GOOGLE IS NOT YOUR FRIEND

BRIELLE

For the second time in as many days, I’m woken with La Vie En Rose blasting from a speaker system the kitchen. It fills the whole house, bouncing off empty walls, slipping through cracks, and even shaking the floorboards. It puts my teeth on edge and rattles my bones. La Vie En Rose is Maman’s favourite song. She would hum it around the house for hours, and it was one of the first songs she encouraged me to play when I was just learning the cello. But even Maman is not this crazy.

Unable to sleep with such noise, I pull back the drapes and let the sun stream in through my window. It’s cold, but this week is warmer still than last week at the wedding, and spring is getting ready to return, and Levi will likely be sleeping off his permanent hangover, so I grab my phone, and put on the one-piece swimsuit I wore at Hotel Cap Estel. The one with the hundred little vertical straps that I still haven’t mastered, and cheeky cut over my butt. It doesn’t cover as much of my body as I would like, but then, I don’t expect anyone to see it because the pool area is as empty as a graveyard in the rain.

Well, maybe not completely empty, I realise, as I walk outside and find Dog asleep on the warm concrete. He lifts his head, and I get an imperceptibly small tail wag before he rolls over for me to scratch his belly. Then it’s all-out tail wagging and doggy sneezes, and goofball faces. From him, and me. I don’t know where Levi found him, but he is not so bad after all. Gentle and goofy, and always happy to see me. Unlike his owner.

I settle onto a sunbed, pull my glasses down on my face and let the birds chitter and sing to me. I’m restless. I long to play, but I have a tendency to push myself too far, and Levi will want me to play later no doubt, when his belly is full of whisky, his eyes are bloodshot, and his heart is sick. After last night, I cannot help but feel sorry for the man.

I have the sudden urge to know more about him, about his relationship with Ali, and his bandmate, so I venture onto Google. The first thing that comes up is his Wiki page, so I click on it. There is the usual stuff about the band, their rise to fame. Pictures of him playing live line the page, and then I come to the personal life section. I eat up the words as if they are a banquet and I am a starving woman. And then I stumble on a link to a sex tape. I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, glance around the empty yard, and click on it.

The screen is filled with a dark video that then switches to night vision. It’s grainy, but I can still make out their faces, and their body parts. Ali looks different than she did on her wedding day. She’s pretty, even without the bridal make-up, but she doesn’t look like the rest of the Victoria Secret models he appears to have dated. And from the pictures, and list of names, there have been a lot. Ali is different. Her face is much sweeter than those other women. And then her face is all but forgotten because whoever was operating the camera, zeros in on Levi unfastening his pants. Of course I saw his massive penis the first day I arrived, but then it hung low and heavy between his legs. This cock? It’s bigger, and when fully erect, it’s almost absurd. My current employer is hung like a horse. A thoroughbred, and I am suddenly hot and itchy all over.

I close the Wiki page window but decide to keep the video up for later, and then I add another browser and search “Levi Quinn penis”. A lot of images come up. A lot. But I finally zero in on one that looks legitimate. It’s a gif, and I can see his face, so I click on it. He’s taking Ali from behind. He’s not even all the way in, not even close, as she takes Cooper’s cock in her mouth, and Levi’s face twists in pleasure as he comes inside her. My cheeks flame. My breath comes hard and fast and my insides tighten. I tell myself it’s a natural reaction to seeing an erotic display, but then the sense of jealousy, of spite, and wishing she’d choke on all the cum these men are bestowing her with worms its way through my gut and I cringe.

“Whatcha doing?” A voice comes from over my shoulder, and I swear I jump about six feet in the air.

I scramble with my phone, surprised I haven’t accidentally thrown it into the pool, but then I do lose my grip on it. I fumble. It flies across the daybed, but not before my hand could switch browsers.

Levi snatches up the phone before I can reach it. “The Angry French Girl likes porn, huh? Let’s see, what do we have here?” I make a grab for it, but he wrenches it out of my reach. “Uh, uh, uh. Not yet, mon chéri.” He is a butcher of the French language.

“Give it back. Now!”

“He swipes the screen with his thumb and the tiny window advertisement blocking the video disappears. His devil grin curls in the corner, as his molten gaze sweeps across me, and examines my flushed chest and cheeks.

“You googled my sex tape?”

“Non.” I insist.

He taps a few more times at the screen, no doubt searching my other browsers. One masculine brow raises, and the infuriating grin spreads wider. Oh, how I hate this man. “You know if you wanted a sneak peek all you had to do was ask.”

He slides my phone down his pants and snaps a picture. Then he studies the screen before deciding it must be good enough to pass his test, and hands it back to me. I gasp in horror as he walks towards the pool, shedding his clothing along the way. I wet my suddenly dry lips and avert my gaze as he dives in.

With my skin flushed from embarrassment and desire, I’d like nothing more than to take a dip in the icy cold water too, but he is naked, and I do not trust either one of us. Instead, I hold my head high and stalk away, feeling his eyes on my arse the entire time.