Just because it’s called “being on the game” that doesn’t mean it is a game. You can’t just play at it, Lizzie!’ Brent was furious. Lizzie got that. Her male house-mate had been an escort himself, on and off, and her wild escapade with John Smith must seem like a bit of an insult to him, and to men and women who lived the life and took it seriously. She looked from one of her companions to the other, hoping for some support from Shelley, the third house-sharer. But Shelley was just gawping at her as if she was a space alien, as if a pod person had overtaken her normally moderately sensible friend. ‘I meant to tell him, really I did. But things got a bit passionate, and there didn’t seem to be the right moment.’ Their black tailless cat, Mulder, leapt up onto her lap and automatically Lizzie began to stroke her. The rhythmic action, and the little feline’s soft purr, settled and centred her. ‘Also, it was patently obvious he wanted an escort. Not a one-night stand.
