2. Retiring from Slutdom
Chapter 2
Retiring from Slutdom
N ik spent the night kicking irritably at his sheets, scowling at his ceiling in the dark, and replaying that damned kiss. The possessive beast in his chest didn’t let up for a second, demanding that he go and fetch her. Fetch Aria. Aria . He recalled the sweet pressure of her mouth on his, those full lips and the bite of that piercing; the lush feel of her body, the way his fingers had sunk into her thigh…
He’d never wanted anyone like this. He’d never wanted any thing like this, not even his career, because frankly, he’d never been hungry. Nik was painfully aware of the fact that he’d sailed through life without effort, from spoilt brat to gifted teen to successful adult, all based on his family background and his natural athleticism. He’d never lain awake at night wondering if he’d gain whatever his heart desired, because he always knew that he would.
Nik Christou saw, wanted, and took. But he couldn’t just take a woman. And the knowledge was frustrating him like nothing else. Maybe that was why he spent the last few drowsy hours before dawn fantasising about her taking him.
Whatever was causing this strange obsession, it didn’t matter. The salient point, Nik decided, was that he needed Aria. Ever since he’d ended his contract with Colston City, Nik had been treading a tightrope over shark-infested waters. The sharks were anxiety, the waters depression; when he fell, he’d be eaten alive if he didn’t drown first. And every day that passed without his teammates, without his profession, without the only thing that had ever made him useful, Nik’s balance slipped a little more.
But around her, he’d been on solid ground. That, he’d realised, was the feeling that had shaken him. The sensation of earth beneath his feet at last.
Yeah. He needed her. Badly.
Nik was up bright and early the next morning, prowling the halls for a flash of platinum hair and silver piercings. Unfamiliar nerves stalked him, a sense of low-level dread caused by the instinctive knowledge that if he found her and fucked up somehow, he would regret it.
The solution was simple, then: he would not fuck this up.
Since that was settled, Nik continued his search, greeting the staff as he went. Most of them didn’t answer his nods and cheerful Kaliméra s because they were too busy gaping at the sight of Nik Christou out and about before sunset. He’d been almost nocturnal since his fucking knee had stolen his only passion from him. He may have indulged in a depression nap or five, as his sister called them.
But he’d recently—just last night, in fact—rediscovered his winning mentality and decided that it was time to start a new phase in his life. A different career, another direction. Maybe something philanthropic. He promised himself that by the time he figured things out completely, he’d have Aria’s number at the very least. It might be a challenge, but that was okay.
Nik was always, always, up for a challenge.
He found the source of his small-scale meltdown in the hotel’s breakfast buffet, her platinum hair smoothed back into a little ponytail, her attention focused on the piles food in front of her. When Nik saw her, he stopped in his tracks. Looking at this woman felt like stepping out of an air-conditioned building into the heat of summer; like being smacked by a wall of heat. But this heat had little to do with the temperature, and everything to do with the sight of her bare legs beneath the table. Nik sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the invention of short shorts. Then he stared some more.
She looked up, obviously feeling his gaze, and scowled.
Which was not the reaction Nik typically received from people he’d kissed. It certainly wasn’t the reaction he wanted from the woman he appeared to be obsessed with, but life was not for the faint-hearted. He made his way over to her table and sat down.
She gave him a flat stare while chewing on a croissant. He briefly fantasised about licking off the smudge of scarlet jam hovering at the edge of her lip, then decided that would be coming on too strong.
“Found you,” he said.
She swallowed her mouthful. “Whoopee.”
Ouch. But he was pleasantly distracted from that sting when her tongue snaked out to lick away the smudge of jam he’d been eyeing. Watching her do it was almost as good as doing it himself. He imagined.
But enough of his imaginings. He wasn’t good at talking to people, not romantically. He had no practice, since he typically didn’t have to try. This conversation, therefore, would require all of his concentration. “Good morning,” he said, offering his most charming smile. All of his smiles were charming, according to his agent, but this one was definitely the best.
