“No, I don’t, and right now I’m not interested in ye starting another argument, so stop assuming I know what ye’re talking aboot.” He shook his head at her and took his ale from the bartender. He sculled it and slammed the glass down on the bar, ordering another one.
“Take it easy, Paul,” Beverly said. “We have all night.”
“I don’t plan on being here all night,” he looked at me again. “I plan on getting laid.” He yelped as Beverly hit his arm. “What was that for?”
“Stop being rude to Clara. For goodness’ sake, we have to work with each other.”
“I’m just being upfront aboot what I want.” He refocused on me with a serious expression. “So, are ye up for an extramarital affair?”
Beverly smacked him again. “Paul!”
He picked up his fresh ale and indicated to Beverly. “Ignore her; she’s just sour ’cause she gets none.”
Beverly pushed at his back, almost making him spill his ale. “Go away if you can’t be nice.”
“Och, am never nice, yet ye still love me.” He turned and kissed her cheek.
“Just go away,” she said gruffly, trying to sound cross, the smile pulling at her lips ruining the effect.
“Okay, whatever ye say, love. Just don’t leave withoot me. Remember, ye’re my ride home.” He gave me a wink. “While you can ride me home, lassie.”
Beverly shoved him again, this time making his ale slosh over the side, wetting his hand. “Get lost, you creep.”
“Fine, I’ll go find some nicer lassies; maybe one o’ them will give me a gobble.”
She scowled at him. “You’re repulsive.”
Laughing, he licked the ale off his hand and headed for a dyed-blonde woman who taught maths.
“What’s gobble mean?” I asked.
Her scowl grew. “It’s British slang for a blowjob,” she said, watching him stop by the maths teacher. Sneering at the woman, he leaned down and whispered something into her ear. She slapped his face, barking at him to ‘Fuck off’.
Beverly shook her head. “That man has no sense. He should know by now to keep away from that bitch.”
I watched as Paul snapped at the woman, calling her a trumped-up ‘hoor’. She got up and moved to another table with her friend, flicking Paul a well-manicured finger. Paul made an obscene gesture at her and returned to the table of men. He sat down in front of the TV, his attention drawn to the cricket match again. The woman he’d harassed pulled out a pack of cigarettes and indicated to the door, then headed out, leaving her friend for a smoke.
I refocused on Beverly. “I don’t know why you like him.”
She breathed out. “Half the time he’s a sweetheart, the other half he’s a creep. I cling onto the good half, not to mention I find him incredibly attractive.”
“I suppose he’s not ugly.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Oh, come on. I know his personality can be off-putting, but you have to admit he’s good-looking.”
I shrugged. “He’s not my type.”
“Then, who is your type?”
An image of Dante flashed into my head uninvited, of him up on the stage, following the photographer’s instructions, looking gorgeous as usual. I fought back a grimace, upset that I’d thought of him before my husband.
Needing a distraction, I opened my purse and removed an image of Markus for Beverly. “My husband’s my type,” I said, holding the photo out for her to see.
Her eyes widened. “Good God! He’s gorgeous.” She looked up at me. “What does he do for work? Model?”
I smiled. “No, he’s a P.E. teacher.”
“Now I can see why you don’t think much of Paul.” She wriggled her eyebrows at me. “How about we do a swap? You can have Paul, while I can have that blond god after he arrives.”
I laughed. “Definitely not.”
“You sure? Neanderthals are all the rage, you know. You’ll also save on buying shoes, since you won’t need them in the kitchen.”
I snorted out another laugh and shook my head.
She grinned. “At least show Paul the picture of your husband. I want to see what he says.”
“I’d rather stay away from him,” I said, glancing at the man again. He was shaking his fist at the TV, insulting one of the cricket players on the screen.
Beverly leaned her elbows back against the bar, her top pulling tight across her pudgy stomach. “Then, I’ll tell you what he’ll say.” She deepened her voice, putting on a Scottish accent again. “Why would ye marry that git? He looks like a pretty boy poser, not a real man like me.” She lifted an arm and flexed it. “Get a load o’ this, lassie. Bet yer wee husband cannae compete with that.”
