A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I picture her annoyed face as she tries to figure out where the hell she is. She would have met kooky Kiki by now. Does she like her? What does she think about working at a pop magazine?
She’ll be so pissed at me.
A bigger smile curves my lips, and I wonder if I should check up on her. It’s highly irregular to visit a client once I’ve sent them to their experience. But fuck it, I have a few hours to kill before my appointment, and it won’t hurt to drop in for a little courtesy call.
Besides, if I time it right, I’ll catch her in the shower.
I snap both fingers and head to the 1980s.
Jade has the shower on full blast and her head under the spray, so she doesn’t notice that she’s no longer alone. I congratulate myself on my excellent timing, checking out her pert backside before sliding a hand onto her hip.
I’m expecting her to be slightly surprised, but I’m not expecting her to swivel around with a shampoo bottle directed at my face like a loaded gun. ‘Touch me again, asshole, and I’ll Timotei your eyes out,’ she says through gritted teeth.
I throw up my hands in mock fear but can’t help laughing. ‘Relax, it’s me.’
She lowers the bottle, and her eyes widen when she realises I’m totally naked (well, I can’t ruin my Gucci suit now, can I?). A slow blush infuses her cheeks, and I can almost see memories of last night flitting across her baby-blue irises.
Hastily, she crosses her arms across her chest, but it’s too late. I’ve already checked out her breasts, and they are mighty fine with a capitalF.
She wipes water from her eyes, and I ease the shampoo bottle from her hand. ‘Hello, Sebastian,’ she says frostily. ‘Why the fuck are you in my shower?’
‘Checking in to see how you’re adjusting. Turn around, and I’ll wash your hair.’
Silently, she does so; and I pour a generous amount of the sweet-smelling herbal shampoo into my palm and begin lathering, scrubbing the pads of my fingers around her scalp. Our wet bodies slip and slide together lightly; and my cock, ever at the ready, jostles between her bottom cheeks. But she instantly jerks away from me. I’m a little disappointed. Then again, the shower isn’t my favourite place to get it on.
‘Sooo everything all right?’ I ask as her hair starts to resemble a frothy white cloud.
Jade sighs and picks up a pink flowered soap on a rope. ‘To be honest, I’m kind of fucked off with you, Sebastian.’ She starts washing her arms.
‘Oh? What’s the problem?’
‘This retro theme park thing ... I kind of expected a little more from you, after we ... you know.’
I stop scrubbing her scalp. ‘Retro theme park?’
‘Yes, this whole thing reeks of some bad visitor attraction in Blackpool.’
‘It’s not a theme park, Jade. You’re in the 1980s,’ I explain gently.
Jade removes the soap from her armpit and swivels to face me. ‘What?’
Oops, I may have used a tad too much shampoo, her hair is crazy bubbly. I hold my large hand over her eyes and backher slowly underneath the spray to rinse it off, ignoring her expression of shock under my palm.
‘There you go, squeaky clean,’ I say, bringing her out again. ‘Do you want me to condition it?’
Her mouth is opening and closing, but nothing’s coming out. So I grab the conditioner from the caddy, taking the opportunity to get another gander at her lovely boobs while she’s distracted. She has the cutest pink nipples. I’d really love to suck on them and make her moan—
Jade shakes her head, as if she’s trying to clear water from her ears. ‘Wait, did you just say thisisthe 1980s?’
I lift my gaze back to her face and smooth some conditioner down the ends of her hair. ‘Yep. The music and fashion scenes are exploding right now. It was an exciting time in London’s history. I thought you’d love it.’
Jade’s eyes rove over my smooth, wet chest, taking in my twitching pecs as I work the conditioner through her hair. I’m Tube guy again as turning up as the David Beckham lookalike or in my actual form would really have had her screeching. This is how she knows me, so I will always appear to her like this.
‘Oh my god, I’m freaking out here,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t know how the 1980s works. I need my phone. I need the internet ... What am I going to eat?’
‘I know, and that’s understandable,’ I say encouragingly. ‘But your flatmates will help you, and it will be fun, you’ll see. After a few days, you’ll be enjoying yourself so much you won’t even miss your phone or Deliveroo.’
She gazes up at me, long lashes glittering with drops of water (or are they tears?), her bottom lip quivering. I feel guilty that I’ve put her in this vulnerable position without any warning. But I can’t bring her back out of it now; there are rules.