“Don’t be. We employ you because you give a shit. It’s everyone else we need to worry about.”
They talked a little longer about other tenants, then Isha had to go. He ended the call, leaving Mickey alone outside the De Luca flat, highly aware of every minute ticking by. He stood, pocketing his phone, and considered the closed front door.They have to come out eventually. But he didn’t have time to wait. A block on a different estate needed him as much as the De Lucas did, and he walked away with a heavy heart.
He spent the rest of the day negotiating payment plans, calling in maintenance work, and explaining to his favourite tenant ever that he couldn’t house any more iguanas in his airing cupboard. It was six o’clock when he climbed into his car. He cracked the window and sparked his first smoke of the day. In fact, it was the first since last Thursday—he was trying to quit,honest—but some days took more out of him than he cared to admit, and he lived for the quiet solace of a solitary smoke.Even more than the post-fuck smoke? You weren’t alone then.
Mickey smirked, then exhaled a deep lungful of nicotine. He was still sore from his encounter with Benito at the club, battered and bruised, and he enjoyed the faint flashes of pain almost as much as the memories of the night itself. Short, sweet,rough. Did it get any better? Mickey didn’t think so, and he had enough notches on his bedpost to compare.
I’ve never fucked anyone like him, though. Six days later and long after he’d scrubbed Benito’s phone number from his skin, he still couldn’t quite believe his luck.So text him. Set up a meet.
Mickey jammed his smoke in his mouth and unlocked his phone. He’d saved Benito’s number with an aubergine emoji next to his name, then changed his mind and deleted it. Then he’d altered Benito’s name to simply the letter B, before changing it back to his actual name. He’d yet to figure out why.
And he’d yet to do anything constructive with the digits.Because you’re scared he fake numbered you.
True story. But what if he hadn’t? What if Benito, his glorious skin, body, and beautiful cock were waiting on Mickey’s call for a repeat performance? Worse, what if Benito got bored waiting and hooked up with someone else?
Logic told Mickey it didn’t matter if Benito was hooking up with other people. No one went to Freefall for monogamy. But the notion of missing out because he lost a game of chicken with his phone was ridiculous.
Mickey opened WhatsApp and started a new message thread. Then he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, itching for another smoke—or worse—while he considered his first words.
The truth seemed a good place to start.
Mickey:want to fuck you again
He fired it off, then wondered if he should’ve opened with something more benign. Small talk. Pleasantries. Benito didn’t seem the type for either, but it was hard to gauge a man’s personality when all you had to go on were the blood-pumping sounds he made when he came.
Sounds Mickey heard every time he closed his eyes.
The message delivered to Benito’s phone. Mickey tapped out of the messaging app without waiting to see if he read it and opened his email. There was one from Isha, and it wasn’t good news. The council had refused the rescheduled date DOSHA had offered them, and the planned meeting would go ahead on Friday. By then, Mickey needed a workable plan for the De Lucas or their days in the subsidised flat they called home were numbered.
Shit shit shit.
Mickey tossed his phone on the passenger seat and reached for his keys. It was too late to pay Mrs De Luca another fruitless visit, but if he could get home and compose a letter that didn’t make him sound like an illiterate idiot, he could come back first thing and slip it through her door.
You’re not an idiot. Or illiterate. You’re dyslexic.
Another true story, and the prospect of sweating over his laptop all evening made him want to throat punch the reasonable devil on his shoulder, but Mickey would do it a thousand times over if it stopped a family losing their home.“You haven’t terminated a tenancy.”A third truth, but if there was one thing life had taught Mickey, it was he never ran out of time to fuck everything up. There was always enough rope for a—
His phone buzzed, startling him with an incoming WhatsApp message. Heart jumping, he reached for it, expecting Isha, Dom, or a robot asking him if he’d been in a car accident. Anyone except the last person he’d contacted.
Anyone except Benito.
Benito:can relate. soon?
Mickey’s eyes widened, and his pulse kicked up a gear, blood rushing to his ears.Soon. Yeah. He could get on board with that.
Mickey:how soon?
Benito:depends
Mickey:on?
Benito:how bad u really want it
Mickey:want u. is that bad enough?
Benito:i think we’re both pretty bad at dirty texts, but u get the sentiment, right?
Mickey sniggered out loud, and it surprised him. The Benito he’d met at the club hadn’t struck him as a dude who’d make him laugh, and he hadn’t cared. He’d been too busy trying not to come in the first ten seconds, and even then, he’d broken one of the few rules he kept in place for hook-ups like that: condom or not, Mickey didn’t come inside random fucks. He pulled out and shot on their back or in their face. Wherever felt good at the time.Neverinside.