Thrill City by Leigh Redhead

half in one gulp, then stared at my thighs so intently my skin buzzed.
    ‘What are you looking at?’
    ‘I can see right up your skirt. Black lace knickers. Nice.’
    ‘Alex!’ I hissed, crossing my legs, unsuccessfully attempting to pull down my mini and glancing over to see if Sean had noticed. He was still deep in stoned conversation with Andi, but Chloe had seen me talking to someone and she undulated over. Against her swollen breasts her bikini top looked no bigger than a pair of pasties.
    ‘Who are you talking to?’ She caught sight of Alex and her eyes widened. ‘Oh. Hello .’
    ‘Chloe, this is Alex.’ I couldn’t believe that after everything, they’d never actually met.
    ‘The famous Alex, huh? Simone wasn’t kidding when she said you were hot.’
    I gave her a look. She ignored me.
    ‘My god—’ Alex was openly staring at her boobs—‘your tits are huge.’
    I winced but needn’t have worried, she wasn’t the least bit offended.
    ‘Thanks.’ She took one in each hand and appraised them like a fruiterer testing the quality of a couple of oversized cantaloupes. ‘I am up the duff though.’
    ‘No shit.’
    Chloe looked from me to Alex and back again, a knowing smirk on her face.
    ‘Well, nice to finally meet you, but I know when I’m in the way. Guess you two have a lot to talk about . . .’
    I reached out to flick her leg but she was gone.
    ‘A lot to talk about?’ Alex raised his eyebrows as he took another swig of my margarita.
    ‘Pregnancy,’ I said. ‘She’s gone mental.’
    ‘So, what’s it like being public enemy number one?’
    ‘Piss off.’
    ‘Hey, did you hear the latest? Rod Thurlow, the writer, put up a million-dollar reward for info leading to Nick Austin’s arrest.’
    ‘Really? He’s rung me a couple of times but I never called back. Maybe I should find the fucker. I could use the money.’
    ‘Heard your licence got suspended. What are you doing for work? Back on the game?’
    ‘Fuck you.’ I kicked out at him.
    He caught my bare foot and squeezed. I pulled it back.
    ‘Stripping isn’t prostitution—not that there’s anything wrong with being a working lady.’
    ‘If you say so.’
    ‘And for your information I’m not dancing at all.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Sean didn’t reckon it was a good idea.’
    ‘He’s laid down the law? Told the irrepressible Ms Kirsch to keep her kit on? I didn’t think it was possible.’
    ‘No. He heard that a few of those current affairs shows were going to smuggle in cameras. Get footage. Thought it was best to say I wasn’t stripping anymore, not add any more fuel to the fire.’
    ‘Uh-huh.’ He sounded like he didn’t believe me.
    ‘Sean’s not the kind of guy to tell me what I can and can’t do. Unlike some people . . .’
    ‘You sure? No bloke wants to think of other men perving on his chick.’
    I raised my eyebrows. It was fine for chicks to call each other chicks, but arrogant coppers . . .
    Alex continued, on a roll: ‘I’d never let my wife get her gear off for anyone but me.’
    ‘Don’t you sound like the unreconstructed Greek boy. Hard to believe you did your masters on gender equality in policing.’
    He ignored me and kept on, snickering to himself. ‘Hear you guys are living together, too. I can just see it, Simone the hausfrau, cooking breakfast, seeing her man off in the morning, darning his socks, polishing his handcuffs . . . ah, domestic bliss. Next thing you know you’ll be popping out a mess of kids.’
    ‘Who’s talking? You’re the one who just got married, and how long have you been off work? Must be a hell of a house husband by now.’ I instantly regretted saying it, but hell, he’d been winding me up.
    ‘And whose fucking fault is that?’ he barked, eyes going flat and dark.
    ‘Sorry,’ I said quietly.
    He looked away, out over the train lines, and when he turned back his eyes weren’t flat anymore, they were glittering. ‘Want to make it up to me?’
    ‘How?’
    ‘I