Page 69 of Crocodile Tears

“Sounds lovely, dear,” Neil responded, with a sarcastic smile.

“You sound more like a bitter old queen every day,” Alex snapped. “Just because you never get any.”

“Some of us have standards; we don’t find the idea of fucking in a smelly nightclub bog and then being sucked off in a dirty alleyway very appealing.”

“Did it make you happy?” Solange asked, gazing at him sadly. He had the uncomfortable feeling she pitied him.

“In the moment, yeah. It killed some time,” he replied, feeling hemmed in on all sides: the paparazzi camped outside, Neil inside, and now Solange, too, her sad eyes radiating a sympathy that he didn’t want or deserve. “Did you bring any croc?” he asked her abruptly.

She pulled a little pouch out of her bag. “Always.”

“Then let’s go have sex and do croc.” Alex grabbed her arm and pulled her into his bedroom.

“Who said romance is dead?” Neil sniped behind him.

Two hours later, he lay on his back with tears gently flowing down his cheeks, feeling mellow and sated. Solange propped herself up on one arm and gazed down on him.

“Alex,” she said softly. “Is this all I am to you? Sex and croc?”

“What more do you want?” he asked, his earlier sour mood returning.

“I don’t know. Just, we’ve been seeing each other – well, sort of – for nearly three years now, and as we’ll soon be going our separate ways, I wondered…”

“It’s never been serious, though, for either of us. Has it?” he asked, sitting up and pulling on his shirt. “We always said that, from the start.”

“No.” She shook her head, making her cloud of dark curls bounce. “But… we’re close, aren’t we, Alex? You know I really care about you.”

“Don’t smother me, Solange,” he snapped. “I told you not to fall in love with me.”

“I know, but I thought…”

“That you could change me? Yeah, that’s what Neil thought, too.”

“You need to let someone love you, Alex,” she said sadly.

“No, I fucking don’t,” he said. “Now, let’s go out for a drink.” He stood up and began pulling on his jeans.

“What about the press? I thought you didn’t want them getting shots of us together?”

“I don’t, but I can’t stay locked up like this forever. I’ll go nuts.”

The press jumped into action the minute they saw Alex and Solange, charging at them. In an instant, Alex was back in those terrible weeks immediately after the accident, when he couldn’t move for the paps following him around, taking photos and yelling stupid questions at him.

“How the hell does Charles enjoy this shit?” he seethed as they struggled to walk a few paces down the street.

“Alex! Charles is racing in the final tomorrow. How does that make you feel?” a reporter yelled.

“Like I want a drink, mate. How does it make you feel?”

“Why didn’t you go to Mexico to support your brother?”

“Because I didn’t fucking want to—” he began, but Solange stepped in smoothly.

“Because he knew you guys would be all over him,” she defended, “and he wanted this to be about Charles. Isn’t that so, Alex?”

“Yeah.” He tried to barge his way through the crowd, tugging heralong behind him, but he wasn’t big enough, and there were too many of them.

Dozens of flashbulbs flared in his face, blinding him. Solange’s hand was clammy in his, and he could feel little trickles of sweat running down his back.

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