Mark Means Tested (Deff Book 3)

by Danni Fall

  "What you waiting for?" Alex demands. "A fucking invitation?"

  Mark stifles a groan as he mouths at the head. He gets harder as he swallows Alex down. He grips Alex's thighs for balance, surprised when they're not batted away. Instead, Alex grabs at his hair, rings threatening to snag in it.

  "Your hair looks shit," Alex grunts. Mark gags when he grins. "If you bite me, I'll fucking knock you out."

  Mark refocuses on his shallow breathing, the smell and how eye-wateringly hard he is. When images threaten to float into his head – of Simon, towering and sweaty, and of Chris, off in the distance – he makes himself take more of Alex.

  Alex's hands twist in his hair as he comes. Mark swallows before pulling back breathlessly and admiring his own sodden jean fronts.

  "This takes me back." It takes a couple of attempts to croak out the words.

  "Your hair looks shit," Alex wheezes as he puts himself away.

  "You're repeating yourself."

  "Get up, you can't fucking sit there forever."

  "I'm catching my breath."

  Alex pulls him to his feet and glowers at his ruined jeans. "What is fucking wrong with you? How have you done that again?"

  "Shall I take it that you don't want to join Deff?"

  "Shall I take it that you don't wanna rejoin AB?"

  "I'll sleep on it." Mark gives his rumpled t-shirt a smooth.

  Back in the corridor, Alex blocks the way to the bar with his arms folded over his chest.

  "Mind shifting to the side?" Mark asks.

  "You're not going through the front."

  "How come? What about my little triple vodka?"

  "You sure you wanna go back in there without a bodyguard? Famous fucker like you might get mobbed by fans."

  "You could always stand in front of me, I hear some people think you're intimidating."

  "And what if your little boyfriend hears about it?" Mark fumbles over his answer and Alex smiles cruelly. "Piss off, Means. I'll see you when I see you."

  Mark staggers the familiar route out the fire exit to the dumpsters and thinks about taking up his familiar spot on the ground. He keeps his eyes peeled for fans instead and convinces himself that strangers do double takes as they pass. When he reaches the Sex Den, his heart is pounding but his breathing starts to slow when he sees the door is locked fast.

  He scours the cafe and flat for any sign that Simon has recently visited but everything is as he left it. He drops heavily onto one mattress only to jump to his feet again and drag an old cafe chair down the hall to wedge the door shut. His heart rate settles as he admires his handiwork.

  Returning to the mattress, he runs his tongue over his teeth and tastes Alex again. He unearths some vodka to wash him away and doesn't stop drinking until the bottle is dry.

  Chapter 18

  Mark

  "Look what the cat dragged in," Zoe says over the top of her newspaper when Mark stumbles into HQ.

  "And hello to you too. You know, you could show some concern for my wellbeing, instead of being snide."

  She considers him coolly as she folds the paper. "I showed concern for your wellbeing when I called you last night. Twice. I called you asking where you'd gone and again when Chris asked me to, since you weren't answering his calls."

  He sits in the armchair and closes his eyes against his pounding headache. "My phone's out of battery."

  Footsteps retreat into the kitchen, followed by cupboards opening and taps running. Something cold and hard is pressed against his hand.

  "Have a drink."

  He takes the proffered water and swigs some. "Was hoping for something stiffer."

  "I'm only giving you that to stop you throwing up on my carpet."

  "Understood. I know I rank lower than your wool carpet." He finishes his drink before looking at her again. "How was your night?"

  "Good. Where was your night?"

  "Don't you mean how was it?" She keeps staring at him expectantly. "Oh, you know. I was around and about."

  "You've got jizz on your jeans, Mark, there's no point being coy."

  He scratches at the flaky stain. "I popped in The Sun."

  Zoe's shock rapidly turns into disgust. "You and Alex?"

  "You make it sound like a team effort, I did all the hard work, as usual."

  "Can you hear yourself? Are you proud of what you've done?"

  "I don't know why you're getting so bent out of shape. Since when are you the patron saint of monogamy?"

