At the mention of his name, my stomach does an anticipatory flip, though outwardly, I project something a little like an iceberg. Serene. Reflective. Cool. ‘Going on?’ I manage to say, though as a response, it’s not very genuine. When I think of Flynn—see afore mentioned wank bank—the things that go through my head are a little more like.
Hard. Glorious.
Absolutely annoying.
A little bit too full of himself.
And a little bit too much length to fill me.
See point one re: hard and glorious.
Yep, Flynn is a big boy. If he was to star in one of my films, I could meta-tag it ashung.Not very inventive, but as a description, it’s pretty apt. I could also usecockyandannoyingandneeds a slap, but that wouldn’t help my subscribers find their joy.
Or course, I don’t say any of this. Just like I don’t tell her that Flynn has stolen my ability to orgasm. Because that would just be mad, even if it feels true. I thought yesterday’s gardener shenanigans had put an end to my drought, but it seems like it was only a temporary reprieve. Because this morning, when I’d attempted to play back his visit, a sort of Flynn/Atonementmashup, accompanied by a little two-fingered knuckle shuffle, frustration struck again.
At this rate, I’m going to need therapy.
‘Don’t play innocent with me.’ Paisley interrupts my thoughts sounding a littletoohappy. ‘You two are like... explosive.Ka-pow!’ I recoil as she slaps her palms together before doing a weird sort or jazz-hand thing when she pulls them apart. ‘Sparks and fireworks and all that sort of stuff.’ I’d forgotten how you were at the wedding, but it all came flooding back on Saturday afternoon.’
‘Oh, that.’ I nod. ‘You’re right. We’re highly combustible on account of not being able to stand each other. We’re not a good idea. Like dynamite and a match.’
‘Apart from that one time,’ she taunts as she slides the menu into her open palm.
‘I thought we agreed that what happened in St Lucia, stayed in St Lucia. Wedding hookups are almost inevitable.’ I’m not going to tell her about yesterday—I’m not!
‘Even with people you don’t like?’
‘Apparently so.’
Start with a romantic beach wedding, add a little sun, a lot of rum, and a whole heap of hot looks and dangerous chemistry, and the result is the hottest one-night stand I’ve ever experienced.The same hot one-night stand that has damaged my solo sex life, it seems.
‘Stop looking at me like that,’ I add blandly.
‘You mean, like I’m not sure who you’re trying to fool?’
I fold my arms on the table and lean forward, my denial hitting the air in a rush. ‘He just rubs me up the wrong way.’
‘I’ll bet he’d just love to rub you up inallthe ways,’ she answers, sniggering.
‘Ew. Bad pun alert.’ Ella’s amused tone pulls both of our attentions to where she stands at the edge of our table. ‘Do me a favour and never pun again in my presence.’ Pulling her denim jacket from her arms, she slides onto the banquette next to Paisley. ‘Shove up, skinny butt.’
‘Like your ass is big,’ Paisley grumbles good-naturedly.
‘It needs more space than yours. This place looks nice,’ she says, glancing around at the industrial chic interior of pale floors, exposed brick and steel beams.
Londoner Ella is someone pretty new to my social circle. As the wife of Mac, one of Keir’s best friends, she was bound to become an acquaintance of Paisley’s at least. But she’s become more than that, the sweetheart that she is, and I’m only surprised her friendship extended to me. Not that I’m unfriendly—quite the opposite. I have lots of acquaintances, just not many friends.
‘You’ve escaped without your brood, too, I see.’ My words are a touch droll, maybe to hide my disappointment. Ella’s daughter, Juno, is the most adorable toddler and Louis, her stepson, is four-foot-three inches of pure inquisitiveness, and his French accent is as adorable as his gap-toothed grin. Broody, me? Absolutely. Though that’s not up for discussion today, either.
Ella nods enthusiastically, taking the drinks menu from Paisley’s hand. ‘Mac’s parents are down from Scotland, and they’ve taken our tribe for the day, thankfully. The addition of children does not improve a girly brunch. Besides, Mac seemed very excited when I told him I’d be making the most of the afternoon by drinking lots of cocktails.’
Paisley snorts. ‘Like he needs to get your ass drunk to get you naked.’
‘Maybe cocktails make me a little more compliant.’
‘And by that, she means all hot and bendy,’ Paisley interjects, sniggering again.
Mac is a great bear of a man who owns a chain of gyms, but somehow, when Paisley suggests “hot and bendy” I don’t think she’s talking about Bikram yoga.
