playing on a continual loop.

  Yes, like that . . .

  Like what? Like I don’t do it for him? Like I’m not enough?

  ‘Bea?’

  Fin’s voice breaks through my thoughts, her tentative tone almost as if she can read what’s running through my mind. The scenarios and narratives. The images I’ve created, cruel and taunting, to match the words I wished I’d never heard.

  ‘Sorry. M-my mind wandered for a moment.’

  More specifically, it wandered to the point when Jon told me last week—via a text—that he’d like for us to go on a break.

  A break. What is that even? Press pause on our relationship? Is it an interruption? A complete discontinuance?

  I now realise it was a warning. A warning I didn’t heed.

  Right now, I’d like to break his fucking head.

  No one knows me as well as Jon does. I’d thought the same the other way—and I hadn’t believed for a second he was serious. I’d just decided thi
s was his way of trying to manipulate me into flying to visit him. How very wrong. I was tired and just coming off a twelve-hour shift and . . . Who am I kidding? I’ve been ignoring the signs. The fact he’d stopped making an effort to see me. The fact our sex life has been disastrous recently.

  In hindsight, I can see he’d been dropping hints for months, but I wasn’t paying enough attention. I wanted to believe he was joining my family in their suggestion that I come home. Darling, you’re already a qualified doctor. Why put yourself through more study at all? Not that my parents would dream of saying this to my brothers. I’ve never heard them suggest Aiden come home from Australia or Luke from Brazil. My parents want grandchildren. Apparently, I’m the brood mare.

  You and I want different things, was how Jon ended the text.

  I’d assumed he was talking about children, too.

  We’ve been together forever—I thought it would count for something. And I suppose it does. It counts as my idiocy. Becomes a great red flag for it. The fact that he couldn’t get it up the last time we were together now makes perfect sense.

  Betrayal is such an ugly word.

  I inhale a painful breath, pasting on a smile because this shit hurts. But not in the way heartbreak should. I’m not curled in a ball, sobbing over him. After my catatonic run, I didn’t want to climb into bed and block out the world. Quite the opposite. It’s been a wake-up call. Like someone has removed a film from my eyes. Or maybe tape—because it is painful. The sad thing is, my pride is mainly what’s hurts.

  ‘Yes, on,’ I repeat a little too loudly and a little too forcefully, using my I’m a doctor, you can trust me face. ‘Yes, Jon is my boyfriend.’

  My lying, cheating, uninspiring dick of an ex-boyfriend, but tonight—here at the dinner to celebrate Fin’s promotion—I’ll just say the ex bit in my head.

  Meanwhile, I’d asked one of the male nurses to draw my blood while I sent Jon the following text and routed his future calls to an interesting voicemail.

  Jon, you should take care not to roll on your phone when fucking someone. Especially if that someone isn’t me.

  We’re over. Done. And if you’ve ever felt anything for me, you will now do as I say. Don’t contact me. I won’t answer. I don’t want to hear your excuses, especially as we’ve been here before.