  "I don't have a boyfriend," she says.

  "I should hope not, you'd be a shit lezzer if you did."

  "Mark, what the hell are you doing?"

  He thinks about answering but opts to duck in the kitchen and fish a Double Decker and bump of speed from the flour pot. He returns after doing the speed and taking a bite of chocolate.

  "If you're not interested in dating Chris, tell him," Zoe insists.

  "Why are you bothered about this?" He sprays chocolate as he speaks. "It's not like you don't play the field."

  She gives him a withering look. He's halfway through his Double Decker when a thought dawns on him.

  "Hang on, when did you last cop off with someone?" he asks.

  "A while ago."

  "No wonder Simon's getting somewhere with women if you're not there to clean up. Don't tell me you've lost the knack."

  She scoffs. "As if I could."

  "What's going off? You love sex, you have more bloody sex than I do."

  She shifts on the settee as though getting comfortable. "Because things have changed."

  "How have they? You turned straight again? Because we could always..."

  She throws a cushion at him. "I'm really gay but it's no-one's business except mine."

  "If you're aiming for subtle, you might wanna grow out the hair. Just a thought."

  "Maybe, but then I'll have even more girly questions to answer in interviews."

  "They don't ask you about make up and stuff," he says.

  "They do, you just tune it out. I can handle some sexist shit but I don't want to add pervy questions about my sex life into the mix, thanks."

  "Interviewers don't care about that. We're there to play a couple of songs and get people's toes tapping. We're not celebs, they're not digging for dirt."

  "If you believe that you're stupider than you look."

  He crumples his chocolate wrapper and drops it on the floor to annoy her. "You're a right ray of sunshine today."

  "I'm being realistic."

  "So you're not ashamed then?" Mark asks the stain on his jeans.

  "No, I just want to leave some things to the imagination. I don't want some shitty lad mag asking for an interview so they can ask me foul questions about my sex life."

  "Being celibate's better than that, is it?" Zoe glowers rather than answer. "Sure you wouldn't do an interview for a nice stack of cash? I'd tell them all about my exploits as a raging lesbo if there was a couple of grand in it."

  "What about your exploits as a raging homo who neglects his boyfriend?"

  "I'm gonna start fining you for using that word."

  "Why are you stringing Chris along?" she asks.

  "I'm not stringing anyone anywhere."

  "Mark, he cares about you. He asked where you were, where you'd gone, and you were too busy fucking Alex to answer his calls, for fuck's sake."

  "I wasn't fucking Alex," Mark says snidely. "Alex'd never do that, way too gay for his liking."

  "I'm not asking for an account of what happened, that's not my point."

  "No, the point is you love sticking your nose where it don't belong."

  He gives her a sharp look of warning and she huffs a disappointed laugh.

  "Where's Laddo, anyway?" he asks. "You seen him today?"

  "Not yet, no."

  "But you're not worried about him?"

  "Not particularly."

  "How come? He could be doing anything or anyone."

  "I know what he's doing," she says firml
y.

  "Oh, so he's been a good boy and texted you his coordinates and what he's been up to, has he?"

  "Not quite."

  Zoe unfolds her paper and opens it to a celebrity news spread. There's a photo of Simon looking smug, if worse for wear, with a girl on either arm.

  "They're enjoying keeping tabs on him, aren't they?" Mark says. "Anyone'd think he was someone worth knowing."

  "He's an up and coming idiot." Zoe casts a disapproving eye over the photo. "Of course they're writing about him."

  "Did they bother mentioning the gig at all?"

  "Yeah, they described it as bedlam but gave it a good write up."

  "Did you and Joseph get a mention?"

  "No, but you did."

  Mark's jaw tightens. "Oh yeah? Commenting on my rugged good looks?"

  "They said you looked like you were on something."

  He casually strokes his top gum. "How daft."

  "Said you were acting even weirder than usual."

  "Than usual? I could get a complex, having people talk about me like that. What'd I do that was so weird, eh?"

