Revelation

Part 1

"Gerry, wake up." A deep, guttural moan was my only answer. Stepping closer, I gave a hard finger-flick on the cheek pressing into the fluffy hotel pillow. "Come on, you bloated Scottish bastard, move your fat arse. The car will be here in an hour."

This time the lump under the covers heaved, attempting to pull them further over his shoulders and head. "Whose arse are you calling fat?"

"Yours, you pillock; I'm not the one who took a midnight dip in a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Now get up before I put this photo of you on Facebook and you lose all one hundred of your deluded purple-rinse fans."

This time the noise he made would be best described as a growl and if I hadn't known better, I might have been intimidated. As it was, I felt equal parts amused and aggravated. His head appeared from under the sky blue duvet cover, hair sticking out every which way till Sunday, bleary blue eyes peering through lids that looked as if they needed matchsticks to keep them up. He'd let his beard grow longer than usual and I was tempted to point out the grey in there, but I needed him up and at 'em, not arguing and preening in front of a mirror.

"You could do with some Ben and Jerry's," he grunted, eyeing me from top to toe.

I smiled sweetly. "Is that your charming Neanderthal way of calling me skinny?" Turning my jeans and tee-clad bod, I slapped myself lightly on the buttocks and looked over my shoulder at him. "I think this arse is okay; I've never had any complaints." For a moment his face showed a look I'd seen many, many times, both on screen and off – the one where he was about to deliver a smarmy line then smirk. I loved that look, though I'd never been foolish enough to let him know that. But it disappeared as he kept staring at my butt and a large hand lifted to run over his face and through his scarecrow hair, making me wonder what the hell was going through his head if it was powerful enough to chase away his cheek. Gerry never held back his insults to me, just as I didn't with him, it was how we were. How we'd always been, ever since I'd begun working for him. I turned back to him, frowning. "You okay, big guy?"

Shaking away whatever it was, he ran his hand over his jaw again. "Yeah."

"All right, then shower and dress please. Have you finished packing or do I have to throw your tidy-whities into your bag for you?" His luggage sat over near the desk but it didn't look terribly full.

Another grunt. "I'll do it; you'll be too busy stashing all the war paint you need to make yourself look half human."

Aaaaaand we're back. Grinning, I reminded him of the time before the car was due and left him to it, heading two doors down to my own room.

---

"Jo, let me past."

I snuggled deeper into my travel pillow and blanket, ignoring the deep voice beside me.

"Jo, come on, I gotta hit the head."

Oh jeez. "Christ, did you get your bladder at Asda? You only went like an hour ago."

"Didn't know you're keeping tabs, short stuff. Seriously, though, I think keeping track of how often I need to piss might just be going above and beyond, you know?"

Merely snorting in reply, I retracted my legs from their stretched out position so Mr Six Two could get past me and into the aisle. There was no point settling back down, knowing I'd only have to move again when he came back, so I sat up and looked at my watch, trying to calculate time differences and flight times and work out what hour it was in London and how long we had to go until we arrived. Whatever it was, it couldn't come soon enough.

"Coming through."

I tucked my legs in again then as soon as Gerry was seated, thumped his arm. "And don't call me Short Stuff; I'm five foot five, that's exactly average height for a woman my age in England and taller than average for Scotland and Wales."