Page 3 of Survival Game

“I am so pathetic,” he groaned. “Jesus, what I’d give—” He clamped his lips together instinctively at his blasphemy. For a split second, he expected the rolling punch of a fist against his cheek, followed by other things he preferred not to think about.

His gut tightened in both panic and relief. Those days were over; he could say what he liked now, use God, or whomever as many times as he liked without penance. The strange thing was, he hardly ever did. His will had been moulded—no, hammered into submission.

After showering, dressing and savouring a cup of coffee—not pods, his boss Ryan had introduced him to the pleasures of a mouth-watering Italian drip blend—he was ready to face the day. Sitting down on the couch, he looked at his telly viewing options, his mood darkening when he saw the offerings.

He could watch more Banshee, but pulled a face as he toyed with the remote. Given his dry spell, he wasn’t really in the mood to watch Lucas Hood nail yet another willing lady. The guy had the stamina and sex drive of a rabid rabbit.

He did appreciate the nude scenes, though. Watching Lucas’s tight arse pistoning in and out of someone—he tried to ignore the fact he was basically watching soft het porn—led to fantasies that it was his arse Lucas was pounding.

Okay. No telly. Kyle could play cards. Forty Thieves was his patience game of choice. He could practise his shuffling skills, which, he had to say, were awesome, but it was never a bad idea to keep them fresh. The casino he’d worked at mostly had automatic card shufflers to get the job done, but an old and wizened casino dealer had taught Kyle the art of the manual shuffle.

When things had gotten past bad with his ex, Kyle used shuffling to occupy his mind—as long as his fingers hadn’t been bruised or cut, or at worst, broken.

No. No cards. Perhaps he could watch Banshee and jerk off watching Lucas pound flesh. The very fact he’d considered that idea made him groan loudly.

Fuck, how sad am I?

He contented himself with eating half a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Rocky Road ice cream for breakfast because he thought the title suited his life. Then he relented and watched Lucas Hood bang yet another bird, ignoring the twinge of jealousy he felt for the woman.

Bloody hell. That man can sure move his hips.

Two hours later, satiated with a morning wank and feeling sick from the ice cream, he was ready to face the day. He cleaned himself up and threw the now empty ice cream carton in the bin, breathing out a guilty sigh as he did. He checked his phone and was thrilled to find a missed call from his best friend Lucinda Drake, whom he’d last seen over a year ago. He grinned with joy when he heard the message delivered in Luce’s nasal New York accent.

“Hey jackass, stop wanking off to hot guys and call me back pronto. I’m back in town unexpectedly and thought we could get together for a late brunch and catch up. Talk ta ya later, London.”

Shit, she knows me too damn well.

His spirits rose. It was just like Luce to simply turn up as if no time had passed between them, and surprise him. A late brunch sounded like a plan, perhaps at Jackson and Rye. They made the best avocado Florentine eggs he’d ever tasted. He sighed as he dialled her back.

He couldn’t recall a time when Luce hadn’t called him London. When they’d worked together at The Bohemian Club in Las Vegas, she’d got this crazy idea that London was the be-all of England. He’d been hard-pressed to tell her that there were other great cities.

Luce answered his return call on the fourth ring. “Hey, London Calling. How you doin’?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, wondering if his profile picture was still the same on Luce’s phone. It had been one of him, inebriated after a night out, smiling stupidly next to a red Royal Mail telephone box, with the display name of London Calling. They’d both found it doubled-over funny at the time.

“I’m good. Better for knowing you’re in town. You didn’t give me any warning you were coming over though. Is everything okay?”

He and Luce had worked together for years at The Bohemian Club and become firm friends. Luce still worked there and had a crazy, hectic work schedule that had her travelling around the U.S. to the different casinos that club owned. Her job as a slot operations manager involved a huge amount of what Kyle had thought was boring, mundane work—looking at reports and doing a lot of corporate management stuff involving complex mathematics. He’d rather have poked his eyes out with a stick than do that every day.

She gave a loud laugh. “It was a bit all of a sudden. They offered me a position as VP of gaming, but I like what I do, and I didn’t see myself licking ass all day like that job would have required me to. They weren’t too happy about it. We had a bit of a spat, and when I said I’d go work for the competition, they quickly backtracked and let me be. Since they were nervous I would bolt, I managed to wangle two months off. I’m pretty beat. They owe me like a year of holiday anyway. I got in two days ago and, obviously, I had to call you once the jet lag settled and I caught up on some sleep. So here I am, London, and I’m all yours.”

Kyle chuckled. “Only you could be offered a promotion, turn it down and still end up on the winning team on a two-month timeout abroad.”

“Yeah, well,” she replied wryly. “I had to see my favourite guy and find out how he’s doing. I miss you. Skype and Facebook is fine but it doesn’t replace honest to goodness face-to-face contact.”

He bit back the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I miss you too.”

Luce had been his rock during the turbulent and destructive relationship with his ex-boyfriend, dancer Mario Alves. Not only had she saved Kyle’s life, her love and support had been instrumental in helping him out of the abusive relationship he’d seemed mired in. He owed her his sanity.

“So, are we doing this whole brunch thing then?” he teased, already wondering what he should wear and whether he’d be able to manage all the interpersonal contacts he’d encounter when he went out in public. “Is Jackson’s okay, say about midday?”

She gave a sultry chuckle. “London, that sounds good to me. I’ll see you there. Oh, by the way, look for the chick with blue hair.”

She rang off before he could say anything else. He grinned as he put down his phone. She had a thing for changing her hair colour like she did her garish, slogan-inspired tee shirts. The last time he’d seen her she’d been a redhead—as in her hair was fire-engine red. She was a flaming beacon on the casino floor when they’d worked together.

With his mood lightened, Kyle sped into the bathroom, took another shower—because the spunk-smell he sported wasn’t quite his cologne of the day choice—and dressed into his favourite pair of Firetrap Blackseal Biker jeans. Teamed with a tight-fitting white tee-shirt under a casual grey chambray long-sleeve shirt, Kyle figured he looked good enough to venture out.

He thought if he didn’t drink too much, he might go into the club afterward and finish off a few little jobs he had to do on his list.