Page 40 of Just Like You
“Then, make me look good. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“No. You won’t.”
She laughed. I did too.
“Remember when I made you take me for that job interview and paid you with a blowie behind Tesco’s?”
“Almost got caught by a bunch of grannies.”
“And then you made me walk around the park with your hand down my knickers. You were such a terror.”
“I was just young and horny. And you?”
“Was a weird-ass little slut. Thank God we’ve grown up now.”
“Have we, though?” I wasn’t too sure about that. Neither was she, as she rolled her eyes.
“I had my roots done yesterday, and I can still see them. Crap job. I’m this close to posting something about that bloody salon. They do me for free, but it’s getting ridiculous.”
I didn’t even bother responding to that, just sat there watching her preening in front of the mirror. Her hair, mostly fake, was coiffed into perfect swirls down her back, and despite all the work she’d had done to her face? She was still my Gina.
“You’re not even going to give me a name?” She winked at me, her hand once again down her dress, re-adjusting her bosom.
“Just stick a hoodie on top. Saves all that hassle,” I teased as she rolled her eyes.
“Name,” she demanded.
“Julian.” I liked how it rolled off my tongue. “He’s thirty-one. Good job. Makes me smile.”
“Good start.” She nodded. “And?”
“That’s it.”
“There must be more. You took him to the Maldives.”
“He took me.” I drained my glass.
“And was it worth it?”
“That, my darling, is for me to think about and you to find out. We need to go.”
“Oh.” She tapped a manicured finger on my nose. “I’ll find out. But for now? Make me look good.”
“Always.” I tapped my finger back against her perfectly pert little nose.
“Careful,” she warned.
“Always am.” Truth. Right there.
I was a professional at work. I could also escort Gina to events in my sleep. To be honest, I didn’t mind. These events were boring as anything, but I quite enjoyed watching her work the crowds, always in the background, my hand perfectly placed on her waist. Flanking her at the right angles, and yes. Keeping an eye on those straps. I’d done this enough times that I could do a discreet adjustment of fabric in the blink of an eye, a small stage whisper to fix a strand of hair. And of course, smile. Fucking smile, Gina.
I’d met her in my teens, and we’d… Well. I hadn’t been very experienced, but neither had she. I owed her a lot. An awful fucking lot.
“To the right,” she whispered as we turned in sync, allowing the photographer on the side to get the perfect shot. Me with my finger under her chin. She? The perfect angle to accentuate that dress. The boobs taking centre stage as I discreetly looked away.
“Now we need a break,” she decided. “Find me a glass of champagne. The good stuff.”
I agreed, again checking my phone. I missed him. I was weirdly desperate just to hear his voice. If I knew where he lived? I would have made my excuses and gone straight there. Watched him open the door to wherever his house was, and then I would just have walked straight in. Pressed him up against the wall and kissed him.
