Page 15 of Hard Tail
“Um. Pissed off?”
I had to laugh. “Well, maybe. I just inadvertently corrupted a couple of teenage boys, that’s all.”
One soft brown eye went wide; the swollen one, not so much. “You what?”
“With, I might add, the magazineyousuggested I read. You might have warned me,” I added with a smile. Now the pain in my neck had disappeared, it just seemed like a bit of a laugh. “I tried to get it out of sight and ended up shoving it right under their noses. Does Jay seriously read this stuff at work? Well, look at the pictures, anyway,” I amended. Maybe there were articles in the thing, but I’d bet my black belt nobody ever read them. Probably they just printed out the same ones each month.
Matt twinkled. There was seriously no other word for it. “Yep, ’fraid so. I come out of the back room sometimes, I don’t know where to look.”
“I’d like to say I thought Jay had more taste, but…” I let it hang there—and then laughed as a thought hit me. “You know, I feel sorry for Jay, if he has to get his kicks from this sort of trash. I always assumed that frigid exterior of Olivia’s was just a front, but now I’m starting to wonder.”
“You bastard.” Matt was cracking up. “Next time I see her, all I’m going to think of is Jay with a porno mag.”
“And his right hand. Don’t forget that very important part of the proceedings.” I sniggered. Which, all right, was neither mature nor very brotherly of me, but in my defence, I had spent my whole adult life in the sad and certain knowledge my brother had had more sex when he was still in his teens than I was likely to manage in a lifetime.Andhe’d enjoyed it more.
Just then a customer came in, so we had to straighten our faces and get back to work. It might have been a bit embarrassing if she’d asked what the joke was.
What with her wearing a dog collar and all.
After the Rev had gone off with a new pannier, which I strongly suspected Jay had got in especially for her—after all, it’s not exactly something you see on the average mountain bike—we hit another dry spell. I ended up flicking through a magazine again, being very careful to take one from the top of the pile this time. It was full of pictures of blokey men in helmets doing blokey things, most of them covered in mud, and was written in an over-the-top hearty, all-mates-down-the-pub style.
No wonder Jay liked this sort of thing. God, I’d been an idiot, jumping to conclusions about him and Matt. Of course Jay was straight. I was about to close the magazine when a title caught my eye:What Really Happens During Bonking. I did a double take and looked around furtively, wondering for a moment if one of the porno mags had slipped inside this issue.
Turned out it was just biker-speak for a catastrophic loss of energy during an endurance race. And they meant catastrophic—apparently bonking can cause dizziness, confusion, heart palpitations and, in extreme cases, seizures and coma. So a bit more serious than just feeling sort of knackered.
I still sniggered as I read the article, with its useful tips on how to avoid a bonk.
***
The next time the bell jangled, I looked up to see someone who could have stepped right out of the pages of that magazine. He had on baggy shorts and a faded T-shirt and the sort of leathery tan you only get by being out in all weathers. Somebody really should have told him about sunblock and moisturiser. He also had a liberal splattering of mud up his sturdy-looking calves. When he turned to shut the door behind him, I saw the mud extended right up his back, almost to the ends of his over-long ginger hair.
He was probably Jay’s dream customer. I could imagine this bloke and Matt talking for hours aboutgruntsandgrindersand other terms I’d picked up from the bike mag but which were still, sadly, all Greek to me. He lingered to cast an eye over the high-end mountain bikes on display, raising my hopes for a moment—those bikes didn’t just cost an arm and a leg, you’d probably have to throw in a head and a torso as well; Jay would be seriously chuffed if I managed to sell one—then loped up to the counter.
“‘Lo. Matt thur?” he said out of the side of his mouth.
My hopes crashed so far they probably bonked. For all I knew, they grunted and ground too. I pasted on a smile that made my jaw ache. “You must be Steve,” I said, shoving a hand out for him to shake.
He took it like this was some arcane ritual never before seen in darkest Totton, and let it go again like it might bite him. “Nuh-uh. ’M Adam. Me ’n Matt ’r jus’ mates.”
I felt a weird mix of relief and disappointment. “He’s just out the back.” I found myself pronouncing my words more precisely than usual, as if to compensate for his unclear diction, and hoped he hadn’t noticed. “I’ll go and give him a shout.”
Matt was in his default position: bent over an upside-down bike frame, his rear end pointing at me, baggy jeans for once stretched tight over his arse.
It seemed awfully warm in here. I was surprised he hadn’t opened a window. I spoke to him twice before I realised he had his iPod on and couldn’t hear me. I didn’t think prodding him in the bum would be an acceptable way of attracting his attention so, feeling a bit foolish, I moved around the room until I was in his field of view—or at least, my feet were. Finally, he looked up.
“Tim!” he said a bit more loudly than usual. Then he remembered to pull out the earbuds and gave me a goofy grin. “Nearly finished with this one. Need some help in the shop?”
“No—your, er, friend is here.”
Matt went utterly, completely still. “Steve?” he said. There was something odd about his voice. Was he embarrassed at the thought of me seeing who he was shagging? I felt myself begin to blush at the thought of Matt and the as-yet-faceless Steve. Shagging.
Alternatively, maybe Matt was just embarrassed at the thought of his lover seeing the clueless idiot he was nominally working under. “No! No, it’s, er, Adam. That’s who he said he was. Adam. A mate, he said.”
“Oh! Adam! Yeah, he’s a good bloke. Comes out with us on Thursday nights—you remember I told you about him? Haven’t seen him for a while—how’s he looking?” Matt chattered away as he stood and wiped his greasy hands on already-stained jeans.
“Er, muddy?” Had Matt mentioned Adam? Maybe he had—when we were at the café, perhaps? I was ashamed to realise I couldn’t remember. I’d been too worked up about the whole bloodygaything at the time.
“Yeah, that’s Adam all right. Do you want to send him in here?”