I sniggered, “Markus is more muscular than he is.”
She leaned closer to me, her grin turning lewd. “What about the most important muscle a man has?” She wriggled her eyebrows again, obviously referring to Markus’s dick. “Would you give it an excellence, a merit, or an achievement?” she asked, stating all the school grades.
“An excellence,” I giggled.
Her grin widened. “Did you know that the day he arrives in Auckland is ‘Be Nice to a Spinster Day’? Tradition dictates that you must loan your husband to a spinster for twenty-four hours. By the way, I’m a spinster and would be happy to help your husband out of his clothes.”
I burst into a fit of snorting laughter, almost spilling my drink on her. I put it down and wiped my eyes.
“Does that mean it’s a yes to loaning me blondie?”
“I’ll have a talk to Markus,” I said, playing along with her joke.
“I’m sure he’ll say yes. After all, I have a lot to offer.” She pulled a face. “Unfortunately, it’s all in my stomach.” She glanced down at her chair. “And my arse.” She looked back up. “Hope he likes women who wear granny knickers, because Paul wasn’t lying about them.”
I laughed again, which received a loud, “Good God! You sound like a pregnant pig about to give birth to Godzilla.”
I turned around to see who’d insulted me, finding a woman in her early thirties staring at me as though I had a monstrous pimple on my forehead. She had snow-white hair and was standing in front of another woman who looked a little like me, just a decade older. I wondered why they were even here since their attire was far too expensive to be from this side of town. They gave off the air of socialites, their jewellery a statement of wealth rather than taste.
“While you look like a trumped-up bitch,” Beverly snapped at the mouthy woman. “So take your nouveau rich-trash arse back to the City, or wherever your sugar daddy is, before I pop your fake tits.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Watch what you say, you fat bitch,” she growled, stepping into Beverly’s personal space.
Beverly pushed off her stool, coming nose to nose with her. “I may be a fat bitch, but I punch like a MMA fighter, so get your face out of mine pronto, skank.”
The other woman grabbed her friend’s arm, her expression worried. “Let’s go, Sierra,” she said, her voice sounding too girly for a woman in her thirties.
Sierra continued to eyeball Beverly, who was looking like she really wanted to punch her.
“Sierra, we didn’t come here for this. Let’s go see if that gorgeous guy’s arrived.”
A lewd smile pulled at Sierra’s mouth. “Yeah, time to ditch the fat bitch for some fat dick.” She spun around on her stilettos and headed for the door, wriggling her fingers. “Ciao, ugly.”
I sat back down on my stool, urging Beverly to do the same, though she was shaking, looking like she wanted to go after the woman. “Don’t listen to her,” I said, placing a hand over Beverly’s. “You’re not fat or ugly. You have the most gorgeous head of hair and a lovely face.”
She exhaled a shaky sigh. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”
“I’m not.”
Her face scrunched up. “Then why doesn’t Paul want me? Why doesn’t any man want me?”
“Maybe you�
��re looking in the wrong places.” I indicated to our surroundings. “Like here.”
“Or maybe I need a real drink.” She indicated for the bartender to come over, ordering a martini.
I watched her down it in two gulps, aware I was now the designated driver.
7
DANTE
I jogged to the pub, ecstatic that one of my customers wanted to buy the rest of my coke supply. For the first time since I’d started selling drugs, I was having a major problem shifting dust. Lately, everyone was only after small quantities, which meant a lot more running around. I’d barely managed to get rid of half of the supply, which was really unusual, not to mention stressful, since I only had a few days left to pay the power bill before the electricity was cut off. But it didn’t matter now, because things were finally going my way. The client would pay me; I’d pass on two portions to my cousin, then use whatever was left over for the power bill and groceries. Everyone would be happy, but most of all I’d be happy.
