High Heels & Pink Glitter (the heavily edited version)

Butch & bullying

March 2016

That famous Nate Walker charm strikes again... Nate's best friend often took the piss out of him for the terrible first impression he tended to have on women. Alone once more in the coffee shop, Nate reflected ruefully that his appeal did not appear to have improved.

Kelly would have left the café and immediately phoned Nell to bitch about him. First, there had been that stupid remark about carbs at the party back in January and now this—a misjudged comment about writing.

Tact meet Nate, as Adam frequently said, you two should get tae know each other. Dinnae keep being strangers!

A pity too, because he'd found himself staring at Kelly as she ate the cake, idly wondering what those magnificent breasts looked like naked, doing his best not to let his gaze slip below her collarbones.

He sprang to his feet. Mrs A wanted him to train her today at her home—a sprawling villa in Pollokshields. He then needed to pick up Ross and Erin. And figure out how to broach the subject of Erin's recent Instagram post, which Jenny had brought to his attention.

Fifteen-year-old girls. How on earth did you speak to them?

He arrived at the city centre NCP block, where he had parked his car, the boot of it filled with portable fitness equipment. The ticket he'd paid for lasted another two hours because he hadn't known how long the chat with Kelly would take, and had not anticipated it concluding that soon.

A couple in a car pulled into the space next to him. The young woman in the driving seat got out, and flashed him a bright smile.

"How long are ye staying here?"

The man in the passenger seat slammed his door shut. "What business is that o' yours, pal?"

Nate held his hands up, fingers spread wide. "Nothing sinister! I was just gonnae suggest swapping tickets. Mine still has two hours left on it. If you gie me yours, I'll only need to pay the minimum."

The woman grinned at him. "That's so kind! We're popping into John Lewis to pick up a new telly, so that shouldn't take longer than two hours."

She tried to offer him the money for the minimum charge, but he shook his head. He watched as they walked away, the man snarling at the woman that she had made a show of herself flirting with Nate.

Nate, who had lived with a woman who rifled through his pockets, checked his phone and emails and even spied on him at work, exhaled a small sigh that this was no longer the case. Loneliness was far more bearable than someone's else's irrational jealousy.

Mrs A replied straightaway when he texted her asking if he could turn up early. Twenty-five minutes later, she opened her front door to him, a huge beam lighting up her features.

"Why are you grinning like a Cheshire cat?" he asked, immediately suspicious. "We're doing high-intensity interval training today so it's no' going to be pleasant."

Mrs A laughed. She had a high-pitched, barking giggle. Nate often wondered how Ronnie stood it. Maybe he did his best never to make her laugh.

"Oh, you! Always so butch and bullying! C'mon through. I thought we'd use the pool area."

Naturally, Ronnie and Elizabeth Armstrong had a swimming pool. Because the west coast of Scotland didn't have many days warm enough to swim outdoors, it was housed in a massive, glass-ceilinged extension, surrounded by reclining deckchairs. There was also a changing room nearby, as well as a weight-lifting area with rowers, a treadmill and a Smith machine.

They walked through her house to get to the pool. The room was always comfortably warm, thanks to the glass ceiling and a heating system Nate suspected had a carbon footprint the size of Glasgow.