She nodded, a sort of jerky head-tilt that only went up, rather than down. “Hi.”
He was surprised she’d responded at all, considering the extra-strength aura of fuck off she was giving out. Truthfully, after last night’s kiss, that aura might as well have been a dog whistle. When it came to her, he was definitely a fucking dog.
“I’m sorry to intrude on your breakfast,” he began, “but I wanted to thank you for what you did yesterday. It was kind of you to help me when we are strangers.”
Aria sighed as if considering a great tragedy. “I don’t know what I was thinking, to be honest.”
“I believe you must be softer at heart than you’d like.”
She glared at him. Nik shifted subtly in his chair and decided that later, he’d take a moment to examine why her glares made him hard. Right now, though, he’d just have to go with it. “You’re a very impressive woman. I’d like to get to know you better.”
She rolled her eyes and picked up a bunch of grapes. “I’ve heard that before.”
His lips twitched. “I bet.” The array of dishes before her was so massive, it covered his side of the table as well as hers. It was as if she’d made her own little buffet within the buffet. Since he was always starving, courtesy of his unholy metabolism, Nik reached for a slice of cheese as he spoke. “Really, though. I think—”
“Wooooah,” she said, reaching out to slap his hand. “Don’t touch my food, man.”
He gaped. “Are you serious? You have an absolute mountain on this table. You’re never going to eat this.”
“It’s my mountain. And you don’t know what I can eat. If I see your hand on this food again, I’ll stab it.” She raised her fork, apparently serious. “I know where all the important tendons are.”
He must be fucked up, because the sight of Aria waving a fork with violent intent was making him want to smile. He really had no idea why people apparently found her intimidating. She was adorable. And lickable. And funny. And so, so lickable. He dropped the cheese.
“Good boy,” she said, slicing into her eggs. “Now, since you’re taking all fucking day to spit this out, let me speed things up.”
Oh, wonderful. She was going to cut right through his strange brand of social awkwardness. They really were made for each other.
“You’re after a repeat of last night’s avoidance routine,” Aria said. “Right?”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
She gave him an arch look. “Keynes told me all about you. Apparently, you really are drowning in genitalia of all sorts. He reckons you’re too nice to say no to people.”
Well, that was arguably true. But… “That’s why you think I’m here?”
She raised her brows, looking genuinely confused. “Is that… not why you’re here?”
“I just…” He paused, considering. He couldn’t run his mouth as usual, not in this situation, not with her. He needed to tread carefully, to find out what she thought. “It wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to assume that I came to find you with a different goal in mind, would it? A more personal goal.”
A look of horror crossed her face. “You’re not asking me out, are you?” she demanded.
“No,” he said quickly. Because he certainly fucking wasn’t, not if the prospect made her look like that .
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes, almost at herself, and smiled slightly. “Sorry. Keynes did tell me that you don’t date.”
Keynes talked too fucking much. “That’s true. I don’t.” But if you’d like to change that, feel free.
“Cool.” She took a moment to chew on a few bites of egg, her expression thoughtful. Meanwhile, Nik sat in silence and tried to figure out how to keep her with him at all times, forever-and-ever-amen, if she wouldn’t even let him take her out. He may have to get creative. That was okay. He worked best under pressure.
Finally, she swallowed, took a huge gulp of orange juice, and focused on him again. “So, you want, like, an escort?”
Ah, yes. His quest for a human shield, which she had somehow invented entirely on her own. “ Are you an escort?” How much did escorts charge? Could he conceivably hire her for… the rest of his life?
“Never done it before,” she said cheerfully, “but everyone starts somewhere, right? No, I’m actually a tattoo artist.” She raised one heavily inked arm, waving it about like a prop rather than a limb. “And, you know, a walking cliché.”
“There is nothing cliché about you,” he murmured. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realised he’d said them all wrong. They were too fervent, too earnest, too fucking obvious. But her self-deprecation made him want to outline her perfection in detail. With his tongue. Between her legs.
