Page 39 of Fragile

Pushing the phone into my neck, I trapped it with my shoulder and dragged my laptop from the coffee table. I started to google pubs that had lock-in after-hours in the area.

He ignored my jibe. “Guess who’s here?”

“You tell me.” Fuck knew why he was being so cryptic. “You’re mother?” I added for effect.

“Ha ha, funny,” he deadpanned.

“Spill it, Max, I’m not in the mood,” I growled as I pounded the keys. I wondered if he’d say one of the Kinlan’s was there.

“Alright counselor, calm the fuck down. Your tasty little house guest is here.”

WHAT? The phone dropped from its resting place in the nook of my neck and rattled against my keyboard. What the fuck? His big reveal was like a punch in the face.

My anger sparked. “What are you on about,” I bit back, pushing the device to my ear again, all thoughts of Google forgotten.

Moving my computer, I shoved to my feet and started to pace, feeling like a caged tiger whilst I waited for him to explain himself.

“Leonie’s here,” Max said, now stating the obvious.

I could hear the blood rushing through my head and the room suddenly felt smaller. Making my way over to the kitchen counter, I leaned against it. “In a strip club? You’re shitting me?”

“Does a rocking horse have a wooden dick?”

I reined in my temper, not appreciating Max’s warped sense of humour at that particular moment.

“Are you sure it’s her?”

“Yep, It’s her alright. I’d recognise that arse anywhere.” I banged my fist on the surface so hard that everything on it shook.

“What the fuck man!” Max belted, clearly holding the phone away from his ear and my deafening vent. I felt a jet of fury enter my body like a hypodermic. The thought of Max checking out Leonie’s arse made me see red. If he’d have been in front of me, I’d have lamped him one.

“Is she stripping?” I questioned, now desperate for answers, even if I didn’t like them.

He paused for a moment, and then I heard him talking to a waitress, something about a rum and coke. Yep, Max was a fucker with a shit attention span. How could he be ordering his next fucking beverage whilst I was in bits at the other end of the phone? Because he was a dick, that’s why. We both were. At the end of the day, Max didn’t give a shit unless something affected him directly.

“Max!” I shouted in frustration. Bromance be damned, I so wanted to throat punch the dick.

“What?” he asked, that dumbass tone he adopted to wind me up firing out from the phone.

I took a deep breath, I needed to cool my shit if I was going to get the facts without him ending the call. Something Max would do if he even sniffed, I was being off with him.

I managed to tamper down my next rude retort, I needed answers. “Is she one of the strippers?”

“Not sure.” He so wasn’t listening.

“She said she works in a bar, not a club. Maybe she’s just there with friends for after-work drinks?” I put in hopefully.

“No, she definitely works here.” I gritted my teeth as I heard Max talking to someone else. He had the attention span of a fucking goldfish.

My throat tightened. “Has she seen you?”

“Nah, I’m in a booth at the back, better view,” the smug git replied.

I fought off the psycho in me. “Good, keep it that way.”

“And what a view it is. Fuck me, teeny tiny shorts, and a tight top. You can almost see her tits.”

“I get the idea, tosser. Keep your eyes and your hands to yourself.”

---