As luck would have it, my machine sputters its last breath just as I’ve finished the dress. I put everything away and then head upstairs to bed, hopeful that come Thursday evening I’ll have a brand-new machine sitting on my table.

Settling myself under the covers, I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check my messages. There’s just one from Michelle.

Michelle: How was your day? Xxx.

She always puts kisses at the end of a message, no matter what, and ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t necessary.

Matilda: Quite eventful, actually. How was yours? P.S. Stop kissy kissing me. I’m not one of your boyfriends :-P

Michelle: You think I don’t know that, lol? You give me far more affection than any of those arseholes. Mine was boring to the max. So, yours was eventful, eh? Do tell.

Matilda: Dad finally found someone to rent the spare room to…

Michelle: Those dots look ominous. Anyone I know? God, it’s not Larry with the big nose, is it? We put a stop to the whole friends with benefits thing a while back. He got clingy.

I go on Google for a second to search for images of Jay. As it happens, there are quite a few. The best one is of him standing on a stage in Vegas wearing jeans and a Sex Pistols T-shirt, the gun show well on display. I save it to my phone and then send it so Michelle.

Matilda: Him.

Michelle: OMFG! You’re joking me!

Matilda: No joke.

Michelle: I read about him in the news last week. So hot. I refuse to believe anyone that good looking could be evil.

Matilda: Eh, Justin Bieber?

Michelle: Bieber doesn’t count. He’s more like a semi-pretty lesbian.

Matilda: Thanks for that. Now I’m creeped out. Jay seems like a nice guy, though. You know the press is full of lies.

Michelle: Yeah, you’re right. But how did this come about?

Matilda: He came to the office looking for a solicitor and left with a landlord instead.

Michelle: Lol. Funny how often that happens. So, when can I come over and meet him? I’ll be all like, TOLO come over here and impregnate me with your sexy magician babies.

Matilda: TOLO…?

Michelle: Tits out, legs open.

Matilda: Okay. Sorry I asked.

Michelle: Seriously, I want to meet him. I promise I’ll behave.

Matilda: I believe that about as much as I believed Crossing Over with John Edwards.

Michelle: Hey, that was a good night out!

Matilda: Biggest waste of sixty euros I ever spent.

Michelle: Such a sceptic. Please let me meet him? I’ve never met anyone famous before.

Matilda: Famous is stretching it a little, but okay. I’ll ask if he wants to come for drinks with us on Friday.

Friday is mine and Michelle’s regular night out. It usually ends with her going off with some lucky fellow and me going home alone. Unsurprisingly, I’ve never managed to perfect the art of the one-night stand. I should invite her to this whole casino thing tomorrow, but selfishly I kind of want to keep Jay to myself for a while.

Michelle: Yay! Now I just need to figure out what to wear.

Matilda: Lol. Wear the black Chanel dress. That’s always a winner.

Michelle: I will. You never steer me wrong.

Matilda: Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow.

Michelle: You too. Xxx.

As I go to shut down the search page, I notice a link to a YouTube video, and I can’t help but to let my clicky finger do the walking. The title to the video is “Jay Fields: Freaking people out, making people hate him, and making people love him.” Bit of a mouthful.

I press “play,” and it goes to a street scene, a shopping district in Boston. Someone’s walking behind Jay, filming him as he strolls down the street in beige chinos and a grey T-shirt that shows off his tats. He’s got this confident swagger that gives me tingles in my chest. He’s one of those people that you can’t tell if you want to be with him or you just want to be him.

Two women approach, chatting and carrying shopping bags. They don’t notice him until he walks by them with one of those big takeaway Cokes. He knocks into the blonde by mistake, spilling the brown liquid all over her white top.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry,” says Jay as the woman gasps and gives him a death look.

“Fucking hell!” she exclaims as her friend stares on in surprise.

“I said I’m sorry. Hey, I can fix this, just give me a sec,” he says, and then starts circling his hand over the stain. The two women eye him like he’s a lunatic, and the camera zooms in on her top. Quite miraculously, the brown stain begins to shrink until it’s completely disappeared, like he drained it from the fabric by sheer force of will.

“What the….” the blonde breathes, staring at her previously destroyed garment, which is now as good as new.

Her friend has a big smile on her face as she spots the person with the camera behind Jay. “How did you do that? Come on, tell us! Are you guys filming for a show?”

The video cuts to another scene, this one inside a nightclub. It pans over crowds of people on the dance floor, above which is a massive screen flashing dozens of coloured lights. An epileptic’s nightmare. Jay walks through the crowd and approaches a girl with short red hair wearing a silver top. He’s got a deck of cards in his hands, doing this fancy shuffle that sends them sailing through the air from one hand into the other. People eye him up as he walks by, the women in particular.

He holds out the deck to the girl. “Pick a card.”

“What?” she shouts over the music.

“Go on, pick a card, but make sure you don’t let me see it.”

The girl looks slightly confused. “Oh, okay.” She picks a card and looks at it. Jay hands her a Sharpie.

“I want you to write down the names of your favourite song, your favourite colour, and your favourite animal.”

