CALLUM
I crawl out of the car park in the Land Rover, cruising at ten kilometres an hour along the manicured driveway, exit Carton House and dial Marcus on the hands-free system. It rings six times before he answers.
‘Missing me already, sweetheart? I’ll tell Shelly she has competition.’ His deafening voice booms down the phone and I turn the volume down a notch before I continue.
‘You wish.’ I indicate left onto the main road.
‘Don’t tell me you surrender already. A bet’s a bet dude, I’m sorry if Ask Abby gave you the knockback. Did she hurt your feelings?’ He pronounces feeelings in the babyish tone he normally reserves for his daughters.
‘Ha, I’m only getting warmed up,’ I brag.
‘Course you are, with your right hand, you bloody bollocks.’ He snorts with deep resounding laughter at his own joke.
‘Guess who I woke up next to not even fifteen minutes ago,’ I gloat.
‘Fuck off, man.’ Disbelief echoes around the Jeep, sweeter than any music my sound system has ever played. I’m enjoying his reaction so much that I’m tempted to raise the volume again.
‘I swear to God.’ I revel in his surprise.
‘You must have drugged her. Never had you down as one of those Rohypnol wankers, but you must have slipped something into that champagne. She wasn’t exactly flocking towards you when I left.’
‘When you have it, you have it, man.’ I pull out my Ray-Bans from the glove compartment and push them on to the bridge of my nose. This bet is shaping up to be much more fun than I initially anticipated.
‘Whatever, dickhead. James’s wedding is three months away. There’s absolutely no way in the world she’ll put up with your sorry ass until then.’ Marcus’s tone lightens considerably as he contemplates the time span.
‘We’ll see. It feels different this time.’ I wind the noose tighter, basking in his disconcert.
‘Ok, Romeo, let’s increase the stakes. I’m one hundred per cent convinced you will not be able to follow through. Unless you count in your underwear, of course. So much so, that if you, can actually get her to attend James’s wedding, I’ll give you my car and fifty grand,’ Marcus says.
‘You have yourself a deal, man.’ As if I need any more incentive to pursue the elusive Miss Queenan.
I don’t need his money. I don’t need his car, only for the fact that it’ll give me untold pleasure to drive off with my two fingers hanging out the window triumphantly. And Shelly would likely kill him if he has to actually hand over fifty big ones. That’d be worth a look too.
Truly, I haven’t got anywhere near Abby. Not in the way that I usually do with women. Worryingly, it’s only increasing the appeal.
Some women throw themselves at athletes, not because they particularly like us, but because they like the idea of the status that goes with it. Abby Queenan is definitely not out to impress me. She doesn’t give a flying fuck what I think of her. It’s unbelievably refreshing.
It’s a good thing she’s immune to my usual tactics. One shag might not be enough. And then we’d be into a whole different ball game.
‘Enjoy it while it lasts, Casanova. I give it three days, never mind three months. You might have scored the try, but there’s no way you’ll nail the conversion.’
‘Enjoy the weekend with the girls. I just wanted to share my good news with you.’ I practically sing down the phone.
‘Drive home safely, dickhead.’ He hangs up.
