‘Well, they taste a lot better than they’re named.’ Maybe I should make sure that’s underlined on my expense form. One serving of oily balls for Archer in Amsterdam. The bastards would have a field day.
‘So you like the food, the beer, the pretty streets, and the canals. But there are some things you haven’t mentioned that Amsterdam is very famous for.’
‘I know. Windmills and tulips. But as I’ve spent the past few days working in the city, I haven’t seen any windmills and it’s still a bit cold for tulips, I think.’
Heather, Lavender, Primrose, and tulip. The Whittington girls plus one more. What kind of brutal parents call their son Sorrel, for fuck’s sake? I wonder how many times he was beaten up in school.
‘What about the dark side of Amsterdam. Cannabis and the red-light district. It’s often what we’re known for.’
‘Ah, well. I’m a bit old for those kinds of things.’ I’ve never paid for sex, not literally, at any rate. Figuratively, yes. I’ve paid in blood, sweat, and tears, though the last aren’t usually mine. But I’ve also paid in moving from workplaces, changing gyms, and leaving favourite pubs.
‘And cannabis? Do you partake?’
My Spidey sensors are tingling. Or that might be the hand on my knee.
‘I like a little buzz myself, though mostly I prefer a little ecstasy when I party on the weekends.’ The hand slides farther up my thigh. For the first time, I take a good look at my bar companion. Yes, I’d registered she had tits, but that was about it.
There’s a woman sitting next to me in a hotel bar.
And she’s flirting with me.
How have I managed not to notice?
Am I losing my touch?
My marbles?
Or did I just leave my well-oiled balls in a castle hotel in Surrey?
‘What about you?’ Her pale painted nails dig into my inner thigh, the sensation making my dick twitch.
‘I won’t be in Amsterdam at the weekend.’
‘I thought as much. That’s why I thought we could go to your room now.’
I take good look at the woman next to me.
Older, not younger than me.
Attractive, not pretty and without Heather’s breathtaking brand of innocence.
Sophisticated, not brash.
Sultry, not sweet.
Tall and not short.
Dark hair. No presence of strawberry.
But the biggest difference of all, this woman is obviously interested in me.
21
Archer
I takea mouthful of my drink, relishing the smooth slide of my nightcap down my throat. My hands fall away as I sigh, the friction of my boxer briefs lowering more than just a precursor. More than just a tease.
‘Fuck.’ The brush of fingers along my abs makes them tense, and my glass hits the floor with a quietthud. The last drops of dark liquid absorbed by the carpet, the action I concentrate on as a means of distracting myself.
