The XY Factor

Chapter One

Chapter One

‘I’ll kill him,’ Sloan muttered, shuffling from foot to foot as he watched the fog of his breath curl out into the night air. ‘Here I am, busting my balls; I’m a f*****g i***t… Yeah, Sloan, I’ll be there Sloan, don’t worry, I’ll be right on time… bastard.’

On an almost deserted side street in the centre of the city, Sloan dug his hands into the pockets of his zipper and pinned his arms to his body. Backing into the secluded residential doorway he leant on the scarred wooden door and closed his eyes thinking of the most effective ways to murder Doug with the least amount of mess and the most amount of pain.

The time had to be after midnight now, but in these Baltic conditions Sloan wasn’t about to take his hand from his pocket to look at his watch. ‘The story of a lifetime,’ Sloan groaned again and banged his head back on the door; he was an i***t who got everything he deserved. Since when had Doug ever been reliable? He screwed his best friend’s sister; his best friends married sister for goodness sake.

A rush of air and what sounded like a pant made him c***k open one eye. Ready to scream b****y murder at Doug he was surprised to see a waif of a woman sharing his doorway. Not only was she short and skinny but her wild curly hair almost covered her face as it cascaded to her more than ample chest. He could make that observation because she was also barely clothed. Clutching a pair of platform spike heels to her cleavage the rest of her chest was covered by what appeared to be nothing more than a bikini top that tied in a neat bow between her breasts. His eyes travelled down across her flat abs and to the skin tight siren red micro miniskirt that started at her hips and ended, well a few inches below that. Short she might be but as his gaze moved further south he noted she was all leg, long, slender, shapely—

‘Hold these,’ she barked and thrust her shoes against him.

His choice to take them was not his own but his curiosity was piqued. She had to be a w**********l, this n***d, this deep in the city, had to be.

‘Are you ok?’ he asked, hazarding a closer look.

‘Oh just dandy, pal, thanks.’

Her obvious note of sarcasm was aimed at him but her attention slid out of the doorway to peer up the street the way she had come. Scooping her hair from her face she came back into the doorway and took a hair band from her slender wrist with her teeth. Shaking her head back, Sloan became fixated on the line of her neck. Taming her hair took her a few seconds but she deftly secured it back and peeked out of the entryway again.

Only now, when the line of her neck and her cleavage was out of his sight did he realise she was talking, muttering to herself… No, he thought and found himself going slack jawed; those weren’t words, they were lyrics.

‘You’re singing,’ he said.

Her attention snapped back to him. ‘What? Who are you? Please don’t tell them you saw me.’

Narrowing his eyes he stared into those fathomless green eyes. Eyes filled with such innocence that he couldn’t help but recognise them. ‘Darcy,’ he breathed and found himself smiling at her.

Something in the way her innocent pleading melted told him she recognised him too. When her hand went to his face and her thumb traced his dimple he saw nothing but wonder in her eyes. Their quiet appreciation of each other was abruptly ended when he saw the vibration in her chin and he realised her lips were blue.

‘What the f**k are you doing out here like that?’

He unzipped his hooded sweatshirt, dropping her shoes to the concrete he stood on, and pulled it off to wrap around her. She didn’t hesitate, which he took as a sign she was grateful. Shaking fingers failed to do up the zip so he swiped her manicured nails away and did it up for her then took his time rubbing her arms through the cotton.

Heavy make-up tried to hide the girl she once was but her body betrayed the woman she had become and his own body found himself all too aware of the fact when he pulled her into his arms and began to rub her back.

Though shivers wracked her whole body she forced her hands between them and pushed herself away. Just at that he heard what sounded like voices, a lot of voices, and stampeding feet. He watched as her eyes slowly closed, her lips were moving again but the lyrics were silent this time.

Bouncing on her bare feet he saw her pull his hood up over her hair and pull the strings tight. ‘Good to see you again, Sloan,’ she whispered.

Before he could open his mouth, she slid out of the doorway and bolted down the street. Nimble on her tiptoes he thought, but realised the concrete would be like ice under her toes. The voices grew louder, as did the footsteps. Actually it was more like thunder now, Sloan looked over his shoulder and he realised the voices were shouting after her. Ducking back into his doorway to avoid the stampede, his jaw fell again when he absorbed the scene. These voices, the thundering feet running belonged to dozens of men and women, most with camera’s, some with notebooks or smartphones and some with pictures just waiting to be autographed and they were all shouting for Darcy. Darcy Holmes from Inverquay, a girl he hadn’t thought about for ten years and yet somehow the world knew her, better than he did apparently.