  "You tore out of the Union like a bat out of hell."

  "Slow news day if that's worthy of column inches."

  "Proves my point though, doesn't it? They're already taking an interest in us, in you."

  He sits on one settee arm and reads over Zoe's shoulder. His stomach unknots when he spots no reference to Chris. She folds the paper before he reaches the end of the article but he resists asking her to open it.

  "You haven't answered my question," he insists. "You've shown me where Simon was but where is he now? He can't still be strutting around Soho, half pissed with a girl on each arm. They'll have lectures to attend, surely."

  Zoe's look is scrutinising. "Don't you think it's a bit strange, how you're more interested in finding out where Simon is than how Chris is doing?"

  "Chris is a grown man. Simon is barely house-trained, and he's my singer. I need to know where that cash cow is, for my bank balance's sake."

  "Do you really believe that?" she asks. It's clear she isn't expecting an answer so Mark doesn't offer one. "He texted earlier, said he'd be back later. Now pick that wrapper up before I stick it where the sun don't shine."

  "I will if you tell me what you got up to last night."

  "I just said I'm not shagging around, how's it of interest to you? Wrapper. Now."

  Mark makes a meal of bending down and plucking it from the floor. "You didn't go home and have an early night though, did you? How about I guess?"

  "Knock yourself out."

  "I reckon you were hobnobbing."

  "I mean literally knock yourself out."

  "Har har, very funny," Mark sneers. "Come on, got it in one, didn't I? You can't resist a bit of networking can you? You and Will, the dream team. You oughta get more business cards printed, bet you've missed having those."

  "Me, Joe and Will had drinks with Maiden. Great strategy, actually, the two of you pissing off. Gave the grown ups a chance to talk."

  He sits back down when his knees threaten to buckle.

  "Drink your water," Zoe says. "Don't throw up."

  Mark obliges, waiting until his insides settle before daring to speak again. "Tell me everything."

  ***

  Simon

  "That's not the lyrics," Simon calls over Ryan's caterwauling.

  "What?" Ryan bellows back as he speeds along the coastal road.

  "I said, that's not the lyrics! It's he's closed up shop and gone away, he's taken his ball so he cannot play."

  "I'm improvising, can't help only knowing the chorus."

  When it comes around, Ryan drums on the Audi's steering wheel and chants along. It reminds Simon of watching West Ham play when they were kids and he grins wider still.

  "This is why you can't be in Deff," he says when the song ends. "You can't even get the chorus in tune. It's barely sung, that bit."

  "Alright, no need to rub it in, pop star." Ryan skips the B side, to Simon's delight, and goes back to playing the single.

  "Thanks for buying a copy," Simon says. "I could've got you one for free."

  "Don't be stupid, course I had to."

  "At least let me sign it."

  "Oh you're definitely signing it. I can flog it if you sign it."

  "I want a cut if you sell it."

  "Fine, I'll have my people talk to your people," Ryan jokes. "I didn't even need to buy it really, it's playing every time they turn the radio on in the warehouse."

  Simon can't decide if the words are meant as a complaint but Ryan shoots him a surprisingly sincere look.

  "I wouldn't have bought it if I didn't like it, Si."

  "You sure?"

  "Well I would, cause you're my mate, but I definitely wouldn't have listened to it all the way back from Soho if I didn't like it."

  "Thanks again for driving me, I know it's a faff getting the tube."

  "No problem. Don't want you crashing if you're still drunk. Not exactly a hardship, driving a TT."

  "Shame you couldn't make the gig."

  Ryan's smile fades. "Yeah, well, the joy of shift work, innit? Besides, it was at the Union. Not my kinda girls going there, they'd all be talking in Latin and looking at me like I'm a div."

  "It's only Westminster Uni, it's not that fancy. Though you are still a div," Simon can't resist joking.

  "Don't let Leah hear you bad mouthing Westminster."

  Simon takes to studying the street but feels Ryan's scrutinising look.

  "Don't even think about it," Ryan says.

  "Think about what? I'm not thinking about anything."

