‘Now, now, lads,’ Mac interjects. ‘I’m sure Lord Travers here can grow up a wee bit, if he really tried. Maybe you should leave it to him to apologise.’
‘Or maybe you’ll apologise to me when you get a little something back via text.’ At almost the same time as Will stops speaking, my phone chimes. ‘You’re welcome, by the way,’ he says smugly, lifting his whisky glass.
‘And fuck you very much still,’ I reply, holding my phone like it’s a small incendiary device. Do I want to look?Of course, I do.Does that make me as bad as him?
‘As charming as that offer is, I’m off the market these days.’
‘Christ knows how,’ I answer, still staring at the unopened text. Fuck it. It’s not like I’m not going to look. She’s pretty much all I’ve thought of since I left her in bed in the wee hours, all tangled hair and sheets, a heady perfume filling the room.The clean scent of her sweat and sex.
The recollection is so real; it’s like I can almost reach out and touch her. Taste her still. The thought causes my cock to throb, and though I should probably wait until I get home, I’m kidding myself. My impulse control has been shot since I walked her to her hotel room.
I tilt the phone to my chest a little, surreptitiously raising my head a wee bit, though both Mac and Will seem to have purposely turned their attention to the corner of the room where a football match plays out on the large-screen TV.
‘Hurry up and have your dirty wee peek,’ Will complains without turning his head. ‘I don’t even like football.’
‘Wrong shaped balls,’ I murmur.
‘That what you get for not shagging for so long.’
‘For the love of God,’ Mac protests. ‘Shut your mouth and give your arse a chance.’
‘Agreed,’ I add. ‘He does talk a load of shite.’ As I speak, I unlock my phone, open my texts, and physically recoil.
‘Well... that’s something,’ I say, distaste and a morbid sounding chuckle filling my tone.
‘Are you done?’ Will asks, turning back to face me. I hand him my phone, and like a true bloke, no matter what his heart tells him about being settled and loved up, his brain tells him tolook at the dirty pictures.And so he does. His face morphs through a myriad of expressions—enquiring surprise, to abhorrent disgust, and everything in between. ‘You’ve shagged a chick with a dick?’ His voice echoes through the bar.
‘Keep it fuckin’ down,’ Mac growls.
‘This is your fault,’ I say, laughing at his abject horror. ‘And you’re still lookin’ at it.’
‘It? Why? Why would she send you a picture of a manscaped dick?’
‘On account of your stupid first text,’ Mac says, snatching the phone out of his hand and plonking it face down in my palm. ‘Go sort this out. We’ll need to leave soon.’To get back to Ella and the kids.
I nod, the stab of guilt resurfacing, though I turn and make my way outside as the call connects. It’s begun to rain while we’ve been in the pub, the grey roads now slick and shiny.
‘Hello?’ Over the patter of the rain overhead, I hear how her voice brims with laughter even in that one spoken word. The tightness in my chest seems to loosen almost instantly.
‘How are you?’ Alcohol softens my tone, my enquiry warm.
‘I’m as hot as hell.’
‘That’s maybe a little conceited but also very true.’
‘Conceited? This from the man asking me to send intimate images. Via text, no less. Classy, Keir. Real classy.’
‘I’m sorry about that.’ I blow out the words on a long, regretful breath as I rub my hand against the back of my head. ‘But you really showed me, didn’t you?’
‘I sure showed you something,’ she replies, giggling.
‘I’m impressed—horrified but impressed.’
‘Was it the size of the schlong that did it for you?’
‘Ah, no.’ I chuckle. ‘Though that was also impressive. Horrifyingly impressive.’
‘Like you don’t compare,’ she scoffs.