Just an idea.
Clearing his throat, Nik moved on. “So, you’re not an escort, but you are open to fulfilling this… this need I have?” Christ, that sounded terrible. But it also sounded like an excellent fucking idea. He could hire her to stay by his side, they’d get to know each other, some stuff would occur—he was hazy on that part of the plan, but he assumed it would involve charming the pants off of her—and boom . She’d be in his life, eventually in his bed, and hopefully at least half as into him as he was into her. He might even accept a quarter. An eighth, perhaps. Because he was pretty fucking into her.
With a smirk, she asked, “Do you need someone to protect you from the horror of pretty girls who want you bad? Oh, and boys?”
“It’s usually the women,” he admitted. The words weren’t a lie, but Nik was uncomfortably aware that the conversation had taken a… misleading turn. He didn’t need anyone to protect him from sex.
Although, actually, he kind of did. Because he was leaving his days of carefree sluttery behind him, and he did have trouble telling people to fuck off, and he also had the strangest feeling that if he tried to sleep with anyone but Aria, it might not work. Where was this feeling coming from? Nik had no idea. But his father had always said, “ Trust your gut”.
Also, “ Don’t kick that damned football in my damned house.” But that mantra didn’t really apply here, and Nik had never listened to it anyway.
So, he pushed down his disquiet and decided to go with Aria’s insinuations, to let the conversation take the path she seemed to expect. “When people are especially determined, they struggle to accept refusals. Which usually means I have to be unkind. I hate to be unkind, but especially to women. Hence last night’s fiasco.”
She cocked her head. “Especially to women?”
“Well, men are brutes. But all my life, women have been so sweet to me. And they are delicate.”
Aria gave a derisive snort, flicking a few stray platinum hairs out of her eyes. There were ink stains all over her fingers. “You do realise that’s incredibly reductionist, right?”
He had no idea what that meant. She was, apparently, smarter than him. He was not surprised. “It’s what?”
She rolled her eyes, speaking slowly for his benefit. “Do I look delicate to you?”
Nik studied the little curve of flesh that spilled out between her arm and the strap of her vest. Then he eyed the dip in the bridge of her nose, the tilt at the edge of her lips, the way she angled her head just an inch to the right. “Yes.”
Aria coughed. Coughed some more. Grabbed a glass of water and choked it down. “Oh. Right. Okay.”
“To be frank, I cannot make a woman cry.”
“I highly doubt that any woman would cry because you refused to have sex with her.” He didn’t say anything, but something must have shown in his face, because a second later she spluttered, “Oh my God. Seriously? Are you serious? Women cry because you won’t have sex with them?”
“Not all the time.”
“What the hell have you got down there, fucking Excalibur?”
“I don’t believe size matters,” he said.
Aria stared. “I don’t believe you’re serious.”
“About size?”
“About anything.”
Well. In all fairness, that wasn’t generally inaccurate.
“However, this is an interesting problem you claim to have.” She brought a little bunch of grapes to her lips. He watched, every muscle in his body tensing, as she sucked a grape from its stem with a pop . Fuck. “Sounds more like you need a 24/7 bodyguard.”
What he needed was a position Aria could fill that kept her by his side at all times, or at least long enough for him to have a chance with her. For a moment, reality seemed suspended, as if he’d found himself at a crossroads.
Are you really about to do this? Because it doesn’t seem wise.
I want her.
She doesn’t want you. Let her turn you away. Better than lying, isn’t it?
He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure.
Give up , the voice whispered.
He didn’t know where that voice was coming from, but it had just said the wrong fucking thing. Nikolas Christou did not give up. Ever. He certainly wasn’t going to start by giving up on her.
Time restarted, life and sound blooming around him. Aria watched him expectantly, that ever-playful gleam in her dark eyes. He still didn’t know if she was laughing with him or at him. Did it matter, when the sight of her satisfaction felt like a reward in itself?
