The Hearts Series

  His eyes darken. “Who’s said worse to you, Matilda?”

  I shrug it off. “Almost every time my friend Michelle and I go out, we get crude stuff shouted at us. I think it’s all part and parcel of being around drunk men with no filters.” I pause and amend, “The women can be fairly nasty at times, too.”

  “Well, that’s probably because they’re jealous. And the men do it because they misguidedly think it’ll get them laid.”

  I laugh softly and pour some antiseptic onto the cotton wool before sitting down beside him and bringing it to his hand. “‘Misguided’ is definitely the right word.”

  When the cotton wool meets his knuckles, he hisses and curses, “Motherfucker.”

  “You know what? You Boston-Irish swear even more than us Irish-Irish,” I joke.

  “Yeah,” says Jay. “I’ve got a dirty mouth, but it’s mostly used for good.”

  I glance at him. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel all funny and hot, so I hand him the cotton wool.

  “There. You can finish yourself off,” I say, standing up.

  I have to resist the urge to face palm when I see the size of his smile. Sometimes I think my brain might just be a gaping hole containing nothing but unconscious innuendo.

  “You know what I mean,” I mutter as I open the door to leave.

  “Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” Jay calls after me.

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “Sleep tight.”

  I can still hear him chuckling as I close my bedroom door.

  The next morning, breakfast is waiting for me again. This time it’s fresh fruit and a croissant. Jay’s nowhere to be seen, but the croissant is still warm, so he must have gone out to get it. Dad’s eating his just as happily as he ate his bacon and eggs yesterday.

  “I think it might have been the best decision I ever made, taking in a lodger. He has us eating like kings every morning.”

  “Yeah, let’s see if you’re still saying that when you gain ten pounds,” I reply, and take a bite of the deliciously fresh pastry.

  Jay enters the room just then, dressed in a suit like he’d been when we first met. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Watson,” he chirps. “It’s actually been proven that you lose weight by eating it, rather than the opposite way around.”

  “Oh, well, colour me corrected,” I mutter.

  “So, how did the casino night go?” asks Dad with interest.

  I make eye contact with Jay, and I think in that moment we both unconsciously agree to leave out the part about him punching a man to defend my honour.

  “Great. You’re looking at a girl who’s forty euros richer than she was yesterday,” I declare proudly. “I lost ten euros twice, but then I won back ten, and then I won fifty, so forty profit altogether.” I glance at Jay. “Still not enough to buy me a new machine, but I’ll keep saving.”

  Jay gives me a surprisingly affectionate expression before knocking back a gulp of coffee. “Right, lady and gent, I’ll be out most of the day. I’ve got a couple of meetings to find a solicitor willing to take my case.”

  “Oh, good luck with that,” says Dad as Jay leaves. When he’s gone, Dad takes his plate over to the sink and rinses a few dishes. My eyes travel to my broken sewing machine, and I notice something’s amiss. Leaving my half-eaten breakfast, I go over to check and find two neatly stacked piles of casino chips. In front of the piles is a note.

  My fault we had to leave early last night, so I forfeit my winnings to you, Watson. Go get yourself the sickest sewing machine that money can buy.

  Yours,

  Jay.

  P.S. Finishing myself off last night wasn’t nearly as satisfying as having someone else do it for me.

  Oh, my God, he’s so cheeky…and I kind of love it. I pick up a chip and run my fingers over the plastic. I really shouldn’t accept these, but the prospect of buying a new machine today is too tempting to walk away from. I scoop them all up and drop them into my bag like a giddy child.

  Later on during my lunch break, I take a trip to the casino to see if I can cash in the chips, hoping it’s open. Turns out it opens at ten in the morning, and there are actually people already there gambling when I go inside (which is a little depressing). At night there’s a sense of glamour, but in the light of day there’s a desperation about it all.

  As it happens, Jessie is working on the booth when I go to cash in my chips.

  “Ah, Matilda, good to see you again,” she says.

  “You, too,” I reply, sliding the chips through to her.

