Lissa grimaces. That fucking scooter. She should never have got on it in the first place.
Mark glances between them again. ‘Right. So … you’ve met?’
Scooter Man picks up his beer, gesturing with it as Lissa does her best not to squirm in her seat. ‘Remember last weekend, when we were in that gin bar and I left but you hung on to wait for—’
‘Me,’ Lissa pipes up, not sure she wants him to finish that sentence.
‘You,’ the man agrees, and the intense way he focuses in on her makes her wish she hadn’t spoken. He laughs again. ‘Small world.’
‘Small city,’ she mutters, a little darkly. Scooter Man’s lips twitch.
‘So is this a story I’m going to like, or …?’ Mark trails off pointedly.
For God’s sake, her cheeks are red, aren’t they? ‘It’s not—’
‘I saved her,’ Scooter Man – Mark’s friend, presumably – interrupts.
Lissa scowls. ‘You didn’t save me, you …’ She stops, takes a breath. ‘I lost control of my scooter slightly and you … pulled me over,’ she says, as diplomatically as she can.
‘There was a taxi behind you.’
‘Right.’
‘You would have been hit.’
Jesus, she should have turned around as soon as she saw Mark wasn’t alone. ‘Okay, fine.’ She holds up her hands in a sign of surrender. ‘You were trying to help, I know.’
‘And you shouted at me for it,’ he points out mildly, taking a sip of beer.
‘Didyou?’ Mark asks, pulling back as if to get a good look at her. ‘Now that’s interesting.’
She closes her eyes, wishing she could turn back time, just five minutes, and not come into this pub. Although actually, if she could turn back time, she could go back to the scooter incident and stop that from happening. And really, if she’s turning back time, there’s a better date to turn back to, isn’t there?
She opens her eyes to see both men still looking at her.
‘Right,’ she says, trying to keep her voice even. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that. Shouting at you, I mean.’ She pulls a hand through her hair. ‘I wasn’t quite … myself that day, so maybe I made a mistake or two.’
‘Is that so?’ Mark asks.
If her cheeks were any hotter, she could cook a steak on them, medium rare. ‘Not you. I didn’t mean …’ She puts her head in her hands. ‘I’m going to get a drink. Possibly several.’
Mark laughs, puts an arm around her shoulders. It’s an easy gesture, though she feels herself stiffen automatically, not used to the casual contact. ‘Don’t worry, I’m only teasing.’ He gives her a squeeze. ‘I’ll get you one. What’ll it be?’
‘Ah …’ She glances at Scooter Man, still sitting opposite her.
Mark gives her a guilty smile. ‘I was fifty-fifty whether you’d actually show.’
‘I was fifty-fifty whether I would too,’ she admits, coming out with it before she can stop herself. She hears a quiet snort from Scooter Man, one she’s not sure was supposed to be audible.
Mark puts a hand to his heart. ‘Ouch.’ But he’s laughing, thankfully.
‘Oh, I see how it is,’ Scooter Man says, nodding. ‘I’m the backup date, right?’
‘You said one drink after work,’ Mark points out. ‘Technically this is one drink, and it is after work.’
‘Half a drink,’ Scooter Man says, looking down at his pint – which, to be fair, is indeed still half full.
‘You finish it. Lissa, what would you like?’
