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“More like bull, don’t you think?” He winked. “Not right now.” I tried to sound disappointed and stroked his flaccid cock through the trousers. “Just give me a minute.” “Oh no, not now. I’ve got to finish unpacking before I’ll start lunch,” I told him, stubbing out the cigarette, pulling up my shorts and twirling away. “I’ll do that now while I think of a way to lure sweet twin-tails into our bed.” “Tease!” I heard him shout when I raced up the stairs with a giggle. * “Collette,” she introduced herself a few days later, wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe and appearing rather bashful. I forced myself not to giggle at her sleepy look. I had rung her doorbell quite early in the morning on purpose, determined to catch her off-guard, and I had succeeded. “I know it’s quite early, but I didn’t know if you’ve got to go to work, so I thought I’d come by as soon as I saw some light. My husband John and I have moved into number five a few days ago, and we wanted to invite you over for. Dim light made shadows of his thick eyebrows and bulbous nose, which he pinched between thick nicotine-stained fingers as he sniffled. Hunter knew he had a rough face, the kind that brought grey rock, glass, and abstract illnesses to mind. But he wasn’t upset by it. People in his business respected a rough face. They flocked to them, they understood them. So to his mind it was just another asset. Brushing the snow off his shoulders, he blew into his cupped hands for warmth a few times and then pulled off his coat. Draping it over his forearm, he stomped heavily on the mat and waved to the only other person occupying the wide yawn of a bar. ‘Hey, Adrian,’ he called, voice pockmarked by phlegm. ‘How’s business been this fine evening?’ The other man glanced over at him expressionlessly, and Hunter fought the urge to laugh. Adrian Burke had a rough face, too, and Hunter admired it. It was even rougher than his own. Oh, Adrian must have looked normal once upon a time. Shit, maybe he’d.
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