Doug didn’t bother to phone. But it wouldn’t have mattered because as soon as the rowdy mob turned the corner and disappeared out of sight Sloan remembered his phone was in his hoody pocket, as was his wallet, and his house keys. Cursing at himself he fell back into the doorway, this time thumping his forehead against the door. When his eyes opened he saw her shoes scattered at his feet. A smile threatened his lips as he realised this was the second pair of her shoes he had been left holding. He had just lifted the silver sequined straps when he heard footsteps behind him, heavy footsteps, soled footsteps, no chance she had returned.

‘Did you see her?’

Sloan turned to see Doug’s usual exuberant grin. ‘Her?’ Sloan asked but knew already whom his friend was referring to.

‘Darcy! The hottest thing on two legs! I went to see her for the floorshow, but I got way more than t**s and a*s! The girl is… s**t! I don’t even know how to describe her, the voice is one thing, the body… don’t even get me started but wow, I don’t think anyone was expecting tonight.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Buy me a drink and I’ll fill you in,’ Doug said, slapping Sloan on the back and bringing him out onto the street.

‘Buy you a drink? I’ve been stood here freezing my balls off for half an hour.’

‘No one was betting on waiting for the emergency services… I guess that’s why they call them the “emergency” services though, right? They’re not the “expected” services are they?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Sloan said, noting the way Doug was looking at the shoes in his hand.

‘Something you want to tell me, mate?’

‘How about you first?’ Sloan asked, pushing his way into the bar that Doug pointed at.

Doug took his usual time buying the drinks, ensuring to stop and flirt with anything that smiled his way. When he put the pints on the table Sloan had found, Doug’s eyes were still on the bar. ‘You want the blonde or the brunette?’

Sloan glanced over his shoulder to see the pair at the bar smiling at them. Containing his growl he snatched up his pint and slurped it down. ‘Neither. Tell me about Darcy.’

‘Hidden talent,’ Doug said, gulping his own pint and putting down the glass to wipe his palm on his jeans. ‘New reality thing on some satellite channel… Anyway, the producers tour the country looking for talent, no auditions malarkey; they just find people who actually use their talents to earn a bit of income. The Darcy girl apparently applied for some cooking show and got the knock back but one of the producers remembers her, catches up with her singing in some local dive.’

‘Singing?’

‘Whatever,’ Doug said. ‘Back story is boring… No one expected anything, the producers put the talent they like in front of six agents, each agent picks three acts and spend a few months trying to make their acts the next big thing. It’s all about turnover, whichever agent pulls in the least money each week gets one of their acts evicted by the public. It’s bullshit, money making scheme. Tonight was the big reveal of the acts. Each of them got to sing a number at the Winter Hall round the corner.’

‘You were there?’ Sloan asked. Not that he had any interest in reality TV, but if he had known Darcy was going to be there he would have had Doug take him along.

‘Aye,’ Doug said, sampling his pint again. ‘It’s a gimmick; they don’t do big studio shows. The agents have to work with their acts to get them doing shows in standard venues, the bigger the venue, the bigger the crowd, the bigger the turnover, blah, blah, blah.’

‘Hence the Winter Hall.’

‘Exactly,’ Doug said. ‘It’s the introduction to the acts and the only venue the studio ponies up for. They invite a few media pundits to get the ball rolling.’

‘So, what was special about tonight? You get invited to loads of crappy events by people who want exposure.’

‘Aye,’ Doug agreed, shoving his pint aside and practically bouncing into Sloan’s lap. ‘That’s what I thought. Bit of a laugh, good view, nothing serious.’

‘So?’

‘So! This Darcy chick starts singing, the crowd is like stunned into immediate silence, she is that good.’

‘Great,’ Sloan said. ‘Good for her—‘

‘No,’ Doug said actually grabbing Sloan’s wrist as he sprang to the edge of his seat. ‘This girl is so good that Paulie Hayes, who is front row, literally drops down dead.’

‘What? She killed him?’

