Page 18 of Rafferty's Rules
‘You were hammered, right? Off your gourd?’ he begins, and I nod in agreement, guessing this is some Aussie-ness for drunk. And boy was I, judging by the tiny people who insist on still tap-dancing around my cranium.‘And I was there in the brothel—’
‘Why do you have to keep telling me that?’ That was probably a little vehement and, not to mention, a little telling. I sit back in my chair and try to relax the tightness between my shoulder.
‘Because you were there, too. You practically fell in through the door with some loser who had his arm around you.’
Oh, this is not good news. What man? Who? And if there was a man, why wasn’t it the one sitting in front of me? A man who’s been nothing but kind to me— not some... someloser.
‘Are you sure we can’t stick to the need-to-know thing?’ I ask weakly. Though in my heart of hearts, I know I need to know what happened last night. ‘Did I seem to know this—him?’
‘I couldn’t get any sense out of you, but he said you met outside. At the door, I mean. And I got the impression you wouldn’t have gotten in the place otherwise.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a brothel.’ Rafferty rubs a hand through his hair, and I can’t help but notice how his T-shirt clings to his bicep. ‘The kind that caters to straight men. Possibly the odd experimental couple.’
‘Oh.’Oh...As mad as this sounds, being in a brothel does make a little sense, given what happened a little over a week ago. Stupid sense—drunken sense—thecry-your-heart-out-into-you-cocktails-and-become-hell-bent-on-revengekind of sense. Except when I take into account the kind of brothel I decided on visiting.
The kind that caters to men.
But at least it’s not illegal here in Sydney.Iwon’t be adding a rap sheet to my ignominy.
‘And this greasy fuck seemed to think he could get you to join in.’
‘Like recruit me?’ I would make the worst kind of prostitute. I’m not even a fan of shaking hands. And, oh my, who knew blue eyes could be so fiery?
‘I don’t think he was banking on paying you, love. But you weren’t interested, either way.’
I feel my shoulders slump a little in relief. I did something right, at least.
‘Because you wanted me.’
‘Oh, I just bet I did.’ Rafferty pretends not to notice how I’ve rolled my lips inwards, which is kind of like locking the gate after the horse has bolted, as far as expressions go. ‘I came on to you?’
‘You could say that. You could also say we got chucked out when you started to strip.’
‘Strip? Like out of my clothes?’ I ask, horrified. ‘Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t even wear a bikini when I’m at the beach. I’m strictly a one-piece girl. What? What are you grinning at?’
‘You looked pretty comfortable this morning, strutting around the house in your bra.’
‘One, I did not strut.’ I don’t do that—I’m not a horse. ‘And two, I was pretending. How can anyone relax with all this on show?’ Fingers wide, I circle my hand over my chest, hating how raw and exposed the admission makes me feel.
That’s a cryin’ shame,’ he drawls, all relaxed confidence and completely undeterred. ‘Because you’ve got nothing to hide’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I almost simper, then point out silently to myself how ridiculous I sound.Go on, gorgeously kind sir, tell me more. But more than that, I’m both relieved and grateful that he hasn’t asked me about my scarring. People usually aren’t so sensitive.
‘And also, this morning I might still have been drunk. Besides, what else was I supposed to do? Drag the duvet behind me like Linus?’ Rafferty stares back at me blankly. ‘Linus van Pelt? Peanuts? Snoopy?’
‘Oh, the cartoon? The little fella with the dirty blanket?’
‘Yes, him.’ I’m a mine of useless information, as Gammie would say. Which comes from having an awful lot of time on my hands as a kid. I devoured every book I could get my hands on, and though TV was generally frowned upon, I was allowed to watch the Snoopy crew.
‘To be fair, you look hot in just a blanket, too.’
I bite my lip right before askingjusta blanket?Did I strip off in front of him last night? But I’m not supposed to be encouraging this line of questioning, am I? Simpering and flirting doesn’t exactly scream heartbroken. And if I’m not heartbroken, then I shouldn’t have been getting married in the first place. I pause and play back our little exchange; I’dlookgood in a blanket or Ilookedgood in one? Hell, what difference does it make? Apparently, I strip in brothels.
‘So.’ I breathe in deeply and exhale, dropping my shoulders as I strain to keep my voice calm. ‘I was in a brothel. With a strange man. But I made it clear I wanted you.’
See, calm? I can do calm. Even if I can’t do normal anymore. Because normal for me seemed to flee the day I found out I wasn’t going to get married. I try not to laugh as I realise the sick kind of symmetry in this. William got caught with a prostitute, and I went out looking for one.
