Beautiful Mess Read online

  “Tom and Olly will be there in a bit, complete with swag. We might need a bit of a diversion, though.”

  “Have you been accosted?”

  “Not yet. Think I should just go over and be done with it?”

  “Might as well. Bit of networking and all that. You can tell them about the film.” I squeezed his arm. “Mila said I could come with you. How awesome is that?”

  “Ah, Bails. That’s brilliant!” He mashed a kiss against my dark curls, and dragged me to the crossing. “Okay then. Let’s go and meet the scary madams.”

  I don’t know if I was imagining it, or if the six or so young girls were actually standing in the shape of a Venus flytrap; either way, as Linc strode towards them, it felt like that scene in Jurassic Park where they tossed a goat in with the velociraptors. This was the boy who took five years of being my friend to grow balls big enough to kiss me. He didn’t do walking up to a bunch of strangers, even if they were wearing little badges that said Linc Twice. I was proud of him, and beneath that, ever so slightly threatened. I was such a silly cow.

  But then the hot guy walking over to meet his fans was my boyfriend. And I knew him better than anyone. Maybe not so silly, huh?

  “Oh my God!” shrieked one of the girls, flapping her hands like a fish. “Did you get our emails?”

  “We love your new parody. The one with the werewolves in tutus. You’re totally bringing hairy back,” gushed another with Heidi-style plaits.

  “Well. Olly’s the hairy one.” Linc blushed as per usual, but he grinned as he spoke.

  “Where’s Olly? Is he here?”

  “He’s…well, he’s kind of busy with our new project,” said Linc. “We just got the go-ahead to make a film.”

  “Seriously?” Heidi bounced in her neon-laced trainers. “Like, a Hollywood film? Oh my God, do you need extras?”

  “We’d be really good. We wouldn’t bug anybody,” said another.

  Linc shook his head. He was now a very fetching shade of beetroot. “Not quite Hollywood, but we’re really excited about it. We start filming in just a few weeks.”

  The first girl tapped furiously on her phone. “I’m putting this on our blog, like, right now!” She made wide eyes at Linc. “Could we get some photos?”

  “Um, yeah. Of course.” Linc shot me an embarrassed wince as the girls squashed against him. I gestured with a bobbing finger and he slowly draped his arms about their shoulders.

  Smile, I mouthed.

  Sod off! He stared very hard at the pavement.

  “Okay,” said the girl with the camera phone, “everybody say slimy man-fat!”

  I put my head in my hands. The in-joke was somehow extra cringe-worthy when it was being shouted by schoolgirls, and I suspected they were never Olly and Linc’s target audience.

  “Slimy man-fat!” squealed the chorus.

  Linc still couldn’t smile, and his left eyebrow cocked in a comically abrupt angle as the flash went off.

  “I suppose I’d better get going,” he said, stepping away.

  “Would you sign my arm before you go?” said camera girl.

  “And my magazine.”

  “And my boobs.”

  “Oh my God, Lizzie. You can’t ask him that!” Heidi shot her a predatory glare.

  “It’s no worse than what’s in your diary, you slag--”

  “I probably shouldn’t sign anyone’s boobs,” Linc said quickly. “But if somebody’s got a pen, I can do the other things.”

  Olly would’ve done it. I made a mental note to keep him away from under-agers.

  Three of the girls produced pens from their bags, and they all thrust them in Linc’s direction at the same time. He shrugged at me helplessly before using each of the pens for a different girl.

  I was suddenly very aware that I was being watched.

  “So is that your girlfriend?” said Lizzie, peering at me from beneath a lot of poker-straight hair.

  “Um. Yep, it is,” he said, cautious.

  I gave them a feeble wave from my perch on the wall.

  “She’s, like, totally pretty,” said Heidi, breathless. “Do you love her?”

  He looked up from Heidi’s arm--which now bore his own loopy brand of calligraphy--to give me a lop-sided grin. “Yeah. She’s pretty cool.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Oh crap. Please don’t, Linc. I don’t want death threats in my email inbox. We all know how this one goes. In the age of social media, I’m pretty sure bunny boilers will have progressed to pet rats, too.

