Page 31 of Repluse

I have to press my lips together to stop my grin. This girl has balls of steel andis notbacking down, and I am fucking here for it.

“Red, white, and black? They supposed to represent us three? We know the black must be you. Black like your heart. Is thewhite Sam, because I’m assuming the whorey harlot red is meant for me?”

Frankie goes to the cupboard where I keep my bourbon and pulls out a bottle. Taking a glass from the drawer beneath, he fills it halfway and knocks the lot back in two gulps, then pours himself another.

“I’m good, but you help yourself, mate,” I tell him sarcastically.

“Fuck off,” he replies while wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Drawing and letting out a long breath, he leans back against the counter next to me.

“Yeah, the red is you, but there’s nothing whorey or harlot-y about it. The red’s for your passion, your will, your strength.”

Mila stares at him, says nothing, gives away less.

Frankie takes another swig of his drink.

“Before I start… First, first I want to apologise. I was lied to. Mislead. I didn’t do my due diligence and it has come back to bite me on the arse massively. Second, I want to make it absolutely clear that Sam had no knowledge of any of what I’m about to tell you until I confessed on Sunday after you left.”

“Am I gonna need something stronger than tea for this?” Mila asks him. “Some of your magic pills, maybe?”

Frankie nods. “Probably.”

“Great. Just when I thought my week couldn’t get any worse. What’ve you got, Sammie?” Her eyes slide to me, and she smiles sweetly, emphasising to Frankie it’s him she’s pissed off with, not me. I return her smile tenfold.

“Wait… Did you two fuck? You did! I can fucking smell it on both of you. You fucked without me?” He turns my way accusingly.

“Mate, by the time you get done telling her?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps.

“Right. While you two have your domestic, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Sam, would you pour me something sweet and strong while I’m gone? Thank you.”

We both watch as she slides off the stool and heads towards the hallway where the guest bathroom is.

“I don’t fucking believe you.” Frankie shakes his head.

“What don’t you believe?” I step away from him. “You asked me not to tell her what’s gone on. You didn’t ask me not to?—”

“Fuck her?” he interrupts.

I move around to the other side of the island and sit on the stool next to Mila’s. I have a feeling she might need me close once Frankie reveals his sordid little secret. Or she might just be done with both of us because of it.

“It wasn’t… That’s not what…” I struggle to find the right words to describe exactly what it was that happened between Mila and me earlier. It wasn’t fucking—it was more than that—but I’m not about to explain that to this dickhead.

“What? What was or wasn’t it?”

“How about you mind your own fucking business and get on with telling her what it is you’ve got to tell her.”

“So, is that how this is gonna go? She fucks me off out of it, and you and her skip off into the sunset?”

My head is starting to ache, the contentment from my earlier orgasm rapidly evaporating as I listen to Frankie’s temper tantrum. Raking my fingers through my hair, I press my fingertips into my scalp and attempt to squeeze away the tension.

“Frank, can we just get this done so we both know where we stand before we start blueing about it?”

He rubs his palm over his jaw. “I thought you were making her a drink,” he says, the subject changing like his mood.

“You make it. It’s the least you can do.”

“Fuck off,” he repeats his favourite phrase.

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