For Fake’s Sake and other stories

Prelude

What is he doing here? Monty has never stepped foot in here before, which means only one thing. He’s found my hiding place. I stuff my books into my bag and slip as quietly as I can behind the stacks.

“I thought you said he was in here. I need my history essay written. Blinkers always does my prep.”

The nasal twang of my nemesis barks out loudly through the eerie, quiet library.

“He was, Monty. I saw him. He usually hides away in the corner next to the radiator.”

Fucking Gregory Alton. He’s such a lickarse, and not the good type. Two years below us, he’s taken on the job of Monty’s whipping boy.

“Blinkers! I know you’re in here. Put your dirty porn away and get your faggoty arse here.”

I stay silent and step behind the first tall wooden bookcase.

“Too busy wanking, eh? Horny Blinkers, that’s you. At least you leave the girls to real men.”

I slip down the side of the stacks and make it out of here before Monty finds me. I can’t wait to get out of this school. Only four more terms and I can say goodbye to this wretched place, the false school cheers, and traditions that are only terms used by the teachers to ignore the bullying that is rife here.

I’m the perfect choice for Monty Atkinson and his cronies. He makes Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle look like boy scouts. The school’s token gay boy, or at least the only one brave enough to come out. I know for a fact that three other boys have offered to suck my dick. Not my secret to share, though.

I flee from the library and down the stairs, ignoring Monty’s shout for me to stop. Laughing, I run over the Quad and into the dorm block. There’s one thing that’s good about this school, and that’s private rooms when you reach the sixth form. I slam the door of my room shut and lean against it, heaving huge gulps of air into my burning lungs.

God, the humiliation that twat makes me feel, the crude jokes and requests for blow jobs, the pushing and shoving that goes with the horrific nickname. I’ll end up doing his damn essay, but at least I’ve escaped him for tonight.

Chapter One

The braying laughter coming from the corner of the cocktail bar grates on me like fingernails scraping over a blackboard. Memories of Monty Atkinson, the school bully, come flooding back. His laughter always announced his arrival and gave us lesser beings the chance to scatter. The hot guy I was talking to gives me a funny look.

“Are you okay? You spaced out a bit, even though the noise from over there is shockingly loud. I’m surprised they’re getting away with it.”

“Yes, sorry. That dreadful noise reminded me of someone, someone I’d rather not think about.”

I take a large sip of the delicious and much-needed mojito.

“An ex?”

“God, no.”

Christ, what a thought. I shudder. “School bully.”

“Ouch, nasty,”

sexy-hot guy says with sympathy. He downs his drink and stands. “I’m out, going to the theatre with my mother. The drink was fortification. See you around. It was nice talking to you.”

“Yeah, I’m going to go too. I’ll walk out with you.”

The donkey whinnying is getting closer. Fuck. Don’t look. Don’t look. I grab my messenger bag from under the barstool.

“Blinkers? Is that you?”

The obnoxious nasal twang I hated then seems even worse now.

I take the easy way out, or maybe it’s the coward’s way? As long as it gets me out of here, I don’t give a shit. I dart towards the exit. Unfortunately, Monty still has no manners and puts a meaty hand on my shoulder, halting any chance of escape.

“I thought it was you. Still running away from me. Nothing much has changed.”

He snorts. “Although you’re not the skinny little runt you were at school. Still chasing the boys, I see. Still living up to your name, Horny Blinkers.”

He bursts out in ridiculously loud laughter.

Please, ground, open up and swallow me. The whole bar is watching the interaction as if we were on The Jeremy Kyle Show. The topics are gruesome, but you don’t want to miss a word.

“Monty, gosh. You haven’t changed a bit.”

I slowly look him up and down. At school, he might have made me cower, but I’m learning to stand up for myself. “Apart from your waist, which is a lot bigger.”

He scowls. “Cazza, come here, doll.”

He beckons a sweet-looking lady. She walks over but doesn’t look too thrilled. “This is my old lady, Cazza. Caz, this is my old friend, Blinkers. From school. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him to you. He’s a woofter, like your brother.”

The poor woman sighs. “Monty, please don’t use that word. And no, I don’t remember you mentioning him.”

She gives me a smile that tries to convey every apology I’ve ever needed from this arsehole.

“It’s Ollie, not Blinkers. It was never Blinkers.”

“Oh, nonsense. Cazza, I told you about him. His name is Blinkhorn, but we would call him Horny Blinkers. He was always after the boys, y’see. He liked it, made him feel part of the gang.”

“I hated it, and I never wanted to be part of your dreadful gang.”

He ignores me and carries on talking about the fun things they would do, including wedgies, swirlies, and nuggies.

Would I get away with hitting Monty? Before I can put my thoughts into action, a hand lands on my back. I look over my shoulder. Shit, sexy-hot guy. But hang on. He’s here. With me. Why? What’s going on? Am I on some dumb reality show like The Only Way Is… whatever the fuck it was? Monty doesn’t seem to have noticed because his wife is still berating him.

