Page 4 of Fool Me Twice

Again he held up his phone and checked for a signal, hoping to see the little bars in the top right-hand corner spring to life, but nothing.

What was he supposed to do now? Try retracing his steps back to Evie’s house? He’d turned off the main road at least twice at some point, but had no idea where.

He considered calling Jaxon for all of ten seconds. Did he really want to piss off Evie even further by dragging Jaxon away from her birthday party to come and rescue him?

And what about Evie? He expelled a long exhale as he considered the question. She was still a stunner – a little greyer maybe – but man, she’d turned into a real ball-breaker. He shuddered as he recalled their earlier encounter. That stare of hers could wither your balls to raisins.

But she hadn’t always been like that. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the memory. She used to be so warm and full of fun, but now...

The first time he’d laid eyes on her had been in a little massage parlour tucked down a narrow back street on the outskirts of a small suburb in Sydney. The street had been strewn with litter and rubbish and God only knows what else. A small gang of teenagers bunched together at the far end, partially hidden behind a couple of dumpsters, and although Peter couldn’t see what they were up to, he had a pretty good idea. The taller boy, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, caught Peter’s eye and smirked arrogantly at him for a few seconds before returning his attention to the bundle of notes a thin, nervous-looking woman pushed into his hand.

An overweight man wearing an expensive suit and self-satisfied smirk almost knocked Peter off his feet when he burst through the door and out into the alley. Mumbling an apology, he checked his watch, then hurried on his way. Peter almost changed his mind; what sort of place was this?

But really, if it turned out to be the kind of place that offered “happy endings”, would it be so bad?

It had been five months since Cathy had left him, in the physical sense. Mentally, it had felt like she’d checked out of their marriage a long time before that. But he understood. He felt the same way himself sometimes. The last couple of years had been tough and had taken their toll on both of them, but he’d always thought they’d get through it. They were Peter and Cathy, Cathy and Peter, for God’s sake. They were a team, a double act, and they were supposed to have been forever.

But Peter and Cathy were gone, finished, and now he was just Peter.

He’d only gone to the massage parlour to get Bogey, their lead singer, off his back. Bogey was a total diva and reckoned Peter’s negative energy was “bleeding his creativity”, whatever the hell that meant.

The punishing tour schedule that Soly, had set for them, coupled with the long hours spent in the tour bus, had exacerbated an existing shoulder problem over the last few weeks until the pain was almost unbearable. A local doctor had prescribed rest and painkillers – neither of which was an option, according to Soly, since the meds made him drowsy and people had paid a lot of money and travelled hundreds of miles to watch Crimzon Steel perform.

Soly was old-school, and as far as he was concerned, the only reason for cancelling a gig was death, and you’d better make damn sure you had the certificate to prove you were dead, too.

During a particularly tough gig where Bogey and Oz kept goading the audience in a giant pissing contest over who was the better singer, Peter thought he’d pass out from the pain that tore up his arm and across his shoulder. On and on it went, song after song, until Mac wrenched his guitar off his shoulder and marched offstage to the hisses and boos of the audience. Not that Mac cared.

When one of the local roadies had suggested Peter try “this chick with magic fingers”, he hadn’t been convinced, but he was desperate, so what did he have to lose?

Taking a deep breath, he pulled open the door and climbed the stairs to a corridor with doors on either side. He re-read the piece of paper the roadie had given him, checking the numbers on the doors until he found the right one. He hesitated outside for a few seconds before knocking.

“It’s open,” an English-accented female voice called from inside. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. The white walls and sparse furnishings gave the room a clinical, professional feel, and the massage bed set up a little off-centre was covered with fluffy white towels. In the corner was a double cupboard with a pull-down shelf containing oils and creams, with books running along the shelf above. Peter stepped closer to read the titles on the spines – they appeared to be reference books for oils, massage techniques and ailments.

As he looked around the room, he felt a little silly about his earlier misgivings, and was relieved it wasn’t some seedy sex den masquerading as a massage parlour. Cathy was the only woman he’d slept with, and despite his marriage being over, he couldn’t bring himself to indulge in anonymous sex with a stranger, with or without money changing hands.

The beaded curtain hanging across a doorway at the far side of the room parted, and a petite young woman who couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty, with dark hair, stepped into the room. “Hi, I’m Evie.” She flashed him a warm smile as she held out her hand to him. “What can I do for you?” she asked, indicating he should sit down on the chair in the opposite corner.

“It’s, um, it’s my shoulder.” Heat flooded his body as he struggled to maintain eye contact. He squirmed in his seat, embarrassed that she might be able to read his thoughts at that moment. Because right then, all he could think about was what he’d like this gorgeous young woman to do for him, to him.

And exactly what he’d like to do with her.

Thank God! He felt his whole body relax when the distant rumble of an engine pricked his ears. Stepping out into the middle of the dirt road so the driver wouldn’t miss him against the darkness, he waved his arms to flag them down. But the vehicle continued to rush toward him, its headlights on full beam. Peter closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

At the last minute, the four-by-four screeched to a halt, the bumper a hair’s breadth from his shin. He opened his eyes and patted himself down, unsure if he’d survived.

“Alright, mate?” The driver stuck his head out of the side window. “A bit lost, are you?”

“Er, yes.” Peter stepped to the side, away from the glare of headlights, to get a better look at the driver.

“Need a lift?” a grey-haired man asked.

“Please.” Peter walked around to the passenger side and got in.

“What are you doing wandering round ‘ere in the dark?” The man put the vehicle into gear and pulled away. “You’re lucky someone didn’t run you over.”

Someone almost did. Peter clamped his hands over the sides of the seat as they bumped along.

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