  Before he could respond, Lizzie rushed over and pulled me by the sleeve. “You have to get a Twitter account,” she said. “We can, like, live through you precariously.”

  “You mean vicariously, you moo.” Camera girl rolled her eyes.

  “Living with Linc is rather precarious,” I found myself saying.

  “How did you get together? Was it completely romantic?”

  Linc slumped against a lamppost and rubbed his temple. I think he still envisioned that he’d be swiftly told to fuck off, rather than the pair of us being interrogated.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “It was quite romantic, actually.” It did involve candles. And spanking. Possibly not a story for those who shouldn’t be watching TV after the watershed.

  “We really do have to go,” he said weakly. “It was nice to meet you all, though.”

  We were faced with six pairs of very glossy, pouting lips. Sorry girls. No pony this Christmas.

  “Have a good weekend,” I said, taking Linc’s arm.

  “We will,” said Heidi, as if she’d just been informed of double maths.

  “And we’re so excited about your film!” squeaked camera girl. “Oh my God!”

  “Oh my God, indeed,” I muttered, pressing into him as we walked away.

  “And hey, Linc’s girlfriend!” Lizzie called. “Don’t forget about Twitter! You can put pictures on it, you know. You could take lots of pictures.”

  “So what did you sign instead of her boobs?” I giggled.

  “She’s now the proud owner of an iPhone that says Lunc. My hand was trembling.”

  “You stud, you.”

  “Don’t you dare do that Twitter thing.”

  We turned the corner by the little Italian place we liked to lunch at, and stepped back to let two student-types with skateboards pass.

  “Hey,” said the one in the black hoodie. “It’s the vampire ballet dude.”

  The other held a hand up and Linc gave him a cautious high-five. “You’re classic, man. Classic.”

  “Thanks,” Linc muttered.

  We’d barely reached the Starbucks at the end of the road when an almighty bellowing struck up behind us.

  “Oh crap,” he groaned. “They’re doing the slutty werewolf rap.”

  “This is embarrassing. How quickly can we run to the car?”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  I’d never been scowled at by old ladies as two lads croon “ooh, ooh, were-boys are easy!” at my terrified boyfriend. Still, if I’d had a “things I never want to do on a Saturday,” list, I could have totally crossed that off.

  ***

  “I can’t believe we’re going to see this place.” Olly bounced while I fiddled with the keys, his arms full of herbs in plant pots.

  “Feels wrong,” sniffed Tom.

  “We have to make sure that it’s habitable for Bailey. Check for sharp corners, glass ornaments, that kind of thing.”

  “You’re like two gay dads, giving me away,” I grumbled.

  “It’s a good job we don’t actually have homo friends,” Tom mused. “They’d need to be very tolerant.”

  I got the flat door open, finally, and we spilled into the hall. The boys dumped their boxes and gazed about in wonder.

  Olly scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s…it’s…”

  “Normal.” Tom’s upper lip twitched with disgust.

  I poked him in the ribs. “What were you expecting?”
>
  “I dunno. Bats, a coffin? Women’s shoes in trannie sizes?”

  “I was expecting all sorts of weird super villain shit, like a fish tank floor full of sharks and giant squid.” Olly’s shoe squeaked on the polished floorboards. “I can’t believe he’s this…tidy.”

  “I couldn’t, either.” I grinned.

  “Stop bitching and give me a hand.” Linc appeared in the doorway, cradling the box that I knew to be full of rats. Recently, we’d bought a cute little gray one to join Tarquin and Safety Dance. His name was Desmond.

  I eased the box from Linc’s arms and stood on tip-toe to give him a kiss.

  “Is the cage down in the car?”

  “Yep.” His fingers played on my waist. “I’ll have it up in five.”

  “I still can’t look.” Olly slapped a hand over his eyes. “It’s like watching my sister and brother.”

  I rolled my eyes as I strode past him. “You‘ve had four months to get used to it, you knobhead.”

