Free The Longest Fight by Emily Bullock Page A

easily his dark hair and skin blended into the place. Georgie’s fingers sought out his and soon they were firmly latched together. He pulled her around another corner; the door slammed behind them; they were on their own at last.
    ‘Ain’t you in a hurry. Anyone’d think you’re the one been prancing around in that ring.’
    ‘Last contest will be over soon. But I leave the fighting to Frank. I like to get rid of my energy other ways.’
    ‘I’m glad your fighter won.’ Georgie’s breath was sticky like the whisky.
    Jack stopped to take another drink. ‘I said we would.’
    ‘That’s quite a talent you’ve got, predicting the future.’
    She draped herself against the wall. Jack moved a finger to push back a curl resting on her forehead. ‘Shall I tell you what’s coming up next, Georgie?’
    ‘So, now you want to tell me things. Go ahead if you like, tell me.’
    ‘Maybe you ain’t ready for it. Have another drink and I’ll think about it. I wouldn’t want to scare you away with my rare gift.’
    She held back a laugh. ‘Rare gift?’
    ‘Telling the future. Have another?’ Jack waved the bottle in front of her face.
    ‘People have been telling me a lot about you and your sparkly eyes.’
    ‘All the good stuff’s true. Stay around and I’ll show you. Look, my hands are clean.’ He held them up for inspection.
    ‘What happened to your thumbnail – does it hurt much?’
    ‘Been gone for years.’ He shrugged. ‘One less to scrub.’
    She smiled as he touched the neck of the bottle to her shoulder. She took it. She had to stop talking now. He wanted to hear that ringing in his ears again, the heat of skin. She took a snifter then pushed the bottle into his pocket. He dropped his shoulder against her chest and wrapped his arms around her – an underhand move in the ring, but she laughed as he manoeuvred her into the bath area. The tiles were scratched, greased yellow with use, and the copper piping was mottled green in patches. Her high heels skidded beneath her but without them she was too small to reach. Jack steadied her against the wall, pressed closer. He bit the edge of her pink coral necklace: salty as a turning tide. He wanted to breathe her in, to have her smell rub off until he didn’t recognise himself. He pushed his fingers into her hair and prised apart the tightly set curls. She pulled his hand away.
    ‘Mind. It took me an age to do that.’
    But Jack didn’t mind. Her hair was loose enough to nuzzle his face into, searching for the scent of grass and toffee apples. All he found was the chemical smell of permanent wave lotion and the flowery sweetness of Georgie’s perfume. But she ran her hands down to the small of his back, tugged him towards her, and it didn’t matter any more that she was only Georgie. He just wanted someone. Jack’s ribs slotted up against her breasts. He had to bend his knees to get his hand up under her skirt. The material rucked in his fist and his nails caught on the string holding up her stockings. He heard her laugh and slipped his tongue into her mouth to keep her quiet. His fingers eased apart the simmering folds of her camiknickers.
    ‘Rosie…’ His voice smothered by her hair.
    ‘What?’ Her breath was beating against his chest.
    ‘I said you’re rosy.’ Jack kissed her again to cover the lie. ‘Say my name.’
    ‘Jack.’ She jutted out her hipbones, harder against him.
    ‘Jackie. Call me Jackie,’ he breathed into her ear.
    She murmured the name back to him as she jerked at the buttons on his trousers. He could close his eyes, remember how it should have been. She opened up for him, planting her legs a little wider. He pushed deeper, sucked at the skin around her neck. But that name was still beating in his ears as the blood thudded through him. Felt his back tighten, his legs go stiff. He wanted to return to the first day that his life began: warm blue-sky hours, lying on the hard grass, young enough to think summer lasted