She nods, thinking for a second before scribbling onto the card, then looks up. “What now?”

“Put it in your pocket.”

Sliding it into her tight hot pants, she giggles and asks, “Is this some kind of magic trick?”

Jay steps closer to her and grins. “I bet I can guess what card you’ve got.”

The girl beams. “No way. There’s no way you could know.”

He eyes her, like he’s thinking really hard about it. “Eight of diamonds.”

Her smile grows wide with triumph. “Nope.”

“Shoot! How about queen of hearts?”

“Wrong again. I think you should buy me a drink.”

Jay steps back and rubs either side of his forehead. “Nah, nah, wait. I can do this.” He pauses and looks up, then points at the screen behind them, now displaying a gigantic, flashing two of clubs.

“Hey…is that your card?”

“Oh, my God!” the girl squeals as she turns around.

The music playing stops midway through a song, switching over to “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé.

“No way!”

“What?” Jay asks.

“This is the song I wrote down!”

That’s her favourite song? Talk about crap taste.

“It is?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.” He grins. “But hold your horses. I still gotta figure out your favourite colour and animal.”

All of a sudden every light in the place turns purple, and the two of clubs vanishes from the big screen, being replaced with the outline of a turtle. The redhead stares in awe.

“Fuck,” she gasps.

“Did I guess right?” Jay asks. “Let me see your card so I can check.”

Slack-jawed, the girl reaches inside her pocket but comes up empty. Her brow furrows. “It’s gone.” She looks around as though checking to see if anyone could have gotten close enough to steal it.

“Wait a sec, what’s that?” says Jay, pointing in the direction of the screen again, a good fifteen feet away. The camera follows. It’s flashing trippy colours like before, but right in the centre it looks like there’s something stuck to it. The girl squints at the screen, shaking her head and laughing like she doesn’t believe it.

“Fuck off, that can’t be my card.”

“Go get it and see,” Jay replies, gesturing for her to go forward.

After hesitating for only a moment, the girl starts to walk through the club. She climbs onto the stage where the DJ’s booth is and goes to the screen, grabbing the card that’s been stuck to it. She stares down at it in her hand as she walks back, her mouth open in disbelief.

“It’s my card,” she says, lifting it up to the camera to show her writing. There in a list it reads: Beyoncé “Single Ladies,” purple, and turtle. “I’m freaking out right now,” she goes on, running her hand through her hair.

You can hear whoever’s holding the camera chuckling, and Jay turns to smile at them. He really does have a gorgeous smile. Jay goes to the girl and throws his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get you that drink.”

The next clip is during the daytime, in a beer garden where there are a bunch of men and women wearing football jerseys watching a game. Jay stumbles through to a group of burly-looking men holding pints of beer. He’s unsteady on his feet and looks drunk off his face. Going to one of the men (the biggest and burliest of them all, by the way), he grabs the beer right out of his hand and brings it to his own mouth before downing the entire thing in one go.

The big guy looks at Jay like he can’t believe he just had the balls to do that. Then his expression turns angry.

“You fucking shithead, you just robbed my beer,” says the man, looking to his friends for support. “This fuck just took the beer right out of my hand.”

Seeming pleased with himself, Jay sets the empty glass primly down on a table just as one of the friends grabs his shoulder. “That’s not okay, dude.”

I was thirsty,” says Jay with a casual shrug, almost as though goading the man to hit him. No more than a second later he does, swinging his fist through the air, aiming straight for Jay’s face. Jay ducks and sidesteps out of the way before he’s hit. “Hey, no need to get violent. I have every intention of replacing it.”

“Go get me a fucking beer, then,” says the burly one.

“Okay, okay, just watch,” says Jay as he hovers his hand over the empty glass. “I bet you fifty bucks I can make your drink reappear without even touching this glass.”

“Yeah, you’ll make it reappear by marching your ass over to the bar and buying me a new one.”

“Nope. That’s not how I’m gonna do it. Do we have a bet?”

The other men seem interested now, their attention on Jay and Mr Burly, the football game long forgotten. “You’re a nut, but fine, it’s a bet.”

“Shake on it,” says Jay, thrusting out his hand, and they shake. I notice that he’s not acting drunk at all anymore, and I suddenly realise it was only an act before. Part of the ruse. The camera focuses in on Jay’s hand above the empty glass. He moves it in circles, like he’s about to conjure a rabbit from a hat (or beer from a glass, in this case).

Slowly, something brown starts to appear, and then liquid is rising from the bottom of the glass, moving upward. The men around him let out a whole bunch of expletives as Jay proves that he could do it. He just made the drink reappear, seemingly out of thin air. Now the glass is full again.

“You’re joking me,” Mr Burly exclaims, rubbing at his head, a confused look on his face.

“Ah, shit, I’ll give you fifty bucks and a beer,” says one of the others as he steps forward to slap Jay on the back. “That was amazing.”

“Do you do parties?” a woman, presumably one of their wives, asks. Jay gives her an arch look and shakes his head before all the men start crowding around to congratulate him on his trick. Mr Burly chuckles. “Okay, you win, but I ain’t drinking that beer. That was fucking freaky.”