  “Funny, I don’t remember you winning all these last night,” she continues, suppressing a grin.

  “I didn’t. Jay gave me his winnings as an apology for the, uh, punching incident.”

  “Oh, yeah? That was generous of him,” she says. “You going on a big shopping spree?”

  I can’t keep the smile off my face. “In a sense, yes. I’m getting a new sewing machine. I make dresses and sell them online, but my old machine broke. Jay said he’d bring me to the casino to win enough for a new one, but obviously that didn’t work out.”

  “Did you go to college for that? The dressmaking, I mean.”

  I shake my head. “No, my mum taught me when I was little, and I did night classes when I was a teenager.”

  “Cool. Well, here you go,” she says, and slides the cash out to me. I slip it into my purse and say goodbye.

  I’m late getting home that evening as I lug the big brown box into the hallway. I drop it down on the floor and let out a long, heaving breath. That was some seriously heavy lifting, even if the walk from the bus stop was blessedly short. Dad’s in the living room, watching television. It looks like he ordered in a Chinese takeaway, because there are leftovers in the fridge. I heat some up and eat them quickly before getting right to work.

  It’s after eleven when I finish up, tiredly packing the few orders I have into bubble-wrap envelopes for posting. Jay comes in the door just as I’m sealing the final one.

  “Hey, you got it. Nice!” he exclaims, walking over to take a look at the new machine. It’s a pretty olive green with a sort of fifties-looking design.

  “Yep. And I have you to thank for it,” I reply with a grateful smile. “How did your meetings go today?”

  “Ah, shitty, really. Lawyers…I mean, solicitors are a bunch of old windbags. You could practically see the dollar signs in their eyes when I was speaking to them…or should I say euro signs?”

  “Don’t let Dad hear you say that.”

  “Your dad’s the exception. Is he still up? I need to get convincing him to take the case.”

  “No, he went to bed about an hour ago,” I say, setting the stack of packages on the table.

  Jay eyes them. “You need me to drop those to the post office for you in the morning?”

  “Would you? I was going to go before work, but it might be cutting it a bit fine.”

  “I’d be happy to. So, it’s Friday tomorrow. Any plans for the weekend?” He rubs his hands together.

  I try to think. Then I remember Michelle’s adamant pleas for me to bring Jay for drinks with us. “Yes, actually. I’m going out with my friend tomorrow night. You’re welcome to come along.”

  “Sounds good,” says Jay as he picks up two safety pins from a bunch I’d left by my sewing machine. He links them together and holds them up to show me.

  “Safety pins, fascinating,” I murmur past a yawn.

  He’s standing close to me now, and I watch as he repeatedly pulls the two apart, then links them back together like magic. It looks like metal is sliding seamlessly through metal.

  “If I weren’t so tired, I’m sure I’d be able to figure out how you’re doing that,” I say softly.

  His chest moves as he silently laughs. I bid him goodnight and then go to bed. When my head does finally hit the pillow, I’m overly aware of how Jay’s bed is right on the other side of the wall, our bodies barely a foot apart. I fall asleep thinking about how
I wish I could bridge the gap.

  Friday is a slow day. We only have appointments scheduled for before lunch, so once I’ve finished all my tasks, Dad says I can go home early. On my way to the bus, a car beeps its horn from behind me, and I turn to see Jay with his window rolled down, Jessie in the passenger seat beside him, smoking a cigarette.

  “Want a ride?” Jay calls, his arm resting along the side of the window. A car behind him honks and then overtakes him. “Hop in.”

  I hurry to the car and slide into the back seat. Jessie sticks her smoke in her mouth and says hello to me.

  “You looking forward to tonight?” she asks.

  “Yeah, are you coming with us?”

  “I can’t. I’ve got a hot date with the cougar from the casino. You remember her?” The grin she gives me is devilish.

  “I do.”

  “I’m thinking she’s a sure thing, but you never know. I guess you’re out to trap yourself a fella tonight, then.”