“In six weeks, my friend Alvaro is hosting a seven-day house party in Marbella,” he said. “It’s an annual thing, with my team.” His old team. He’d attend Varo’s blowout party one last time. And then he’d be done. Ready to face the next stage of his life, whatever it may be. “I want to go, but I can’t be bothered with everyone I’ve ever slept with expecting a repeat performance. So…” The words flowed easily, as if a devil were speaking through him. “So, I need you to pose as my girlfriend. To help, the way you did last night.”
Did it count as a lie if he kind of meant it, the moment he said it? No. Obviously not.
This isn’t why you came here. You’re misleading her.
Shut up.
Aria narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And you don’t want to sleep with anyone because…”
Because I know you, and now the thought of touching someone else is making me feel slightly sick. “It’s complicated. I just retired—”
“From slutdom?”
Nik choked back a laugh. “From football.” He paused to see if that interested her at all. Nope; she was still focused on her pastry. Strange, for an Englishwoman. “I’ve decided to take this opportunity to overhaul my life. I’m turning over a new leaf, choosing a more mature path, not shagging everything with a pulse, etcetera. Which is where you come in.”
She stared, and he had the oddest feeling that she could see directly into his head. Nerves skated along his spine, a sensation he’d only ever felt before a match. This odd attachment he’d formed was fucking stressful, and it’d barely been twenty-four hours. Maybe if he just ignored it, if he left her alone and tried to forget they’d ever met, these tumultuous, indescribable feelings would pass.
But something inside him snarled violently at the idea. Hm. That was out of the question, then.
Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. Which, of course, was when the waiter came.
* * *
Aria had breakfast to eat, a flight to catch, and exactly 0.00 grams of patience to spare for I get too much sex sob stories. It was a shame that such a disarmingly sexy man—a man so sexy she’d spent all night thinking about a goddamn kiss like a bloody teenager—was so utterly full of shit. But also, entirely expected.
She was just about to tell Nik he could go fuck himself when a waiter appeared, holding an enormous silver tray. The waiter nodded politely at Aria and murmured, “Madam,” before giving Nik a huge smile. Then he started unloading even more food onto the little table, taking Aria’s empty plates as he went.
“Efcharistó, fíle,” Nik said, grinning back at the waiter like they were old friends. He dug into a bowl of cornflakes while the guy backed away.
“Did you order that?” she asked, while sitting in a hotel breakfast buffet where no-one could order anything.
“No.” Nik bit into a slice of toast.
“Do you… come here a lot?”
He looked up at her, as if in surprise. “My mother owns the hotel.” He pointed to himself. “Nik Christou. Did I mention that? I thought I mentioned that.”
She stared.
He ate some fried tomatoes.
“You… are… a hotel owner,” she said finally.
“No. I’m a footballer. I’m a retired footballer.”
“Well, Jesus, pick a wealth source. That’s just greedy.”
He blinked. “The hotel isn’t mine. I don’t—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, never mind. Look, I don’t know what you want from me—”
“But I told you. I want you to be my scary fake girlfriend during a week-long party at Alvaro’s house in Marbella.” He grimaced. “I’m not good with social situations, to be honest. If it weren’t for my position and my…” He waved a hand in the air, probably to indicate his excellent body, beautiful face, and general sex appeal. “Truthfully, I’d never get anyone into bed. I don’t know how to speak to people. All I do is kick balls around and make bad decisions. I certainly have no idea how to let people down gently.”
He managed to say all this in a manner that sounded slightly self-deprecating, mostly amused, and somehow appealing. Or maybe that last part was more related to his smile, with those full lips and that strong, square jaw, and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Whatever.
“If I’m honest,” he said, leaning forward in a way that made his broad shoulders seem like a brick fucking wall, “I have lived a charmed life. It has made me quite thoughtless, I think. I would sit back, and sex would fall into my lap. So, I took it. But really, that’s no way for a grown man to behave, now, is it?”