  "We're not going and paying Leah a visit. We're nearly back at Southend, we're not driving back to London for that."

  "I thought you liked having a drive?"

  "Simon, you're a pop star, you don't need to go grovelling to Leah. You can take your pick now."

  "Not grovelling, just saying hello."

  "You're not wanting to say hello, you're wanting her to un-dump you. There's no undoing getting dumped, it's on your record, whether you like it or not. Learn to live with it."

  "That's easy for you to say, with your perfect score."

  "I can't help being magnificent."

  "You know, we're not that far from Steph's."

  Ryan snorts a laugh. "Let's not start that again, neither. Stick to the plan: the deal was I drive you back and then we hang out on the beach with beers and pills."

  "We should probably park up round here, might get too much attention down in Southend."

  "One hit wonder and now you can't sit on the beach without a bodyguard?"

  "I'm only a one hit wonder if we don't get another song in the top twenty."

  "No pressure, then."

  "It'll be a doddle," Simon insists. "Our album's sounding great. Even if I was just a one hit wonder, I'd still be way more successful than anyone else we was at school with."

  They park and walk down to a quiet spot on the beach, Ryan carrying the six pack.

  "So humble as well," Ryan says as he gestures for Simon to pass him his pills.

  "Should you really take these? We're still ten minutes out from Southend."

  "There's no winning with you. Whoever can feel their face most can drive the rest of the way."

  Simon necks a few before handing them to Ryan with a grudging smile. Ryan follows suit, washing them down with lager.

  "You talked to anyone from school lately?" Simon asks.

  "Just Danny down the pub and Tom, he started at the warehouse a couple months back." Ryan gives him a look of warning. "Don't you dare ask me if they've been asking about you. I swear, if I time it wrong leaving the house, Nan Evans comes marching down her garden path and talks my ear off about you."

  They share a grin as they swig their beers.

  "I can't help that I'm her favourite grandkid," Simon says.

  "Or her only grandkid. Fact of the matter is you've written a good song. You, not th
at crackhead. You don't need Sam working down Asda or Emma the doley telling you that."

  "Since when did Emma sign on?"

  "Since she got caught lifting money from the tills at the bookies."

  "You kidding?"

  "Honest to God. Donna told me, they used to knock about. Not any more, obviously."

  The buzz Simon feels at Ryan's praise dims at the name. "You still seeing Donna?"

  "Now and then."

  "What's that mean?"

  "It means I see her now and then, Miss Marple, when we're not both working. She's fun, we get on."

  Simon fiddles with the ring pull on his beer.

  "Speaking of Nan Evans," Ryan says.

  "Only cause you keep bringing her up."

  "I even saw her before I came to get you."

  "Please don't say you said what I did last night."

  "No need," Ryan grins. "She already knew you'd had a big one, she'd read it in the paper."

  "Was there a photo? I remember seeing cameras."

  "Yeah. You looked worse for wear but you were still giving it some."

  "I don't take a bad photo."

  "They were way harsher about the crackhead."

  "Did they mention Chris?" Simon asks quietly.

  "Should I know who Chris is? Please don't say Mark's changed his bloody name again."

  "It's no-one, forget it."

  Ryan looks dubious but goes back to drinking. "I don't think you need to worry, the papers seem to like you."

  "Good."

  "But, if you ever need a good word, I can always go on the record and say you're God's gift to women or something," Ryan jokes. "Even if that's being generous."

  "Why would I need you to do that?"

  "I dunno."

  "Why would they go from saying I'm great to needing you to vouch for me?"

  "Si, it was a joke. I'm joking with you."

  "Right." Simon busies himself drinking.

  "I'm just saying, if you ever need a favour... I can help you out."

  Simon's stomach clenches. He weighs his options between prodding Ryan for an explanation or changing topic entirely. The decision is made for him when Ryan carries on speaking, sounding uncharacteristically awkward.

  "We're best mates. We help each other out, don't we?"

  "Is this you trying to get me to sign that single?" Simon jokes, if only to clear the air.