I drew closer to the pub, its car park chocker. Vehicles lined the side roads as well as the mall’s parking area, the place pumping with activity. I gripped onto my backpack, keeping an eye out for my customer. I came to a stop in the car park, spotting her white Beemer. It stuck out from the blue-collared cars, an angel amongst demons. It was just asking to be keyed. I’d told her not to bring the Beemer. It attracted too much attention, which in turn attracted attention to me, making my job harder.
“Cutie pie!”
I cringed at Sierra’s voice. What the fuck? You called a drug dealer cutie pie?
She tottered towards me in six-inch stilettos that matched her whiter than white hair. She had a banging body, which was swathed in an itsy-bitsy-teeny-weenie white dress, her huge tits doing their best to escape the confines of the material. For a moment, I forgot about what she’d called me, my eyes locked onto her twin peaks.
Sierra pulled me into a hug, squishing her tits against my chest, giving me a partial boner. “I missed you, baby boy,” she said. “Long time no see.”
“Good to see you too,” I said, taking full advantage of her hug, my hands moving to her arse.
She laughed and pulled away, wagging a finger at me. “You’re a naughty boy.”
I grinned.
She laughed again, then looked over her shoulder, indicating for the blonde behind her to come closer. The woman moved to Sierra’s side, her expression shy.
“This is Camie,” Sierra said. “She’s my BFF.”
I held out my hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet ya,” I said, thinking she looked a bit like my new English teacher, just older and a darker shade of blonde.
Camie shook my hand nervously. “You’re younger than I expected,” she said, letting go of my hand. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” I lied.
Relief crossed her face, a smile following a second later. She turned to Sierra. “I’m in,” she said, looking both nervous and excited at the same time.
Sierra clapped her hands. “I knew you’d like him.” She reached out and pinched my cheek. “How can anyone not like this gorgeous face?”
“Usually guys,” I replied. “For some strange reason they have a problem with me stealing their girlfriends. I really don’t know why.”
Both women laughed.
Sierra held out her keys to her friend. “You’re driving.”
After passing them over, she grabbed my hand and yanked me to the car. Pulling open the door, she practically shoved me into the back seat. I climbed in the rest of the way, pulling my backpack off as I settled against the plush red leather. She closed the door and handed over a paper bag full of money. I counted it, then stashed it into my backpack and pulled out the coke as the other woman reversed out of the car park. Sierra always took me back to my house after a deal, or more accurately, a street away so my father didn’t see her car. If he’d caught me getting out of her Beemer, he’d instantly know I was selling drugs. If anything, I should have met her somewhere further away from Wera. Though, it was probably fine, since my father and his mates didn’t go to this pub. Their lives largely revolved around our gang’s headquarters, which had its own bar, a much better one than this blue-coloured haven. Plus, civilian pubs didn’t sell drugs or sex, which was why a lot of the gang weren’t interested in coming out here.
Sierra opened the bag of coke as her friend drove towards my house. She removed a sliver with her fingernail and snorted it. She zipped the bag up and tilted her head back, doing a little shake, looking as if she liked the batch.
“You always come through for me,” she crooned, turning her head towards me. Smiling sexily, she ran her fingers through my hair. “You’re such a pretty, pretty boy.”
Unlike with Jasper’s auntie, I didn’t smack her hand away, Sierra’s touch welcome. Though, I really wished she would stop calling me a pretty boy, but the customer is always right, so I didn’t correct her.
She moistened her lips, making my cock harden further. “It’s Camie’s birthday today, which is why I called you,” she said, trailing a fingernail down my cheek. “She’s having a party at her house.”
I didn’t reply, the amount of coke she’d ordered now making sense.
Her finger moved to my mouth, brushing over my lips. “And we want you to come.”
“Will there be booze?”
She removed her finger. “Of course. So, will you come? I’ll make it well worth your time.”
I nodded, more than happy to get free shit. “Though, just lemme drop off my bag and get changed,” I said, not interested in going in my ripped jeans and smelly T-shirt.