  “That’s nothing! And don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing here, Missy.” He wagged a finger at me. “Stealing my wing man away. He’ll still be over for work, and--”

  “I’m a wing man!” Tom protested.

  “But you’re shit with a keyboard,” sighed Olly, patting his friend on the back. “You’re meant to be dosing up pensioners anyway, Doctor Tom.”

  It took an hour or so to bring up all my boxes, and I busied myself sorting the rats while the boys stacked them in the hall. I set up the cage in the spare room and made sure they had lots of fancy schmancy cereal.

  Then it was time to say goodbye to Olly and Tom.

  “It’s going to be too weird,” said Tom.

  Olly pouted at me. “I’ll be in your empty bedroom at two in the morning, pounding the walls with my bare fists. You think of that while you’re doing dirty things and making sad little photo collages.”

  “You look after her, Linc. No whipping back the floorboards to reveal any fish tanks, you hear?”

  Linc gave Tom a rather forceful high-five. “I’ll do my best, mate.”

  I suffered choking hugs from the sweaty boys and waved as they started down the hall. The door hadn’t closed when they began singing at the tops of their voices.

  “They are very slutty werewolves with their furry, faggy...rats?”

  “Rats. Were-rats. Woah, were-rats are easy!”

  Linc slammed the door shut and shoved me up against it with a grin. “So.” A slow, barely restrained kiss. “Finally got you all to myself.”

  “You certainly have, Mr. Forester. Do you think they’ll cope without me?”

  He chewed his lip. “Well, we aren’t going back round there until at least nine o’clock.”

  “You’re right. It’ll be touch and go.”

  “But it gives us hours and hours.”

  Soft little licks trailed down my neck, and my nipples rubbed stiffly against his chest. Ow.

  “Hours and hours of montages?” I giggled.

  “Yes. God, yes.”

  I let Linc scoop me up and take me to the bed now bedecked in my velvet comforter. Our spaces, our lives, were mashed together in a shocking, beautiful mess. I didn’t remember ever falling in love with Linc; I woke up one morning and I just kind of was. It was the biggest screw you, Craig! ever--and the one I never dared to expect.

  It was also the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he mumbled. “We need a rule. Strip when I say, or there’ll be spanking.”

  Oh, and in case you were wondering?

  Yep.

  Every. Single. Time.

  If you liked BEAUTIFUL MESS,

  then you might like Lucy’s erotic series...

  CHAIRMAN OF THE WHORED

  Coming soon from Lyrical Press

  www.lyricalpress.com

  WARNING: Contains clever lawyers with a penchant for violence, and an alter-ego like Tinkerbell on meth.

  Leila Vaughn is a tax lawyer at a prestigious London law firm. And a whore. She didn’t take the night job just to pay off her debts--an affair with an older man once stirred a pit of darker desires. Now her year as an escort is almost over, she’s ready to lock up her alter-ego, Charlotte, and be normal once again. What’s bad is that her colleague, Matt, just caught her out. What’s worse is that their boss Joseph is with him.

  Matt wants to rescue Leila. And she should want what he does--monogamy and escape from the city--if she’s going to be normal, right? But Joseph is as familiar with the slippery world of escorting as she is, and that makes him hard to resist. In London‘s tightest circles, he’s known as the Chairman of the Whored. Bold, sharp and ruthless, he’s everything Leila is trying not to be--so why can’t she say no to him?

  Three jobs left before she pays off her debt. Two men playing games she can’t handle. One alter-ego, banging against the mirror. In a dark hotel room, the glass is about to break...

  Excerpt

  One o’clock rolled around and I headed out to meet Joseph, who had been out with his real solicitors all morning. He’d booked the same restaurant that we’d dined at on Isobel’s birthday, and it was as gloriously pristine in the sunshine as in candle light.

  I wished I’d worn something more formal than my fennel wrap-over dress.

  Joseph stood up to greet me, planting a kiss achingly close to my mouth. He smelled like lemon and tarragon: fresh and wild.

  “Good morning?” I asked.

