Page 52 of Muddy Messy Love

Only then do I ever feel free.

I love you, Aves. See me tomorrow night. Please. I can pick you up at six.

My lips twitch with a faint smile. This is very un-Slade-like. He’s obsessed with EDM and purports anything mainstream as commercialised crap. Yet here he is reciting Bellamy Ford love-song lyrics by text. Written evidence of his corruption left at my disposal. Shocking. And a little endearing, if I’m honest.

I stare at his message while the bath bubbles melt into a milky ocean. I’m no longer his fool. I know the deal, and I know to never sacrifice myself for him again. Surely I can mess around—have a little fun—keep things onmyterms without getting reattached. God knows, I could use the distraction.

The idea lightens me, and it’s the small reprieve I desperately need. Against my greater judgement, I send Slade my address and then leave the bath in preference of my studio, refusing to acknowledge what I’ve done or the shame thickening inside me. Rather, I bury it with clay and set to work, transforming this clusterfuck of a day into solid form. And come midnight, the lump of terracotta resembles a woman on her knees, her heart bleeding in her outstretched hands as she begs someone to take it. As she begsmeto take it. But I can’t help her. No one can.

Eleven

“You look nice,” Bethsays as she strolls into the kitchen the following evening, her billowy blouse untucked, toes webbed by nude stockings.

I eye the time on my phone. Had she arrived ten minutes from now, she might have encountered Slade, and what a shitshow that would have been. “I thought you had farewell drinks.”

“I do,” she says, plucking the front of her blouse. “I spilt coffee and needed to change. Where are you off to?”

“Dinner with friends from work.” I flash her a small smile, then avert my gaze. I don’t like lying, but I’d rather not ruin her night or endure a lecture. Besides, Slade won’t set foot inside her house. That was the deal.

“Anyone I know?” Beth eyes me with a smirk that heats my cheeks. She still hasn’t let the whole phone gift go. But the fact I squirm whenever she alludes to Cole doesn’t deter her either. I shake my head, hoping she drops it.

“We still good for a movie night tomorrow?”

“Like I’d miss it,” I reply. It’s her last night here for five long months. The thought curdles my stomach. What seemed tolerable yesterday now threatens to unravel me.

“Just making sure you didn’t get a better offer.” Beth waggles her eyebrows, and I release a heavy sigh. Time to end this nonsense.

“Cole has a girlfriend. And a daughter. So you can stop with the teasing, okay?”

Beth’s smile fades. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Makes two of us,” I grumble to the island bench, tracing the shimmering swirls with my fingertip.

She eyes me curiously, then turns to open a cupboard door. “You sound disappointed.” There’s control in her voice. The perfect balance of calm and cool. She’s fishing. Trying for subtlety but failing miserably.

I use a shrug to feign indifference. “Don’t be silly. I know what I am, Beth.”

“Oh yeah?” She sets a crystal wine glass on the granite and opens the fridge, retrieving the near-empty bottle of sauvignon blanc. “And what’s that?”

Inhaling through my nose, I stare at her baby blues, trying to formulate a response that says it all. “A fucking mess.”

Beth’s eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by the drawn-out blast of a horn.

Slade.

Early for once in his life, but at least he didn’t come to the door. I never expected he would. Sliding my bag from the island, I peck Beth on the cheek. “Gotta go. Don’t wait up.”

The front door slams behind me as I rush to the long silver sedan hovering at the kerb. The windows are black mirrors, which eases my worry. Even if Beth peers out her bedroom window, she won’t see who it is. The car is unfamiliar, but as I hesitate, the passenger door pushes open, and I spot Sladeleaning across the seat, a dark Adidas hoodie cloaking his head. Grin flashing.

I climb in, latch my seatbelt, then force a smile. “Hi. We should go.”

Slade whips back his hood. “Well, someone’s keen,” he says, sliding his gaze over my slinky white top, then down the length of my jeans. “Killer boots.”

I soften my smile but rein in all giddiness. “Thanks.”

“Killer place too.” He whistles under his breath, eyeballing Beth’s house and then the surrounding residences. My protective instincts flare again. Like they did outside Benedict’s. “My girl’s come up in the world,” he says, winking as he puts the car in gear. A cheeky smirk sparkles in his hazel eyes. Baggy track pants bunch against his glowing white Nikes. And that titanium stud glimmers in the lingering sun. His hair has grown long enough to hide the scalp tats, but he still looks badass. And hot. So fucking hot that I quietly sigh. At least I had the foresight to wear cartoon-bunny-print knickers. No man is ever seeing those.

The engine rumbles as Slade leaves the kerb, and I rub my hand over the velour seat, taking in my surroundings. There’s an abundance of red. The seats. The carpet. The vinyl-lined doors and steering wheel.The fucking seatbelts. Someone could be murdered in here and you wouldn’t see blood. “When did you get this car?” I ask.

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