As if hypnotised, Aria found herself shaking her head slowly. “No,” she murmured, while her brain shouted, Why are you agreeing with him like any of this makes sense? He is everything you should be wary of in this world, and he is feeding you the biggest crock of shit you’ve ever been fed!
Well. Except for the crock of shit Simon had fed her. Because nothing, Aria thought, could ever be so terrible as finding out that her boyfriend was actually a murderous stalker. So maybe she shouldn’t be too hard on Nik right now.
“So, you agree!” he said. “You understand!”
Of course she didn’t bloody understand. How could anyone possibly be so bad at saying No that they needed a fake fucking girlfriend to protect them from sex?
But then she remembered the panicked look on his face when she’d first seen him last night. And the way that soft, smiling mouth had turned grim when he’d thought he’d have to speak to whatsherface—Melissa. And, come to think of it, the way Melissa had chased him down, despite the fact that he was quite literally running away.
Maybe there were some downsides to being rich and gorgeous. And, Aria realised, potentially famous. She had no idea. She wasn’t into football.
“I kind of see where you’re coming from,” she admitted. “But ‘understand’ might be a strong word.”
He smiled. “Fair enough.” For a moment his expression turned oddly serious. It transformed his face from sweet and gentle to painfully intense. She didn’t like intensity. Except, apparently, on him. “It’s just that this party is important. I want to see my teammates again and pretend my life hasn’t turned on its head. That’s all. I don’t need the complications.”
Now, that she could understand. Aria was astonished to realise that she was starting to take him seriously, starting to actually consider this proposal. Which was absurd. And ill-advised. She shook her head irritably. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not running off to Marbella with some random footballer.”
“I’m not random,” he said hotly. “I’ve never missed the World Cup squad.”
She pursed her lips to hide a smile. “That’s great. Well done, sugar. I still have no fucking clue who you are, and ‘double-wealthy playboy beloved by all’ is not the greatest character reference.”
Surprisingly, he seemed enthused by that rather than offended. “Get to know me, then. We have six weeks. Spend them with me.”
Spend six weeks with a guy who’d gotten her wet with a single fucking kiss? And then spend another week as his fake girlfriend at some millionaire party in Spain? Aria had a history of making poor decisions—very poor decisions—but she wasn’t completely lacking in brain cells. “No.”
His face fell. “No?”
He looked so adorably disappointed, it almost hurt her heart. In fact, it did , like a tiny little arrow digging into vital flesh. Which was odd, since she didn’t actually think she had a heart. Just a gaping hole in her chest that was always ravenous and eternally empty, no matter how hard she tried to fill it.
See, this was why she embraced the whole princess of darkness thing. Sometimes, her brain came out with shit so depressing, it was almost poetic.
Still, the look on Nik’s face was unsettling enough that she found herself trying to fix it. “Maybe we could… email?” she offered. That was safe, right? Because, sure, when she looked at him, her pulse hummed with a rhythm that sounded a lot like Mine —but if he wasn’t actually there , that pesky beat would stop.
“Email,” he agreed. “Yes. Yes. Let’s do that. You’re smart.”
Aria had been fawned over by many men, but never one quite so handsome as him. Definitely not one who radiated raw sexuality like it was fucking cologne. The experience almost distracted her from the question she’d finally thought to ask.
“I’m assuming this… position would be paid.” She knew it would be paid. It better be paid. Because he was clearly loaded and slightly soft, and she had bills to deal with. So, so many bills.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ve never really done this before, but I was thinking ￡100,000.”
She shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth to hide the fact that her jaw had dropped. Then she thought about the fact that, since Jen had moved out of their shared flat—and since a murderous stalker had covered their walls with blood—Aria was now living with her parents. Her Bible-bashing parents who quoted Leviticus every time she got a new tattoo, along with her teenage sisters, who were, at best, shrill. Then she thought about the tattoo apprenticeship she’d completed, and, for that matter, how much she wanted to open her own studio.
