Because, yes, right at that moment—hell, right now!—I wanted him to throw me up against the wall and really give it to me. Hard and multiple times, preferably.
‘I will,’ he answered oh-so reasonably. ‘I’ll give it to you. Later... if you’re a good girl.’
Then he walked away—walked away!—leaving me confused and needy and wondering if I’d stashed a spare pair of panties in my massive bag.
We didn’t speak in the cab, other than when he asked me if I carried gardening tools in my purse.Just rude.I know it’s large, but it carries everything I need on a day-to-day basis. And if he’s not careful, he might find said bag wrapped around his head. Even if he does look sexy now that he’s unbuttoned.
Well, he’s taken off his jacket so now he’s in a vest and shirt sleeves, the cuffs of which he’s rolled to reveal a leather strapped watch. One of those complicated types with a million dials. There’s also a little forearm tease going on.
Arm porn: if you’re not in shirt sleeves, you’re not doing it right.
It should be a crime to look that hot.
‘You’re very pensive tonight.’ Over the loud music, Fin’s voice brings me back to the moment. Now that we’re in the club, she seems to have sobered up. I, in contrast, seem to have gone the opposite way.
I’m not spoiling her celebration night with tales ofwoe-is-Bea. And I’m certainly not going to spill my guts with Rory and Kit sitting close by.
‘You sure you’re okay?’
I raise my finger to indicate she wait as I bring my glass to my mouth. My cocktail—not my first—is sweet and tart, and I decide after a couple of more of these, maybe tomorrow’s overthinking will be taken care of, too.
Hangover, here I come.
‘I am sort of miserable, aren’t I?’ I take another mouthful and place my glass down before pasting on a smile. ‘I think I need one or three more of these.’ I tap the glass and shudder; the heaviness of the alcohol hits me quite suddenly, warming me from the inside out. Meanwhile, her blue eyes watch, maybe expecting me to elaborate.Not tonight.‘I’m fine, really. Shall we dance again?’
‘Yes!’ Her expression lightens immediately. She even breaks out a fist pump. ‘Let’s bust a few shapes on the dance floor and show them how it’s done.’
‘Steady on, slugger.’ Rory laughs from behind. ‘Dunno about shapes, but you nearly busted my nose.’
Her response is to lean in and kiss him. ‘I kissed the boo-boo better, see?’
‘Did I say my nose? I meant a bit farther down.’ He playfully cups his hand between his legs.
‘Good try, but no,’ Fin says, shaking her head with a smile.
‘God loves a trier,’ he says cheekily.
‘How about youtryto get our glasses filled while Bea and I dance?’
How many drinks have I had? One glass of wine or two? Plus a cocktail? The beer in the restaurant? Not enough to be drunk, by any stretch.
‘What was that saying?’ I tug on Fin’s hand.‘Wine before beer makes you queer?’I giggle childishly.
‘And wine after liquor makes you sicker,’ calls Fin over her shoulder.
‘Oh, I’m screwed,’ I say to her smiling face.
It’s hard to recount what I’ve drunk and in what order, but what I do know is that I feel sort of liquid and light as we reach the dance floor, my last mouthful hitting the spot as I stand. My thoughts aren’t so heavy, and my movements seem loose. It’s a good feeling, I decide. Like my corset of worry has been unlaced.
We step down onto the dance floor, and we dance. Lord, how we dance.
The past few years should have been spent like this, drinking cocktails and dancing with my friends. Uninhibited and free, rather than chest deep in study and moving from one side of the world to another to follow a man.
A man who’s barely touched me this past year.
But I’m not going to think about him.
The beat of the music pulses through the soles of my feet, rising through the rest of my body like it’s alive. It’s been so long since I’ve danced; I lose myself almost immediately, getting a bit of a shock as a giggling Fin grabs my hand.