‘That’s not even the best bit!’ Doug was, vibrating with excitement now. ‘Paulie falls to his knees, clutching his chest.’ Doug fell to his knees next to Sloan doing a dramatic reconstruction. ‘Gasping for breath, his life is slipping away, the room in suspended in silence as his heart stutters to a stop…’

Sloan found himself caught in the moment too, leaning toward Doug as his voice lowered in a typical croaking, near death fashion. ‘And?’ Sloan prompted as his friends eyes closed.

‘Darcy!’ Doug called, his eyes snapping open and his face glowing in a renewed grin. ‘Leaps from the stage, like a ninja, freaking superwoman or something! She starts barking orders, “everyone back off! Someone call an ambulance!” she’s loosening his tie, undoing his shirt and then get this! She starts mouth to mouth! The babe has got skills, serious skills! No panic, no hesitation, complete calm. A room full of people, probably even a first aider on site and this girl with the incredible set of lungs is using them to resuscitate the media’s most shrewd, calculating bastard! And! And! She keeps it up for twenty minutes! The fucker is still hanging onto life when the paramedics appear and take over!’

‘Wow,’ Sloan breathed, slumping back in his chair while Doug climbed back into his.

‘You’re telling me,’ Doug said, moistening his throat. ‘This girl has this competition locked on night one. She’s a media sweetheart. The woman saved the most influential man in print and music media north of the border.’

Sloan could see it now; the paramedics come in and start their work as Darcy backs off then the questions start. She’s in a room full or reporters, full of camera’s… the first night of a reality show, she’s not used to the media, she’s alone, she panics and somehow escapes. That explained the outfit, the hair, and the shoes.

‘Why didn’t you follow her?’ Sloan asked Doug.

He shrugged, downing another mouthful. ‘I thought I was getting laid tonight, I didn’t take any equipment. I didn’t think it would be that entertaining.’

Doug was a photographer for the Daily National, a newspaper they both worked for. ‘Toby will have your behind in a sling.’

‘We’ll get something,’ Doug said. ‘We always get something. She was doing CPR for twenty minutes; there will be dozens of pictures. Toby will be more interested in the story.’

‘I thought backstory was boring,’ Sloan said relying on his trusty facade to hide his own awkwardness.

None of his colleagues knew he was from Inverquay but if anyone started asking questions around the village his name could come up. Ok, so he couldn’t claim to have history with her exactly but if Darcy had told anyone about the few minutes they’d shared chances were someone would tell the media the story.

‘You want it?’ Doug asked. ‘Toby owes me a favour, wouldn’t be much of a hardship to tail her for a few weeks.’

‘No,’ Sloan said, trying to think if there would be anything worse than having to tell Darcy’s story. Yes, he could omit facts about his own connection but he would bet his boots that the whole village would read that story and with his name on it… he could kiss a happy welcome home goodbye. Not that he was sure there would ever be one on the cards for him.

Doug bartered with him to stay for another two pints. In exchange for Doug buying them, Sloan worked his magic with the women at the bar, ensuring Doug got his wish for the evening. Doug also gave Sloan taxi fare and his house key. Sloan only let Doug move into his flat after Nick – another reporter at the paper – vouched for him; or rather begged him. The two had only been flat sharing for a few weeks but already Sloan was missing his seclusion.

Ready for bed, Sloan rubbed his hand across his eyes as he slid Doug’s key in the lock. Frowning when it didn’t turn, Sloan made note to tell Doug off for leaving the door unlocked. Except when he opened the door and heard the boom of music – that he had assumed was coming from elsewhere – he realised the flat was not vacant.

Much to his surprise when he rounded the wall that separated entranceway from open plan kitchen, living area, he saw a woman swaying her hips and grinding her body to the music as she looked up at the CD’s on the shelving unit in front of her. Her hair was damp and draped to her waist; she was wearing what appeared to be his tee shirt, and not much else. His jaw once again hung loose as his feet sloped slowly toward her. At a crescendo of the music she spun around and froze, blinking at him as he too stopped in the middle of the room.

To her credit, she turned and flipped off the music immediately before spinning to grin at him. ‘Hi, Johnny.’

‘Tyke.’

The word had come out of its own volition but the pet name caused her grin to widen further and she leapt toward him, snatching his hand from his side.

‘You are going to laugh when you hear this story,’ she said.

From the way her teeth pressed into her lower lip, he could tell she wasn’t sure of that herself. But he had to give her what she was due because she confidently held eye contact with him and had the decency to appear contrite.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I know we don’t know each other very well—‘

‘At all.’