  My cheeks redden, and I think I catch Jay giving her a hard look through the overhead mirror. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of luck with men. I’ve actually been trying online dating, but I’m not sure if it’s for me.”

  Jay’s eyes meet mine in the mirror briefly before flicking back to the road. I can tell he’s listening to all this intently, even though he’s acting like he isn’t.

  “Yeah, I’ve met a few people online myself, but they mostly seem to be out for casual sex,” says Jessie. “Not that that’s a bad thing, but I’m guessing that’s not what you’re out for.” She gives me a sympathetic look.

  Christ, could my cheeks get any redder? “No, not really,” I reply.

  Jay raises one eyebrow. “What does ‘not really’ mean, Watson?”

  I scratch at my arm. “Well, it’s not like I’d mind if there was sex involved. It’s just that it never seems to get that far. Michelle says it’s because I don’t give out vibes of availability. I give out ‘stay away from me’ vibes.” I laugh lightheartedly.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” says Jay. “Your friend sounds like she wants you to act like a slut.”

  “Jay!” Jessie exclaims.

  I scowl. “Uh, no. That’s not it at all. Michelle is very supportive of me.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So, have you gone on many dates?” Jessie asks, still turned around in her seat to face me.

  “Not with any of the online guys. They all seem so sleazy and only interested in sex.”

  “Oh, you’re obviously on the wrong site, then. Here, give me your number, and I’ll send you a list of which sites are for hook-ups and which are for relationships.”

  She hands me her phone, and I programme my number into her contacts. “Thanks, that’s so nice of you,” I say.

  “In what way are they sleazy?” Jay asks, his brow furrowed. I could be mistaken, but there seems to be a protective note to his voice.

  I swallow hard. “Oh, God. You really don’t want to know.”

  Jay goes strangely silent, and his jaw is tight. He seems annoyed. We drop Jessie off at her apartment, and I wave goodbye while Jay pulls back onto the road.

  “You shouldn’t be meeting up with random men anyway,” he says out of nowhere.

  “Well, I haven’t, not yet. But if I do, I have a number of rules to follow.” I hold up my fingers as I list them off. “It has to be during the day in a public place — never go to somebody’s house alone. I have to tell Michelle and Dad exactly where I’m going. And most importantly, Michelle and I have code words to text if we need each other to call and pretend there’s an emergency. That’s only for if the date is really bad, although so far I’ve only had to do it for Michelle twice.”

  His eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them that I can’t quite decipher. A minute or two of silence passes.

  “I’ll help you,” he says then.

  “Huh?”

  “With the dating. I’ll teach you how to come across as available. I shouldn’t have said that about your friend earlier. I’m sorry. She’s actually on the right track with what she’s told you. Usually, people who are single show that they’re available through their body language, while people who are happily in a relationship don’t. Since you’re single but are supposedly giving out unavailable vibes, there must be a reason why.”

  I fold my arms. “What kind of a reason?”

  Jay shrugs. “It’s probably just anxiety or something like that. But don’t worry — we’ll figure it out.”

  Seven

  When we arrive at the house, I go straight to my room. After the topic we discussed in the car, I don’t really want to face Jay for a while. It’s humiliating to have people know how hopeless I am when it comes to romance. The problem is, whenever I’m asked about it, I can’t help but to be brutally honest. It’s sort of a relief to get it all out and see what another person thinks. The idea of Jay helping isn’t as appealing as it should be. I mean, he probably really knows his stuff. However, I’d much rather if he helped me to successfully score him, rather than other men.

  A hopeless situation if ever there was one.

  After grabbing a bite to eat, I go take a shower and get ready for the evening ahead. My phone buzzes with a text just as I’m towelling dry my hair.

  Michelle: So, is the sexy magician coming tonight or what?!

  Matilda: Yeah, he’s coming.

  Michelle: Oh, he definitely will be.

  Matilda: Please don’t…Btw, I think he prefers illusionist to magician.

  Michelle: Good to know. Wouldn’t want to offend. Xxx.

  Once I’m ready, I use my phone to order a taxi and then knock on the wall between my room and Jay’s.

