She shrugged. "I've got mints in my desk. He'll have to cope. And he'll have to do a lot better than he did on the first date if he's expecting to get close enough for it to matter. Now, where was I?"
Sara unwrapped her sandwich, which Toreth knew was destined to remain untouched for at least five minutes while she finished the story. As usual, Sara continued their previous conversation as if there hadn't been a fifteen-minute break.
"So then Dillian said she'd never even
been
to a strip club. Can you imagine? She's thirty-whatever and never — anyway. So Cele said she had to, just for the aesthetic experience, and I said I'd organise it. Dillian said I'd better not tell Warrick what we were planning, but she was only joking because she called later to say he's free that evening and he's coming, too."
Sara picked up half a sandwich, gesturing with it for emphasis rather than eating it. "You know, it's funny but the first time I met Dillian way back when — at the theatre, you remember — I thought she was going to turn out to be a bit of a stuck-up rich bitch. But she's okay. Not as friendly as Cele, but okay."
"Don't you want to know what I think about her?" Toreth asked through a mouthful of corned beef.
"No need. I already do. You want to screw her."
"She's Warrick's sister," he said, aiming to sound disapproving and very nearly managing it.
"Yeah, and that's why you want to screw her. Because they have that weird identical twin thing going on, even though they aren't." Her eyes narrowed. "In fact, I bet you've thought about doing both of them at the same time. Side-by-side comparison. Or top-and-bottom comparison."
"That's disgusting," Toreth said, grinning hugely.
"I
knew
it!" Sara shrieked with delight, shedding grated cheese liberally. "You are
sick
."
"Maybe." He swallowed the last mouthful. "But I have fucking fantastic dreams."
Sara examined her sandwich, wrapped it up again, and picked up the donut. "So, are you coming on Saturday?"
Toreth hesitated, not entirely sure why. He thought it over while he extracted the limp beetroot from the second sandwich and piled crisps over the lurid pink stains on the synthetic cheese.
Warrick was a truly spectacular fuck and utterly shameless in private. In public, though, he still liked to keep a distance and what he called 'a minimum standard of civilised behaviour'. His presence would put a major limit on the amount of fun Toreth could have, especially if Dillian was there too.
On the other hand, it would be a pity to let Warrick have all the fun — alcohol, great bodies to at least look at and three lovely women for the evening. It would also make a change. In the weeks since he'd bought the cabinet for Warrick, most of the evenings they'd spent together had been at Warrick's flat, using the cabinet, or fucking in front of it if Warrick didn't want the bruises. They were certainly getting their money's worth out of the gift, but variety would be nice.
He squashed the sandwich down, scattering crisp shrapnel over the table and floor. More memos from the cleaners, no doubt. Fuck them.
"Yeah, okay. Count me in."
There was no reason for Toreth to worry about the evening, he told himself in the taxi. Sara had organised it, she was responsible for any disasters ensuing. Just so long as nothing happened to Dillian. Like SimTech, Dillian brought out Warrick's worst overprotective streak.
When they reached the club, he assessed it while Sara handed her coat into the cloakroom. Toreth classified these places primarily on how strongly they smelled of stale sweat and whether his feet stuck to the floor. This one had a clean carpet and an air conditioning system that filled the air with a faint, musky perfume. Newly decorated, excellent sound system, lighting low but not dingy. One of Sara's more tasteful venue choices.
There were mixed strippers and an equally mixed crowd. He spotted six or seven groups made up of lower-ranking corporates enjoying an evening entertaining clients on expenses; other groups were probably on early pre-New Year office outings. Single men and couples of various kinds made up the remainder of the crowd. Respectable, insofar as a strip club could be — the sort of place where dancer meant dancer, not anything more available.
Toreth relaxed a little.
When Warrick arrived with Cele and Dillian, he wore a smart-casual jacket and tie that screamed corporate. He still attracted a few looks, but probably for the two women with him.
His first comment to Sara and Toreth was, "So is this what you two do for fun when I'm not around?"
