Does that meanhe likes what he sees?
That he’s a dope fiend? Drunk?
Chill out. Calm down. You’ll come off as crazy or dumb.
And I’ve decided, soaking wet and casual he’d looked superhot, but up close this evening, he’s simply breathtaking. He has a bone structure so defined his face could’ve been carved from marble but for the tones of his sun-kissed skin. I follow the line of sandy stubble against his high cheek bones, noticing as his mouth hitches in one corner. Nowthat’ssomething the great masters couldn’t capture; a look of pure confidence. And as if that isn’t bad enough, my skin begins to prickle from his nearness, thoughts and possibilities climbing through my mind like a vine. Images and sensations blooming, then expanding. What would it be like to climb once more into his bed? Would his touch be as good as I recall?
Bed? Hell, in a dark alleyway, up against a wall.
‘How are ya’?’
Desperately horny? Certifiable? Ready to climb you like a pole?
None of these are appropriate to his generic enquiry, but screw me sideways, I can’t think. It’s like the low rumbling burr of his accent has made me forget how to form whole words.
‘Hi.’ I wet my lips, not for effect, but because it’s impolite to lick a stranger this early on.
‘Darlin,’ have we met?’ he asks, tracking the motion of my tongue. ‘Do I know you?’
My heart misses a beat but I realise it’s not that he knows me from years ago, but rather recently at the hair salon. And even then, by his expression, he’s not sure. I knew this hair cut was fabulous; he can’t place where he knows me from. For some reason, this seals the deal for me.
‘You don’t, but you could,’ comes my immediate, if reckless, response.Hells bells. Why couldn’t I have just sidled up to the bar for a drink? Struck up a conversation like a regular girl? He looks a little taken aback though recovers well, but I’m probably also throwing out fuck-me-pheromones like a lap dancer interviewing for a job.
‘Sure.’ His answer is accompanied by a light shrug, though I choose to ignore the preceding brief pause. He was likely deciding on my level of psycho. ‘Pull up a pew.’ He gestures to the stool behind me and I climb onto it with the eagerness of a pre-schooler at story time. ‘Just for clarification,’ he adds, ‘are we talking... in the biblical or the figurative sense?’
‘I’m sorry? In the w—what sense?’ I’m definitely making no sense.
‘This friendship offer of yours,’ he clarifies with an intense sort of look. ‘Now, I’m not sayin’ I don’t need more friends, but...’
His gaze does that slow sweep of my body again and I swear it feels as though he’s actually caressing my skin. I shiver in response and try very hard not to let my eyes roll closed fromallthe feels.Good job I’m not endowed more like Nat, I’d probably poke his eye out with a nipple right now.
His expression ends in a lazy sort of grin, the picture of casual innocence until he grazes his bottom lip with his teeth. It’s like some kind of sexy throw down.
Challenge accepted.
Only, Player One... now doesn’t know what to say, because her heart is beating a mile a minute and her flirting skills are stuck in the last decade. It’s as if intellectually, I know the steps, but I suddenly lose all co-ordination once the dance mat’s unrolled.
‘So you’re not the friendly kind?’Wow. Sultry tone for the win. At least I got that right.
‘Exactly the opposite, darlin’. I can be friendly. Real friendly.’ This he almost purrs. Is it me, or does he suddenly seem closer?Definitely closer. As he leans in, I can smell the aftershave on his skin, and get another flash of the colourful ink lurking beneath the neck of his shirt, which makes me all the more curious. ‘But you keep feeding me these lines and you’re gonna end up wanting to smack me in the face.’
God, I wouldn’t. It’s too lovely.
And by the sound of his hearty chuckle, I actually said that. Not thought it. Said the actual words. Possibly a little breathlessly.
‘So that’s an invitation?’ His chuckle settles into a cocky half-grin.
‘Sometimes invitations are unnecessary. You know, like when sometimes you just pop in.’
Can you see that girl at the bar, the one with the hot guy standing close by? Yeah, you’re right. It is a little weird that she has her eyes closed, especially when she could be looking at him. But, this isn’t a good moment for her. Or maybe, as his hand rests on her shoulder and he leans in, it isn’t as bad as she thinks.
‘I hate to break this to you, but if yourpreviousfriendshave only popped in, you’ve been hanging out with the wrong sort of man.’
My eyes flutter open. ‘What sort of man are you, I wonder?’ Judge me how you will. I know I’ll be judging myself later on.
‘With any luck, he’ll be like a snow storm,’ says a familiar voice.
As I turn my head, he straightens, and there stands Natasha sporting a smile the size of a half gateau.