The video ends and I sit back, a big stupid smile on my face. There are more videos that I could watch, but I decide not to, knowing I’ll be up all night if I do. Instead I do a quick read-up on how to play blackjack before passing out cold.

My alarm springs to life with its peaceful morning sounds and I wake up, having dreamt of Jay shrinking me to the size of a penny and dropping me into a pint of beer. I don’t think I’ll be finding any interpretations for that one in a book.

I hear the shower come on in the spare room, so I know he’s just woken up, too. There’s something exciting about knowing we’re going to be living our lives side by side for the next couple of months.

I go grab a shower, and by the time I’m dressed and ready for work, the smell of bacon is drifting up from downstairs. Dad never cooks breakfast; he always just grabs something easy, so I know it has to be Jay. My heels click on the wood floor as I walk into the kitchen, wearing a plain black shift dress and a cream cardigan, my hair down. I’m wearing minimal makeup, mostly just some concealer over my scar, lip gloss, and mascara.

I’m not a great fan of applying makeup in the morning. Or ever, really. I think that when you have to put it on to cover something up, it becomes more of a chore than an enjoyment. And then you’re always worrying if it’s rubbed off and people can see what you’ve been trying to hide.

When I was fifteen I had a crush on this boy who lived down the street. When I tried to talk to him one day on my way home from school, he pointed and asked me what was wrong with my neck. It wasn’t so much what he said, but the disgusted look on his face that made it a horrid experience. Ever since then I’ve always tried to cover it up.

In the kitchen, Jay’s standing by the cooker with his back turned to me, while Dad sits at the table, happily reading the paper and eating bacon and eggs. I admire the sexy, muscular lines of Jay’s back and get a fright when he asks, “You hungry, Watson?”

How did he know I was there? It must have been the telltale click of my heels.

Dad chuckles at the nickname, getting the meaning right off the bat. Ever since I was a child I’ve had a curious nature, always wanting to figure out mysteries, not that I’m really any good at it. Dad used to call me Harriet the Spy, but I always hated it. I like it when Jay calls me Watson, though. It kind of makes me feel like I could be his sidekick. And that makes me cool by association.

“A little,” I answer as he turns around and puts some food on a plate for me.

“I figured I’d pay you back for dinner last night,” he says, setting the plate down as I pour orange juice into a glass.

“That was thoughtful of you. Thanks,” I reply with a smile.

“I hear you two have a night of gambling planned,” says Dad, folding his newspaper and putting it away. “I used to love the slot machines when I was young. Never won much money. I don’t have the luck for it.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Hugh. You’re playing poker, you learn how to read your opponents. You’re playing roulette, you weigh your odds. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to be disastrously bad at blackjack,” I put in. “Isn’t there some easier game I could play?”

“You can watch me play a few rounds first. You’ll pick it up quick,” Jay reassures me with a warm smile as he takes a bite of toast.

“I’m not so sure, but I’ll take your word for it,” I say modestly, and Dad gets up from the table, done with his breakfast. “I’m going to catch the earlier bus, Matilda, but I’ll see you at the office.” He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and then goes to grab his coat and briefcase. I eye the battered leather, thinking I could get him a new one for Christmas.

The front door opens and shuts.

“You look nice today,” says Jay, and I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I focus on eating.

“Thanks,” I mumble, brushing my hair close to my neck.

“You do that a lot, you know.”

Now I glance up. “What?”

“Your hair. You run your hand through it a lot, moving it to hide your scar.”

“Oh.” Crap, he noticed the scar. I suppose he saw it when I’d had my hair up in a bun last night. “Yeah, it’s unconscious most of the time.” I shrug.

“I could teach you how to stop. It’s pretty easy.”

“That’s okay. It’s not like one of those awful habits, like biting your nails until they bleed or something.” Biting your nails until they bleed? Lovely imagery, Matilda.

Jay nods, still watching me eat. Right now I’m wishing I were anywhere but here. His attention is exciting, yet unnerving.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

A moment of silence elapses. “You’re not going to ask how I got the scar?” I say quietly.

“That’s your business. Though if you wanna tell me, I’m all ears.”

I give him a grateful look, not saying anything more. I’m not fond of reciting stories about myself, so in this case I don’t want to tell him. Perhaps another time when I’m feeling braver. Nobody feels brave at breakfast. Dinner is the meal of bravery. Lunch at a push.

We finish eating, and Jay offers to drive me to the office.

“I’m fine getting the bus,” I say, not wanting to put him out, even though I really want to go with him.

Jay cocks a brow. “You want to ride the boring bus or experience the fucking sexy beast that is my car again?”

An unexpected laugh erupts from my throat. “I think it’s a little early for experiencing sexy beasts.”

My response surprises me. There’s something about Jay that brings out my flirtatious side, and, to be honest, I never really knew I had one until now.

Jay steps closer, his smile matching my own. “It’s never too early for that.”

I shake my head and go to grab my handbag, needing to put some distance between us. He’s definitely unnerving. So unnerving. But in the best way.

“Okay, then, you can drive me.”

“Get ready for the ride of your life, Watson.”

I have to say, his confidence is quite the turn-on.