  “What’s up, Watson?” Jay shouts. I think I can hear him chuckling to himself, and I have no idea why. He can be kind of odd sometimes.

  “The taxi will be here in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  The taxi signals its arrival with a honk from outside. I hurry downstairs, buttoning my long navy blue dress coat. Telling Dad I won’t be out too late, I whistle for Jay to come on. I hear the door to his room open, and then he’s coming down the stairs toward me. I stand there, working hard to keep my jaw in place.

  He looks hot, but “hot” is probably an understatement.

  Dressed in dark jeans and a form-fitting black shirt, his hair combed to the side, he definitely looks good enough to eat. Or lick.

  What is it about this man that always makes my thoughts turn inappropriately sexual?

  I shake myself out of it and give him a quick smile before leading the way outside. In the car, the driver falls into the no-conversation category. There are two kinds of taxi drivers, in my experience: the ones who want to talk your ear off and the ones who don’t want to talk at all.

  Jay nods to my buttoned-up coat. “You not going to let me get a look at you in that dress?”

  I tug at my sleeve, awkward under his inspection. Trying to sound casual, I reply, “You’ll get to see it at the bar.”

  He sighs and drums his fingers impatiently on the window. “But I want a sneak peek.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do.”

  “Oh, that’s a wonderful reason, Jacob. May I call you Jacob?”

  He laughs and shakes his head, looking out at the passing buildings now. “It’s Jason, actually. And I only let women call me that in the bedroom.” He winks.

  I’m a little embarrassed, but I soldier on. “You want women to call you by your full name while they clean out your underwear drawer? That is a strange fetish, Jason.”

  “Nope. I clean out my own underwear drawer, Watson. This is what I’m talking about.” He puts on a breathless, heaving voice several notes higher than his actual one, “Oh, Jason you’re a god. Fuck me harder, Jason. Jason, you’re the biggest I’ve ever had. Make me come, Jason.”

  I practically dive across the seat to put my hand over his mouth, somewhere in between laughing hysterically and b
lushing profusely. “Shut up!” I whisper-shout, while the taxi driver gives Jay a displeased look through his overhead mirror.

  Jay’s chest is rising and falling rapidly with suppressed laughter. When I’m certain he isn’t going to go off again, I pull my hand away from his surprisingly soft mouth and move back to my seat.

  “I can’t believe you,” I say, shaking my head at him.

  His eyes move to mine, the glow from the streetlamps outside lighting them up. They seem to travel over my features for an indeterminate amount of time. Then the car is stopping and the driver is telling us in a grumpy voice that we owe him fifteen euros.

  Before I can dig into my purse, Jay is handing him a twenty and leaning across me to open the door. When he does, I get a waft of his cologne, and it smells divine. I try not to be too obvious when I inhale. Then I step out and spy Michelle having a cigarette outside the bar. We’re on one of the posher streets, and it’s lined with bars frequented by businessmen and professional types. Michelle always insists we go here because we’re more likely to snag a good catch.

  Jay links his arm through mine and leads me to the entrance as I wave to Michelle. She’s wearing the black Chanel dress that I suggested, alongside a pair of sky-high purple heels, her coat draped over her arm. I pull away from Jay to go give her a hug.

  “Hey, babes,” she sing-songs, and gives me peck on each cheek.

  “Hi, you look amazing,” I tell her as her gaze travels to Jay expectantly, so I make the introductions. “This is our new housemate, Jay. Jay, this is my friend, Michelle.”

  She thrusts out her hand, and Jay shakes with her. She seems disappointed that he doesn’t lean down for a kiss. A couple of weeks ago she had a date with a guy who did that, and she swooned to me about it over the phone for at least an hour.

  “Michelle, good to meet you,” says Jay before letting go of her hand.

  I’m not sure why, but I find myself studying their reactions to one another intently, trying to pinpoint something. What that something is exactly, I don’t know. In the back of my mind, I’m sort of hoping that they don’t end up fancying each other, despite Michelle’s enthusiasm thus far.