I HOP OFF THE TREADMILL and grab a towel to wipe the sweat pouring down my forehead. Having a gym in our flat comes in handy for nights like this. Ours isn’t as state-of-the-art as the one our dad has, but it gets the job done when you can’t sleep at night.
Peeling off my wet T-shirt, I fling it into the corner and check my mobile again. No more texts.
I drop down on the mat to stretch. Indie Porter is doing a proper job of getting in my fucking head.
After leaving her flat earlier tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about how she said that her adventures in life had just begun. What did she mean by that? How experienced is she? How far has she gone with other blokes in the past? Why do I want to know?
I’ve never wanted to know with any other girls. Ever. But she’s evoked this side of my brain that needs all the information right the fuck now. Plus, after her texts, the thought of her at a club with other blokes touching her makes my teeth grind.
Indie Porter is this perfect un-plucked flower that has no clue how the elements of nature can affect her both negatively and positively. She needs guidance. She needs patience and understanding and experience so she can learn exactly how fucking fantastic sex can be.
A lightbulb goes off in my head when I realise all of that can’t be taught in one night.
No matter how skilled I consider myself to be in the bedroom, her first time won’t be as good as her third or her fourth. I hate that some other bloke will be the one to show that to her. Like one of those blokes she’s probably dancing with at that fucking club right now.
All right, Camden Harris, once your balls drop, you need to get control of this situation.
One night doesn’t work for me anymore. With other girls, yes. But Indie is different. I need more. I need an addendum to our arrangement, and I need to make it tonight before those other tossers get any bright ideas.
I grab my mobile and pull up my brother’s number. Without another thought, I hit DIAL.
“Cam?” A deep timbre vibrates into the line. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, Gareth, I’m fine. Are you back in Manchester? Or are you still at Dad’s?”
“I’m still at Dad’s. How’s the knee? You missed dinner, you know. Vi’s pissed.” Gareth’s accent is sounding more and more Mancunian every time I talk to him.
“I’m not scared of my big sister.”
“Yeah right,” he objects. “Wait ‘til you see her next time, and tell me that when she’s detached your balls and buried them with Bruce’s dinosaur-sized shits.”
My face contorts at the image of Vi’s huge Saint Bernard’s massive craps. Her dog is a slobbering beast but, for some reason, she loves him.
Ignoring his comment, I say, “The knee’s fine. Feels great, actually. It feels weird if I twist it a certain way, but Indie says that’ll be gone after the graft is removed.”
“Indie?” Gareth asks. “Do you mean that Dr. Porter girl? You’re on a first-name basis with your surgeon, Cam?”
“That’s why I’m calling, actually.”
“Oh, here we go.”
I tell him everything that happened between Indie and me at the hospital, leaving out the bit about her being a virgin. No one but me needs to know that. Ever. Not that my brother would give a shit. He’d probably call me a scumbag if he knew I was planning to take her virginity and then leave her, but that’s partially why I need to tweak our arrangement.
“I need you to come with me to a club tonight. Dad, Booker, and Tanner are all away at the match, so I know you have nothing better to do. Come on, Brother. Be my wingman.”
He sighs heavily. “It’s almost midnight and it’s always a shit show when I go to clubs, Cam.”
“Get over yourself. You’re in London now, mate, not Manchester. If I can go into a club and not be mauled, so can you. Besides, I know the club she’s at. It’s basically a gay bar. We’ll be safe.”
Saying that is probably the deciding factor for why he agrees to help me. I know Gareth’s not gay because I’ve seen his porno collection. But he’s almost thirty and, truth be told, I’ve never seen him with a girl. Tanner and I have tried to drag him to the clubs with us when he’s in town, but he always avoids that kind of scene. Booker thinks he’s celibate for football. I think he’s got a secret girl in Manchester. Regardless, he doesn’t date publicly. Ever.
“I guess I should be glad you’re getting out of the flat.”
“Exactly,” I reply. “Let’s go.”
It’s just after midnight when we get to Club Taint. This place is a bit of a wonder. It has a gay bar vibe to it with the pedestal go-go dancers and the dubstep music, but it’s still diverse enough of a crowd to be able to kick back and feel welcome. I’ve been here once before with the team when we were trying to get our midfielder, Clive, to come out of the closet. Truthfully, we all know he’s gay and couldn’t give a shit. We just want to know. It’s like having a friend who’s allergic to peanuts—it’s nice to know so you don’t embarrass yourself by handing him a Walnut Whip.
Gareth leads the way, pulling down his baseball cap, keen on not being recognised. I didn’t bother wearing a hat. You don’t see many baseball caps in London, so my theory is that you draw more attention to yourself by wearing one.
While my brother orders us drinks at the bar, my gaze scans the dance floor for a red, messy bun, preferably surrounded by happy gay men and not straight, trolling blokes. I know it’s a bit intense to show up here without a warning, but there’s a part of me that’s excited to see her in public. Not in the hospital behind closed doors, or in her flat where her curtains are drawn. I want to see her in a dress, dancing and maybe a little bit intoxicated so that when I throw my ideas at her, she’s open to them. Plus, I’m much more persuasive in person.
“Relax and have a drink. You look like a fucking stalker,” Gareth says, passing me a bottle of lager. “Are you sure you know what you’re in for with this bird?”
I suck back a cool drink and frown. “I’m not a stalker, and I’m not in for anything other than adjusting our arrangement.”
“And what arrangement is that exactly?” His hazel eyes are judgmental under the shadows of his cap.
I lean in so he can hear me. “She’s not wanting a boyfriend, and I already made it very clear how I am. I just want a bit more than the one night she originally proposed.”
“Are you telling me a surgeon at a private hospital wants a one-night stand with you? What is it…some bucket list thing? Are you fulfilling her make-a-wish dying request?”
I scowl. “Don’t be a prat.”
“Well, good luck to you. Just find this girl so we can get out of here.” He turns around as a group of girls looks in our direction.
I put the bottle to my lips and nearly choke when my gaze lands on the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. I thought Indie Porter was hot in scrubs and messy hair. The woman standing before me now is completely out of my league.
A long game plan with a bird never looked so good to Camden Harris.