Also, she thought about the latest lip gloss collection from Dior.
She said, “￡350,000.”
“Okay,” he replied. Just like that.
Fuck. Fuck . He was a footballer, for Christ’s sake. He probably made millions. She should’ve asked for more.
Wait—what the hell was she doing? Aria shook her head sharply, the reality of her situation falling like a ton of bricks. “You can’t be serious. This is not serious. This—”
“Google me,” he sighed. “I have the money. I play for Colston City. Google me.”
“I don’t want to fucking Google you,” she hissed across the table. “I don’t care if you have all the money in the fucking world! In fact, that just makes this even worse! Worse, and incredibly weird, and frankly dangerous!”
He stared at her as if she’d just climbed on top of the table and laid an egg. “Dangerous?”
“Yes! Because you are a man, and you’re wealthy and powerful. You giving me a lot of money for an incredibly odd arrangement would create a questionable situation between us. You could probably defend yourself in court by saying we agreed upon all kinds of shit, and that’s why you paid so much—”
“Wait, wait,” he interjected, brows shooting up. “ Court ? What do you think I’m going to do?”
“I don’t know what you’re going to do,” she shot back. “That’s the point! I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and I wouldn’t have any guarantees in an arrangement like that!”
“First of all,” he said calmly, “you’re friends with Keynes, right? Well, so am I. He knows I’m not a secret murderer, or anything. And secondly, you would have guarantees. You’d have a contract.”
Aria sat back as her adrenaline drained away, leaving something shaky and anti-climactic in its wake. “A… contract?”
“Of course. I’m not just going to give you all that money out of nowhere. My accountant would throttle me, for one thing. This is a job. I’m totally prepared to do this aboveboard.” He paused. “Although there would be an NDA, I suppose. You have a lawyer, right?”
She almost laughed at that. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a normal person. You know, poor. Poor people don’t have lawyers.”
He appeared to be holding back a smile. “I know. I was talking about Keynes.”
Oh, yes. Their mutual friend Keynes, who was, incidentally, a solicitor. “Whatever,” she muttered. “Fine. Yes, I have a lawyer.”
“Good,” he said.
“But I’m telling you now.” Aria waved her fork threateningly. “Don’t fuck with me. You’ll regret it. My uncle is a big-time gangster, you know, back home.” Her uncle was a used car salesman with an overbite from Lowdham.
Either way, Nik didn’t appear scared. Instead he seemed… concerned. His dark eyes turned gentle, almost as if he knew why she felt the need to say all this. As if he knew something had happened to her, that she’d once been a fearless woman and now she was only ever afraid.
“I’m asking you to help me,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t hurt anyone , but I’d never hurt someone who was trying to help me. And I’d rather die than hurt you.”
He looked so sweet, with those huge brown eyes, that soft, smiling mouth, and those big hands clutching a tiny mug of tea. She almost believed him.
But Aria, she reminded herself, was a terrible judge of character.
* * *
Dear Aria,
You mentioned (correctly) that we should get to know each other before we do this thing. And I thought, what better way to show you my deepest, truest self than a compilation of my favourite Vines? Please find attached.
Yours,
Nik
Dear Nik,
You are, of course, right about me being right. And I agree that Vines are an important insight to the soul.
Which is why I’m sadly disappointed to find key, iconic Vines missing from your compilation. Either your research was shoddy, or your soul is underdeveloped. Please find attached a reflection of my own soul, and a far superior offering.
Best,
Aria
Dear Aria,
I want to argue, but your compilation is, in fact, way better than mine. See, I’m all about sportsmanship. I can lose gracefully.
However, I will not take this loss lying down. You may regret the day you ever dared to best me in anything remotely resembling a competition. Because you and I will now be trapped in this contest forever, while I do everything I can to prove myself the ultimate Vine master.
To that end, please find attached another compilation. If you can give better than that, hit me.
Nik
Dear Nik,
It’s on.