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Until that is, I decided one day to tell my friend Jean all about it during a lunch.I actually call her Genie because Jean seems too plain, too boring for her. I prefer my spelling and nickname because she has a knack of making me feel better and, if I apply myself, it seems she can make my dreams come true. So, to the lunch... ‘I don’t know why you don’t just go for it, Trudy. You only live once,’ Genie says, taking a file out of her bag and rubbing it across a perfectly-manicured, pink acrylic nail. ‘I had a brilliant time last week at that new club in town. I danced with a perfect stranger. We were so in sync and I let him fuck me in the toilets. Hey, don’t look at me like that, all shocked. You know you wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity — if you’d been given the chance, that is.’I’m watching Genie’s mouth twist in a defensive grimace. ‘Tell me about it then. You can’t give me a nugget of information without going into detail.’Genie’s eyes lit up. ‘He was wonderful, exactly. Drinks are on me.’ *** The hotel bar was like any other, populated by a combination of hard drinkers, Casanova wannabes, and middle-aged people dancing the cha cha. Harker had been nursing his whiskey for the past hour. He’d gone through the motions of unpacking, meditating, and then going for a walk. He tried reading, and then sleeping, and failed. So there he was, in the bar, betraying his own principles about no booze, no bullshit before the tournament, and all because he couldn’t sleep. The first thing he noticed was her legs, long, slim, infinite, with just the slightest hint of muscle. They were encased in calf-length leather boots, above which was an expanse of smooth gold skin that disappeared into a short black skirt. Above a flat stomach was a pair nice sized breasts in a tight black T-shirt and her hair was a rich dark brown that fell like liquid silk between her shoulder blades. Age wise, he placed her anywhere between sixteen and twenty-five, but there was something.
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