out my wet hair when the intercom squawked. I picked up the plastic handset and answered.
‘It’s Alex. Let me up.’ He didn’t sound happy.
After the previous night’s abstinence and no dinner, the wine had gone straight to my head and I was feeling a little cheeky. ‘Jeez, I dunno. It’s pretty late.’
‘Open the goddamn door.’ His voice had lowered an octave and I imagined the tone was the same one he used to apprehend fraudulent scoundrels. I couldn’t wait to let him know how clever I’d been so I buzzed him in, quickly swiped on some lip gloss and refilled my wine glass. When I opened the door I noticed his eyes wander over the towel, a quick up and down, then focus back on my face. Men.
‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’ I smirked.
‘I told you to stay away.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He pushed past to the bathroom and came out holding the wig and the Garfield shirt at arm’s length. The wig looked like a dead fox terrier.
I smiled. Revenge was so fucking sweet. ‘Alright, you got me, babe. Drink?’
‘Are you deliberately trying to get me in trouble?’ He threw the top and wig back onto the bathroom floor.
‘Oh relax, Detective, I was brilliant, the pig of glory, a master of disguise. No one knew it was me and I bet you your colleagues didn’t recognise me either. And the shit I found out … but you wouldn’t want to see the photos, would you?
Maybe you should leave now before things go … how did you put it? Pear shaped?’
‘Photos?’ he asked.
‘Uh-huh.’
I sashayed over to the coffee table, booted up my laptop and plugged my digital camera into the USB port, preparing to download. As I bent over the towel almost fell off, as they do, and Alex fixed his eyes on a Beyond the Valley of the Dolls poster over my right shoulder.
‘Put some clothes on.’
‘In a sec.’ I sat on the couch in front of the computer and patted the cushion next to me.
He paused, then finally walked over and sat down. The faintest trace of faded aftershave reached my nostrils and his trouser leg brushed my thigh. I busied myself transferring photos and lifting my glass for a couple of comprehensive swigs. I clicked open the first image.
‘Check it out,’ I said. ‘A whole box of plastic wrapped cash.
Money laundering, has to be. And I got that.’ I pointed to the can. ‘Probably just broad beans but it could be full of drugs. Sam Doyle’s doing, you reckon?’
‘I really can’t say.’
‘Maybe I’ll have to find out on my own then.’
‘This isn’t funny.’ He sighed. ‘What do I have to say to get you to leave this angle alone?’
I glanced at him, trying to think of a witty riposte, but the wine had kind of floored me and my mind went liquid and blank. I got caught up checking out his straight black brows and the coffee-coloured eyes fringed by surprisingly long lashes. Then my gaze dropped to his large hands, veins on the back of them, and a smattering of dark hair. I remembered a time not so long ago when he’d kissed me at the entrance to my flat and those same hands had snaked under my top and I’d felt his erection pressing against me. God.
He looked up from the computer. ‘What?’
I leaned over, put one hand on his upper thigh and moved my lips to his. He abruptly turned his head and my mouth brushed his ear. I sat back. He removed my hand from his leg and stood up.
‘Simone, I’m getting married. You’re dating my best friend.’
Before I could say anything he turned and walked out the door. As his shoes echoed down the concrete stairwell mortification hit me like a punch in the stomach and my skin prickled with a full body blush. I must have seemed like a desperate freak. I jumped up from the couch, threw off the towel and grabbed my jammies from in front of the heater, dancing and hopping as I pulled them on. I raced down the stairs, out the security door and down the concrete path, twigs and gumnuts
‘It’s Alex. Let me up.’ He didn’t sound happy.
After the previous night’s abstinence and no dinner, the wine had gone straight to my head and I was feeling a little cheeky. ‘Jeez, I dunno. It’s pretty late.’
‘Open the goddamn door.’ His voice had lowered an octave and I imagined the tone was the same one he used to apprehend fraudulent scoundrels. I couldn’t wait to let him know how clever I’d been so I buzzed him in, quickly swiped on some lip gloss and refilled my wine glass. When I opened the door I noticed his eyes wander over the towel, a quick up and down, then focus back on my face. Men.
‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’ I smirked.
‘I told you to stay away.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He pushed past to the bathroom and came out holding the wig and the Garfield shirt at arm’s length. The wig looked like a dead fox terrier.
I smiled. Revenge was so fucking sweet. ‘Alright, you got me, babe. Drink?’
‘Are you deliberately trying to get me in trouble?’ He threw the top and wig back onto the bathroom floor.
‘Oh relax, Detective, I was brilliant, the pig of glory, a master of disguise. No one knew it was me and I bet you your colleagues didn’t recognise me either. And the shit I found out … but you wouldn’t want to see the photos, would you?
Maybe you should leave now before things go … how did you put it? Pear shaped?’
‘Photos?’ he asked.
‘Uh-huh.’
I sashayed over to the coffee table, booted up my laptop and plugged my digital camera into the USB port, preparing to download. As I bent over the towel almost fell off, as they do, and Alex fixed his eyes on a Beyond the Valley of the Dolls poster over my right shoulder.
‘Put some clothes on.’
‘In a sec.’ I sat on the couch in front of the computer and patted the cushion next to me.
He paused, then finally walked over and sat down. The faintest trace of faded aftershave reached my nostrils and his trouser leg brushed my thigh. I busied myself transferring photos and lifting my glass for a couple of comprehensive swigs. I clicked open the first image.
‘Check it out,’ I said. ‘A whole box of plastic wrapped cash.
Money laundering, has to be. And I got that.’ I pointed to the can. ‘Probably just broad beans but it could be full of drugs. Sam Doyle’s doing, you reckon?’
‘I really can’t say.’
‘Maybe I’ll have to find out on my own then.’
‘This isn’t funny.’ He sighed. ‘What do I have to say to get you to leave this angle alone?’
I glanced at him, trying to think of a witty riposte, but the wine had kind of floored me and my mind went liquid and blank. I got caught up checking out his straight black brows and the coffee-coloured eyes fringed by surprisingly long lashes. Then my gaze dropped to his large hands, veins on the back of them, and a smattering of dark hair. I remembered a time not so long ago when he’d kissed me at the entrance to my flat and those same hands had snaked under my top and I’d felt his erection pressing against me. God.
He looked up from the computer. ‘What?’
I leaned over, put one hand on his upper thigh and moved my lips to his. He abruptly turned his head and my mouth brushed his ear. I sat back. He removed my hand from his leg and stood up.
‘Simone, I’m getting married. You’re dating my best friend.’
Before I could say anything he turned and walked out the door. As his shoes echoed down the concrete stairwell mortification hit me like a punch in the stomach and my skin prickled with a full body blush. I must have seemed like a desperate freak. I jumped up from the couch, threw off the towel and grabbed my jammies from in front of the heater, dancing and hopping as I pulled them on. I raced down the stairs, out the security door and down the concrete path, twigs and gumnuts
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