  “Boring as fuck. You’d best be entertaining.” That freshly-fucked gleam shone in his eye--was he thinking about it?

  “Erm…I’d planned a fascinating discussion on my holiday allowance and probationary period.”

  “Leila, you could be telling me the winning lottery numbers and my mind would still be elsewhere.” He cocked his head. “In the gutter, most probably.”

  “I like the gutter.” Oops. “That came out wrong.”

  Beneath the table, he trapped my bare leg between his. “Shut up.”

  The waiter arrived with a bottle of Champagne and opened it with a crisp pop.

  “Are we celebrating something?”

  “You, of course.” A smile played on his lips. “Your glittering future career with Bach and Dagier.”

  “I haven’t even had a contract yet.”

  “Considering another offer?” He wasn’t talking about work any more. A teasing edge scored his voice.

  The froth rose in my glass and I ducked to hide behind it.

  He sat back in his chair. Stared at me. “I know about you and Matt,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not stupid, Leila. He may as well piss all over you.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “I was never much for water sports.”

  “Don’t bullshit me.” Joseph tightened his legs around mine. “Are you involved with him?”

  “Not in the way you think,” I muttered.

  “What do I think?”

  “I don’t know, but you were the one who decided to involve him in the first place. Don’t try to make me responsible for the way he’s acting now.”

  “Apologies for being such a big, bad wolf. Not my fault he needs a big pint of man-the-fuck-up.” One hand toyed with his open collar. “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “No.” I was uncomfortable. Beginning to sweat. “Shall I be honest?”

  “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  I took a moment to compose myself.

  It didn’t work.

  “He and I have talked about it. About what happened, I mean…about liking each other. We agreed that when all this is over--”

  “What do you mean, all this? Do you mean me?”

  I nodded slowly.

  “You actually like him?”

  “Is it any of your business?”

  He squeezed my leg harder. “Yes. It is.”

  The waiter arrived and Joseph ordered for both of us. I hadn’t even looked at the menu.


  “Are you angry with me?” I asked finally.

  He smiled. Gulped down the Champagne. “No. A little surprised, maybe.” He released my leg, sitting back. “Why would I be angry with you?”

  “I don’t know what the rules are in this game. I don’t know whether I’m bending them or breaking them entirely.”

  “Who says we’re playing a game?”

  “That’s what it feels like.” I reached for my own glass and the bubbles burst sharply on my tongue. “I mean, feel free to enlighten me. Any time you like.”

  He smiled again, taking the glass from my hands and circling his fingertips over my wrist. “I like you. Can’t you tell?”

  “Yes, but…” I squirmed in my chair. “I’m not sure where this is going.” Please don’t offer to shack me up as your mistress. Please, please…it’s so unoriginal.

  “Me either, especially if you’re planning on running off with Matt as soon as I untie you.”

  I considered tugging my wrist away but his warm, warm skin…I loved the way it simmered against mine.

  He was checking my pulse. Measuring the snares. Jesus.

  “Should I be considering another offer?”

  “Consider whatever you like, Leila--just be fucking honest about it.”

  Our starter arrived--a pea and mint risotto--and I busied myself with the cutlery. Why was he being so roundabout in his proposition? What exactly did he think he’d bought?

  The food signalled a change of subject and we slipped into a discussion about my possible contract--the one I hadn’t officially been offered yet. It dragged awkwardly through the main course and, feeling both nauseous and guilty, I declined desert. The Champagne and its frosted loveliness made me doubt my own self-control.

  Our walk back to the office steered through a park where the trees swayed in the sunshine. Joseph reached for my hand. I should have pulled away, shouldn’t I? Friends could knot fingers, but that wasn’t what we were.

  Our palms warmed together. His thumb slid over mine. Cyclists pedalled past and he tucked me behind him--like we’d done this a million times.

  A group of sixth form school girls sat cross-legged in a copse of silver birch. Their green blazers and checked skirts looked fresh against the turf. They giggled, threw bits of paper at each other. One brushed another’s hair as they poured over a magazine.