Page 33 of Hard
‘Fuckin’ boundaries,’ Mac growls. ‘I’ll need bleach.’
‘What for? Your arsehole?’
‘Seriously,’ I supply. ‘This discussion is less fun than putting lotion on wee Sorcha’s spots.’
‘And speaking of spots... ’ I know what’s coming before he says it, my eyes falling closed as I prepare myself. ‘Who, pray tell, is Paisley?’
‘What has Paisley got to do with spots?’ Mac butts in.
‘They’re both patterns.’ Will shrugs quickly.
‘So you thought you’d go through my contacts as well? Is nothing fucking sacred?’ I add.
‘But no man is an island,’ Will says, chuckling. ‘Or something. Plus, she was the only one in your contacts with a heart after her name. Sweet boy,’ he adds, pinching my cheek.
‘Get off.’ I push his hand away. ‘She put her own name in the thing.’
‘Tell us about your second cherry poppin’, and we’ll leave you alone.’
‘You’re on your own there,’ Mac grumbles to Will. ‘I don’t need the details.’
‘Fucking sweetie wives, the pair of you,’ I respond, using the Scots slang for gossip mongers.
‘It was the wedding yesterday, wasn’t it?’ Will says. ‘Didn’t I tell you it would be the perfect place to hookup? I suppose it also explains why your game was subpar today. It’s what happens when you don’t clean the pipes out enough.’
I really have no answer for that wee gem, so ignoring Will’s assumptions and Mac’s continued chuckling, I down my whisky, pleased at least that he didn’t order the cheap stuff.
‘Get me another would you, Tracey?’ I gesture at my glass, and Tracey nods.I’m not driving, so I may as well.
‘Fine. You don’t need to tell us. I mean, we’re only your mates—onlythe best mates in the world. Isn’t that right, Mac?’
‘Your best interests at heart,’ he replies, patting his chest where his heart should be. It makes me wonder exactly how much he’s had to drink.
‘I’m pleased my life is keeping you both entertained.’
‘We’d be happier if you told us a little bit about her,’ Mac replies evenly. ‘It’s not all about takin’ the piss.’
‘Look,’ I begin reluctantly and through almost gritted teeth. ‘She works for Fast Girl Media, okay?’
‘She’s in porn?’
‘Jesus.’ Mac wipes a hand down his face, though I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to Will yelling the word “porn” in this spit-and-sawdust pub, or the fact that he now thinks I’ve fucked a porn star.
‘No, she’s not in porn,’ I almost growl defensively, though whether on behalf of her or me, it’s hard to tell. ‘At least, not like that.’
‘What other way is there to be in porn?’ Mac asks. ‘Other than starring in it or being into it.’
‘Her mate owns the company. As far as I can tell, she does a bit of admin and makeup.’
‘Makeup?’ they answer in unison.
‘Aye. She’s a makeup artist by trade.’
‘Oh,’ Will answers, then, ‘Oh!’ This one sounds more like a revelation. ‘That answers her text, then.’
‘She hasn’t sent me a text,’ I scoff, swiping my phone from the bar. ‘She doesn’t have my number.’
‘She does now,’ answers Mac.