‘No,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I suppose we don’t but see… I don’t know anyone in the city. I don’t know anyone away from the village and I—‘

‘Why aren’t you in the village?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I thought you were running Hayley’s bakery.’

‘How would you know that?’ she frowned. ‘You haven’t been back, not since… your party.’

‘I still talk to Glo sometimes.’

Gloria was his father’s sister, she was the only one who had been in contact since he had left town. She persisted in asking him to come home but Sloan knew the blood between him and his father had long been putrid.

‘You asked about me?’

‘What are you doing here, Darcy?’ he asked again this time not allowing the emerald of her eyes to mesmerise him into forgetting himself like he had done in that doorway.

The false grin fell from her face and for a second he saw the truth. ‘I need help, Sloan. I’m alone here and I… I think the bottom just fell out of my world.’

Allowing her words to hang in the air between them he drew in a long breath and dropped his hands to her shoulders. ‘What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?’ he sighed.

‘I,’ she started and wriggled under his palms. He squeezed to hold her still, the last thing he needed was for her to start squirming and reminding him of the body she possessed under that tee shirt, his tee shirt, that currently had the pleasure of skimming those lush curves. ‘I needed money.’

‘Money,’ he said surprised by the answer.

Most people on reality shows wanted fame, exposure and yes, the lifestyle but she didn’t strike him as an attention-seeking party girl.

‘I signed up to do this reality show, it’s silly really, but it’s temporary… I didn’t think for a second I would ever have to deal with… what happened tonight… I need somewhere to stay, just for tonight. I couldn’t go back to my hotel the place is swarming with reporters… I don’t have any money, nothing so—‘

‘So you stole my wallet?’

‘It’s in your room,’ she said. ‘I didn’t take anything I swear. When I realised your wallet was in there I was already a mile away. I’d lost most of the reporters and I was going to return it, so I checked your address. I got here and you weren’t home, I left the door unlocked so you could get in… Then once I got here I… well I was cold and I… I thought I would get a shower and… I’m sorry I, I don’t have anywhere else to go.’

When he saw the moisture glisten on those long dark lashes of hers he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her against him and burying his face in her hair. What he hadn’t been expecting was for her to so tightly wrap her arms around his waist and cling to him wholehearted. As they stood holding each other in the middle of his living room he was struck by how natural it felt and yet, he had never held this woman before in his life, not properly. But they held each other without thinking, their bodies obedient to each other, both locked in automatic trust without question.

‘I could be a complete bastard,’ he muttered into her hair. ‘Do you know that? We don’t know each other.’

‘Are you kidding,’ she said into his chest. ‘You’re Johnny Sloan. I already know you’re a bastard… But right now you’re my only hope.’

There was something oddly comforting about settling her in the middle of his big bed. No further questions were asked; she used his toothbrush, washed her face, and lay down in his sheets – the whole time smiling at him as if he had just given her an answer to the meaning of life.

‘Stop looking at me like that, Tyke,’ he said as he pulled the curtains closed.

‘Why didn’t you come home, Johnny? Are you married?’

‘If I was married I doubt my wife would be happy with a woman like you in our bed.’

Finding himself watching her as she smoothed his duvet down on her waist he forced himself to take a step toward her and reach for the light. ‘A woman like me, what does that mean?’

Oddly when he paused with his hand half way to the light he could see that she genuinely meant it. The women he had experienced over the years knew just what affect they had on men and just how to use that to their advantage. Yet, Darcy Holmes, perhaps the most luscious of any woman he had the pleasure of seeing in his sheets was smiling at him, her head tipped slightly to the side, blinking at him as innocently as a child.

‘Go to sleep, Tyke, we’ll talk in the morning.’

Managing to avoid the question, he reached for the light and clicked it off. Before he could remove himself from the bedside he found his hand snatched into hers. Both of her tiny, delicate hands cradled his, pulling it closer to her and before his eyes adjusted to the new darkness around them the petal soft skin of her cheek was under his palm.

‘Thank you, Johnny,’ she said turning her head back and forth against his touch as though she were a stray kitten grateful of a dry bed.

Frozen against her caress he supposed the thought wasn’t so inaccurate. Then, just as his body relented to her presumptuous act and began to react in a typically raw male fashion her warm skin was gone. His vision adjusted to see her lying in the centre of his bed, eyes closed, slight smile on her lips and the gentle rise and fall of that chest beneath the stark white of his quilt.