This is the perfect time to make my escape. I step backwards, keeping my eyes on my enemy like an antelope watching a lion. Sexy-hot guy takes my hand, and we cautiously make our way to the front of the bar, yank open the door, and rush out onto the street.

We burst into laughter, hanging on to each other as tears stream over our faces.

“Oh my god! Did that just happen?”

The door opens again, and the large shape of my nemesis comes through. “Shit, he’s coming. I’ve got to go.”

I look around for a cab, but Monty calls my name. Fuck!

Then hands are in my hair, and hot, incredibly soft lips are pressing onto mine. Wow! Any thoughts are chased away by a tongue slipping over the seam of my lips. Automatically I part them, allowing this god of an incredibly sexy man to kiss me.

And what a kiss it is. The best kiss I’ve ever had. And that includes the kiss I shared with Archie Dawes in the locker room when I was in lower sixth. I grip his hips way tighter than I should, especially in the middle of the busy street. But he doesn’t mind, it seems. In fact, he leans in, and his hard erection nudges my equally aroused dick. One of us moans. Hopefully, it’s him. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one day. It’s time to break this moment before I show myself up even more by coming in my pants.

His eyes are still closed, and he licks over his now swollen bottom lip. “He’s gone,”

I whisper. My hero opens his eyes. His pupils shrink to reveal a pair of intense azure irises. Damn, he’s fucking perfect.

“You’re welcome.”

He winks and steps away.

“Thanks. Can I have your number?”

I ask. To my surprise, he nods. His phone rings.

“Fuck!”

He holds up one finger to ask me to wait. “Yes, I’m on my way. I lost track of time at work. I’ll be there before the curtain goes up.”

He shoves his phone back into his trouser pocket. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you.” He’s already jogging away.

“You don’t have my number,”

I call after him. God, I sound like a petulant child.

“I’ll find it. There can’t be many Ollie Blinkhorns around.”

He grins and darts off.

Fuck! I can’t get a break.

Three weeks later

“No phone call from your hot kisser?”

Jack, my flatmate and best friend, flops down on the sofa and lets out a groan. “I hate my job.”

“No, you don’t. You love your job, and the small chance of bunions after standing on your feet is outweighed by the amazing discount you get and the chance to dress the rich and famous.”

Jack works at Tom Ford in Sloane Street, and I get to use his discount too, which means he is never allowed to leave.

“Damn. But Alfonse was sacked today,”

he says with faux sadness. They are rivals, and Alfonse would try to steal Jack’s best customers.

“He can’t get sacked for stealing your clients, however much you want him to be.”

“No, I know that. But he can be sacked for telling a certain spoilt little girl that she resembled a bale of rags and to make the outfit look good, she should eat a decent fucking meal.”

“No waaaaay!”

I’m a gossip whore, so sue me. “Wait, let me get wine. And then I want the whole story, including accents and stroppy fits that ensued from skinny-malinky and Alfonse.”

Jack doesn’t hold back. “You should’ve seen the histrionics. She was crying. Her sugar Daddy was yelling at Tory, who then turned to Alfonse. So while she’s eviscerating him, I, like a knight in shining armour, sweep in and tell the girl she’s beautiful and direct her to even more expensive outfits and bag a hefty commission and a huge tip from the Daddy. Alfonse is crying as he walks out the door. Tory calls me a treasure. Can you believe it? A treasure.”

We’re both rolling around laughing. Then he sobers. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“That’s because it’s the same answer I’ve given you for the last two weeks. Nope, nothing from the incredibly cute and very sexy-hot arsehole guy.”

I’m trying not to get too unhappy about it and failing miserably.

“Oh, maybe you had bad breath or something stuck in your teeth. He said he’d call, right?

“Fuck off.”

I push him, but he laughs again.

“By the way, did you see the letter you got? I put it on the table.”

Jack points to the small dining table.

“Okay.”

I push up from my prone position on the sofa and wander over to the table in the alcove at the front of the room. The smart envelope, all posh cream-coloured paper looks like a wedding invitation. “Who do we know who’s due to get married?”

“Oh, god. No more weddings. I hate them. Smug couples who shove happiness down your throat along with cold salmon or overcooked chicken are not my idea of fun.”

Jack collapses back theatrically.

I unfold the piece of paper, and my blood runs cold at the sight of the ostentatious crest at the top. Monty fucking Atkinson. “No, it’s worse. So much worse.”

“What is it?”

“The annual school charity ball.”

I scan the content. He calls me Blinkers again, then drones on about camaraderie and school spirit. “Listen to this.”

I put on a not-bad imitation of Monty.

“I should’ve told you when we met. I think you and the man you were with will enjoy the evening with all the gang back together.”

I throw the invitation onto the table. “I’m not fucking going.”

I hated that school my overbearing father sent me to to keep up the tradition.

Jack picks up the letter. “I don’t think you can refuse. He’s made you one of the speakers. He says your name came out of the hat.”

“He can kiss my arse if he thinks I’m going to attend, let alone speak.”

“He’s already announced it.”

“Fuck!”