Joker in the Pack (Romantic Suspense, Completed, Watty Winner)

Chapter 4

The sound of beeping woke me up. Strange. Usually, I set my phone to play Pharrell's "Happy" at seven every morning in a vain attempt to convince myself that I actually was.

It failed every time.

I reached out to shut off the noise, but something tugged at the back of my hand. Ouch! That stung.

"Easy, easy."

Why was Maddie in my bedroom? My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced them open. Why was everything white? My best friend swam into view, concern etched over her face.

"What's wrong?" It came out as, "Wash ron?"

"You had a teeny, tiny accident. You're in hospital."

Well, that would explain the bland colour scheme. "Wa kinda assident?"

"You slipped over and knocked yourself out for a little while."

Really? How on earth had I managed that? I'd been intending to do some tidying, but...

"How'd it happen?"

"Uh, we were in a club, and you slipped in a pool of, uh..." Her voice dropped a few decibels. "...baby oil."

My voice, on the other hand, got louder as it recovered. "Baby oil? I don't even have any baby oil."

"Well, it was kind of provided at the club."

"What kind of club provides baby oil?"

My memory came back in fits and starts. The lights, the music, the chanting, the steroid-riddled guy standing naked in front of me.

"You took me to a strip club!" I screeched.

"Shh, keep your voice down. There are other patients around."

Much as it pained me, she was right about that. "Fine. I certainly don't want anyone else finding out."

Her cheeks coloured as she shuffled backwards. "It might be a bit late for that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Er... Perhaps you should get some rest."

"Maddie, what are you talking about?"

"Okay, okay. Do you remember Mandy Clark? We went to school with her."

"That perky blonde whose life's ambition was to bag herself a Premier League footballer?"

She'd even learned what the offside rule was. We'd had a bust-up in year six when she'd said my accent was so posh it was stupid and I'd grabbed her Barbie doll and put its arm in the electric pencil sharpener, and she'd never forgiven me.

"Well, she's getting married. To a footie player, surprise, surprise. But she's had to slum it. He's only in League Two."

"Terrific. And?"

"Well, she might have been at the cabaret last night. And she might have brought her camera. And one or two of those pictures may have found their way onto Facebook."

Oh, bloody hell. "Get her to take them down. Please!"

"I tried, but it was too late. They'd already got over seven hundred likes and made it onto Twitter."

I closed my eyes. This couldn't be happening.

"I didn't know Mandy even had seven hundred friends."

"She doesn't. She tagged you, so some of them are yours. Then the photos went a little bit viral. People have been commenting from as far away as Ecuador. The one where you were stroking the dude's wotsit was particularly popular."