Last night, his grip on my hips had been punishing, his movements fierce as he’d begun to move harder and deeper into me. He’s expression was so dark as his brows had knitted in concentration in that way I knew he was close.Close but not willing to give in.Just thinking about it, thinking about him, makes my insides tighten and stomach flutter because there is nothing quite as breathtaking as when he finally let’s go. When he finally gives in and lets his climax wash through him. I’m filled with such a sense of satisfaction as I feel him pulsing inside me, and he holds me so tightly, almost as though he’s worried I might slip away.
But that’s sex with Archer. Everyday Archer isn’t the same. It’s so strange how I used to think of him as being all surface and no depths. It was such an unfair judgement because the man has complexities I’m not sure I’ll ever understand.
But yes, last night.
‘I was more than ready for fluffy pancakes.’ After working up such an appetite in the bedroom. Not that I got them in the end.
‘You should be the size of the house,’ Vee mutters, examining my brunch before returning to her eggwhite omelette and dandelion salad or whatever else that is accompanying those slices of halloumi. Meanwhile, I have granary toast, avocado smash, free ranged poached eggs and grilled heirloom tomatoes.
‘Anyway, pancakes were off the menu because before we’d even sat down, Archer told the waitress that we were there to see the Mayor of Scaredy-Cat Ville.’
‘Was he drunk?’
I send Vee an unimpressed look.
‘No, but I felt a little puzzled myself when we were ushered to one of those fifties American style fridges and basically shoved inside.’
‘No way!’ Daisy cries, clapping her hand over her mouth.
‘Turns out, that was the way down to Scaredy-Cat Ville.’
‘Was it in the basement?’ Daisy asks and I nod. ‘I’ve heard about that place—the cocktails are supposed to be really decent. Was it any good?’
‘It was, if you don’t mind me saying, the cat’s whiskers.Ba-boom-ching!’ Both girls groan but I carry on regardless. ‘At first glance, it looked a bit like a preppers bunker. You now, pipes running along the ceiling, mismatched furniture, and stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls.’
‘It sounds delightful,’ Vivi drawls.
‘No, it really was! A little bit Narnia and a little bit redneck. Cocktails to die for and such delicious crispy calamari.’
‘I think I’ve heard of the crew that run the place,’ Daisy says cheerfully. ‘They’ve also got another one that’s at the back of a laundromat. It’s done out to look like a bachelor pad back in the eighties. Kitsch furniture and retro food and cocktails served by barman with moustaches like Tom Selleck.’
‘God,’ Vee adds, sitting back in her chair. ‘Last week, I took clients to a bar that had been recommended to me, and when we got there, it looked like a nana’s bungalow. What is it with these days? What can’t we enjoy our drinks somewhere chic?’
‘We live in London, Vee. We can get sleek and shiny anywhere.’
‘I don’t want to sit on a sofa picked up from Oxfam. Who knows where it was before? Or who died sitting in it.’
‘You’re such a snob.’ Daisy titters. ‘I quite like slumming it. But then again, I do currently live in a building site.’
‘It’s still that bad?’ I ask, my forkful of posh eggs on toast poised in mid-air.
‘Builders are a nightmare to deal with. They’re like bad one-night stands; they promise you that they’re laying studs, that they can totally ream your pipes, but when push comes to shove, all they deliver is a little lacklustre hammering.’
‘What do you know about one-night stands?’ Vee demands with an arched brow.
‘Everything I learned, I learned from you, dearie.’ Daisy raises her smoothie as though in tribute before turning her attention to me. ‘But tell us about your week, Heather. You’re the one with the exciting goings on.’
‘Yes, anymore emails from the blond bombshell?’ If I didn’t know Vee better, I’d think her nose was out of joint. She’s usually the one with news, gossip, and stories to regale. She’s the one with the exciting life. But I do know better as I nod in answer to her question, my mouth currently full of food.
‘Does Archer know when that man writes to you?’
‘Barney,’ I say. She’d better get used to his name. ‘If Archer asks, I tell him.’ I dab the corners of my mouth a little more demurely than usual as I try to ensure my response isn’t victim to my clumsy tongue. ‘I don’t readily offer up that I’ve received anything from him. It seems a little tasteless.’
‘It’s cruel,’ Vee answers in a cool tone.
‘You’re wrong.’
‘You’re sleeping with one man and getting love letters from another.’