She smiled wickedly. “Clothes aren’t permitted.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What?”
She moistened her lips again, giving me a distinctly sexual look. “The party is for two and you’re Camie’s birthday present. Though, I think we’ll extend that to a ménage à trois.”
The penny dropped. My eyes shot to Camie, who was glancing at me via the rearview mirror, looking like she couldn’t wait to ‘unwrap’ me.
I returned my focus to Sierra, not believing my luck. “You want a threesome?”
She nodded, her eyes already fucking me. “You up for it?”
“Hell, yeah!” I said, thinking the day couldn’t get any better.
8
CLARA
I laughed again, Beverly the funniest person I’d ever met. If she was a male, females would be swarming her. I really didn’t understand why guys weren’t interested in her. Although a bit frumpy, her great personality sure as hell made up for it, not to mention I loved her hair.
I smacked her arm as she made another joke. “Stop making me laugh, I’ll get thrown out with all my snorting.”
Her face lit up. “Hey! Now I have a nickname for you. Miss Piggy. Oink, oink.”
“Don’t you dare call me that! It was my nickname at high school.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. And if I hear anyone call me it at school, I know who’ll be to blame, and I always get payback.”
She laughed, giving me a shove, almost causing me to fall off the stool. “Oops, sorry,” she said. “I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
I looked at all the empty glasses next to her. “You don’t say.”
She nodded, her chocolate-brown eyes now glassy. “Looks like I’m the lush tonight, not Paul.” Her gaze moved to him. He was still watching the cricket match with the other men at his table. “God, I want a piece of him.” She smiled. “And I’m going to get it.” She pushed away from her stool, looking like she was going to topple over.
I jumped up and steadied her. “I think it’s time I took you home.”
“As long as Paul’s coming with me.” She pulled free from my grip and headed for him, her eyes locked onto the man. I wondered whether I should stop her, because it looked like she was going to do something she would regret. But before I could decide, she was planting her butt on Paul’s lap, giving the man one hell of a
surprise.
I headed for them as Beverly put her arms around his neck. “After I go to the ladies’, I’ll drive her home,” I said to him. “You coming too?”
Beverly planted her lips against Paul’s before he could answer. His eyes almost popped out of his head in response. I winced, knowing she was definitely going to regret this the next day. And not only because of Paul’s reaction, but because a lot of our colleagues were staring at what she was doing, some of them sniggering and talking between themselves.
“I’ll try to be quick,” I said, rushing for the restroom.
I entered a stall, closing the door behind me. As I sat down on the toilet, the restroom door banged open. The sound of two women talking started up, one of them the blonde maths teacher Paul had harassed earlier, Helen’s raspy voice unmistakable.
“I can’t believe Beverly did that!” she laughed. “Paul’s expression was classic!”
Her friend laughed too, the sound like a tinkling bell to my snorting pig.
“Such sweet karma,” Helen said. “Now he knows what it’s like to have unwanted attention. I still can’t believe he actually asked me for a blowjob. He’s just lucky we weren’t at school, because I would’ve reported him.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” the other maths teacher said.
“I would too, but he doesn’t do anything wrong at school.” Helen exhaled loudly. “Anyway, let’s not talk about that prick. That frump is dishing out sweet justice.”
I grimaced, not liking her calling Beverly a frump or insinuating her kiss was a punishment. Paul would be lucky to get a wonderful woman like Beverly. I went to tell Helen exactly that, but stopped as her friend beat me to it.
“Don’t be so mean, Helen,” she said. I couldn’t remember her name, other than it rhymed with vagina. “Beverly’s a lovely woman.”
“Only in personality, because she definitely woke up late when they were handing out looks.”
“Helen! Beverly’s not ugly.”
“I didn’t say she was; I just think she’s really unattractive. Anyway, I didn’t bring you in here to talk about her. When I went out for a ciggie, I saw Dante Rata getting into a car with those two rich blondes.”
Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) Page 7
