Page 38 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“And he was clearly meeting up with them for sex.”
“Definitely unacceptable.”
“And he was sending them dick pics.”
“Where did you bury him?”
She laughed. “Tempting, but he wasn’t worth going to prison for.” She arched one questioning eyebrow. “I assume you’d never do anything like that?”
“I’ve never needed hook-up sites.” His voice was bluntly matter-of-fact. “Sexting — fun, but only if you’re in a relationship. Sleeping with random women — not since I was about sixteen. I may have had a lot of girlfriends, but only ever one at a time. As for dick pics — that’s just sleazy.”
“So you’re Mr Clean?” she taunted.
His smile was one of pure wickedness. “Oh, I can be very dirty, given the right circumstances.”
Jess forced herself to breathe slowly. She wasn’t going to follow that topic of conversation any further. He had turned onto the dual carriageway, and the car was eating up the miles, as smooth as silk.
“So what about you?” she asked. “Lisa said you used to be a professional footballer.”
“That’s right.”
“Used to be?”
“I picked up a knee injury, tore my cruciate ligament. It put me out for most of a season, but even once I was fit again, I rarely made it off the subs bench.”
“So you retired?”
“Football careers rarely last much past the middle thirties, especially for strikers. Some go into coaching or management, but that wasn’t my thing. I’d already accepted that none of thetop clubs were going to come bidding for me. I could have dragged out my time in one of the lower leagues, but that didn’t appeal either. So . . .” He shrugged those wide shoulders. “I retired.”
She sensed that he wasn’t quite as unconcerned about it as he was pretending to be. “A torn cruciate ligament can be pretty painful,” she remarked with sympathy. “Glenn tore his falling off his bike.”
He arched one dark eyebrow. “Your ex? I didn’t have him pegged for a cyclist.”
“Motorbike.”
“Ah.”
“He’s got a bike shop in Bristol. I helped him run it.” She smiled dryly. “He’s going to struggle with it now, until he can get someone else in to help. He never was any good with paperwork.”
“Which bothers you not at all?”
“Not at all. Bloody well serves him right. I hope he goes bankrupt.”
He laughed. “Did you ride yourself?”
“Pillion.” She pulled a face. “I used to ride a Moto Guzzi. I loved that bike. That was how I met Glenn, riding out with his group. But I came off it and broke my wrist quite badly. It never really healed properly, so I struggled to control the rear brake.”
“That’s a shame. Do you miss it?”
“Well, yes. I suppose like you miss playing football. There’s something about being in the zone, you know?”
He nodded, his eyes dark. “I know.”
“You can never quite get that feeling any other way.”
There was that wicked smile again. “Oh, I know of one other way.”
She turned her head away sharply, watching the twin beams of the car’s headlights stab through the gathering twilight. It hadstarted to rain, just a drizzle, and the slow rhythmic swish of the windscreen wipers was almost hypnotic.