At this relatively early hour the larger stage was still curtained off, waiting for performances later. They spent a while wandering between the smaller platforms clustered in the middle — spotlit and with and without central poles — watching the dancers. Pairs and singles, in varying gender combinations and degrees of undress, worked the crowd and almost looked to be having fun doing it.
Cele, of course, was in her element, but her cheerfulness didn't have any positive influence on Dillian, who was less friendly than Toreth had seen her for months. Or rather, perfectly friendly with everyone except himself. Maybe it was the time of year stirring bad memories. In recent months she'd seemed to have at least partially forgiven him for the pass over the washing up at the family gathering last New Year.
Well, she didn't need to worry. He fully intended to spend this New Year getting pissed with Sara and an assortment of I&I staff Warrick wouldn't want to meet. Fuck families — his own and everyone elses'.
Dillian and Sara concentrated on the men. Toreth and Cele had an edge in being able to appreciate all the bodies on display, although Toreth remembered belatedly that was technically also true for Warrick. Warrick was quiet, watching more than talking, but smiling as well. Real smiles, too, not his half-smile mask. Good start to the evening.
"She's nice, don't you think?"
He looked round, but this time Cele was talking to Dillian. Cele nudged her, and pointed out a dark-haired woman, pale-skinned and somehow aloof.
"Just my type," Cele continued. It was hard to tell in the club lighting, but Toreth could have sworn Dillian blushed.
Oh ho.
Interesting
. Toreth circled round to the other side of the group, where he could watch the two women more easily. Dillian had always struck him as what Kel would call 'straight, but not narrow'. There was something there, definitely. Not an entirely new thing, either, because nothing had fundamentally changed in the way they related to each other.
Cele slipped her arm round Dillian's shoulders, laughed, and pointed.
Following her gesture, Toreth spotted Warrick, leaning on one of the stages, looking up at a male dancer. Talking, by the look of it, although Toreth couldn't be sure from this angle.
The man was blond, nicely built, and young — very early twenties. After a moment, he crouched down, balancing easily on the balls of his feet. The light caught his hair as he shook his head. Toreth watched, gritting his teeth, resisting the urge to go over. What the hell were they talking about? Much too long for a simple compliment. Finally Warrick reached up and handed over a folded note, a piece of the brightly coloured faux-currency for sale behind the bar. At least he hadn't followed the traditional route of tucking the tip into the man's G-string.
The dancer grinned and straightened. Warrick strolled back, smiling to himself.
"Well?" Toreth asked, trying to keep the edginess out of his voice.
"Believe it or not, he's a university student at SimTech." Warrick turned to look at the man. "Rather more rhythm than your average computer scientist, I think you'll agree. It's against the university rules for first-year postgrads to have evening jobs, so I thought I'd better reassure him that I have no intention of reporting his extracurricular employment."
Warrick looked back, one eyebrow arching slightly. "Was that a satisfactory explanation? Or would you have preferred that I took a camera over to record the interview?"
When Warrick made the effort, he could be insanely annoying. "Jesus, all I said was 'well'."
"There was a certain . . . never mind. Look but don't touch, I think was the general rule of the establishment?"
"Yes." Don't fucking forget it.
"And that is all I intend to do." Warrick looked round. "Where are Dilly and the others?"
After a few minutes' searching, they found them by an oddly incongruous pool table, tucked away to one side of the room. Sara and Cele were playing — Cele rather well, Sara terribly badly — while Dillian watched.
"What the hell's this?" Toreth asked.
Distracted, Sara hit the cue ball harder than was wise, and it took flight. Warrick caught it one-handed and tossed it back to Sara, who dropped it.
"Pool school, until the main show starts," Cele said cheerfully as Sara scrabbled under a chair for the lost ball. "I thought I could teach anyone but I think I might've finally found a hopeless case. Your round, sweetheart," she added to Dillian.
"I'll give you a hand to carry the drinks," Toreth said, starting for the bar before she could refuse the offer.
As they waited at the bar, Toreth said, "I haven't forgotten New Year, by the way."
Dillian's expression frosted over. "What about it?"
"Never again. I promised, and I keep my promises."
"Oh." She looked startled but at least a little pleased, which was just the effect Toreth had hoped for. The fascination Sara had spotted surfaced again, unquenchable. Maybe if he could put her in a positive mood, he'd get somewhere with her — not tonight, but eventually. He could wait.
"I saw the present you bought him," she said suddenly.
Toreth blinked. "What present?" Not that any of them were good things for Dillian to see, but the worst would be —
"The cabinet."
— the cabinet. "He likes antique furniture."
"He showed me inside it."
"Really." Nice of Warrick to warn him. At least it explained the resumption of hostilities.
She looked up at him, her expression fierce and intent. "I'm keeping an eye on him, and I'm watching
you
. I don't care what he says — if it goes too far, don't think I won't call Justice."
He managed to keep his voice level. "He wouldn't thank you for it. Quite the opposite."
Her determination didn't waver. "I know, but I'll do it anyway — because I love him."
"Fine." Only the fact that Warrick would be unbearably tedious about it stopped him returning the slap from last year and telling her to mind her own business. "Do you know what? I don't care, because there won't be any need. It's all under control. It's just a fucking game."
She frowned, looking as though she were trying to strip the skin and bone away and see right into his mind. Then she nodded. "I hope so."
He glanced away, down the bar, but there was still no one free to serve them. "Nice to see Cele again," he said. "Did you know she was after me to model?"
She visibly adjusted to the change of topic, then said, "She mentioned something like that, yes."
"Keeps passing messages through Sara, and Warrick when she sees him at SimTech. Sounds a bit boring, though. I don't sit still well. Do you ever get naked for her?"
"Do I . . . ?" Her voice shot up in pitch and volume. "Do I
what
?"
Toreth checked the open neck of her shirt — definite blush starting. "Do you ever model for her?" he asked slowly. A misunderstanding, clearly, and all Dillian's fault.
"Oh. Um." The flush deepened, creeping up her throat. "Sometimes."
"What's it like? Do you have fun with her?"
Her mouth opened and closed. Just then, the barman finished serving someone else. Dillian waved to catch his attention. "Drinks over here, please," she called and Toreth smiled.
When they returned to the table with the drinks, the game was still in progress. Cele was obviously doing her best to let Sara down gently, but it was a one-sided affair. Toreth sat beside Warrick, dividing his attention between the pool and the SimTech postgrad, who was dancing on a platform not too far away. Lots of rhythm indeed, and plenty of other assets as well. But Toreth's occasional glances in Warrick's direction revealed no hint of an untoward interest.
The blond's G-string was fringed with the scrip notes, and Toreth wondered vaguely what cut the place charged to change them back into real cash. As he watched, the music paused, and the shift changed, replacing the student with a generically blonde girl less to Toreth's taste.
Hopefully less to Warrick's taste, too. On the other hand, he couldn't help remembering that Melissa had been blonde when Warrick married her. It was gradually dawning on Toreth that there were less stressful places to spend an evening with Warrick.
Determined to ignore the irrational edginess, he nudged Warrick's elbow. "Warrick?"
"Yes?"
Toreth pointed over to the woman, and Warrick followed his hand. After a moment, Warrick asked, "What about her?"
"What do you think of her?"
His mouth quirked. "Do you want a formal assessment? Very well."
Warrick studied her carefully, for what seemed to Toreth to be an unnecessary length of time.
"She's very attractive," he said finally. "But — for my personal tastes — a little too feminine. Too soft. I prefer a more athletic look, in women as well as men. More sculpted." He looked back to the pool table, where Cele was reaching for a shot, one knee on the edge of the table. "Speaking of athletic, Cele used to work part time in a gym. A long time ago, now — even before you met her the first time, I think. I've always thought she has an extremely attractive physique, but back then she was irresistible."
Cele
? She and Warrick had always both said they'd never fucked, and what the hell did he mean by irresist — and then he caught Warrick's half smile.
Bastard
.
Toreth closed his mouth and returned his full attention to the pool table.