by Laura Riley
“It’s lovely to see you again after all this time,” I say. “My brother talks about you all the time.” That’s a lie. All Cole talks about is Cole, and occasionally Seth.
Rick stands. “I’d better head back to Seth and Dave, or they’ll think I’ve abandoned them. Ladies, it’s been lovely to meet you all. Maybe I’ll come join you later.” He winks at Amber before heading back to his friends.
“Bring your friend, and the bald one,” Chelsea calls after him.
Amber snorts with laughter. “‘And the bald one?’ You’ve said some stupid shit, Chelse, but that—”
“I stood right in front of Seth,” I blurt out, flopping back in the booth, “and he didn’t even notice me.”
An arm snakes around my shoulder. “Girlfriend, the night is young,” Amber says. “Get some drinks inside you and then get your ass up on that dance floor. Make sure you dance where he can’t miss you.”
“And then what?”
“Then cast your invisible line and reel him in.”
Somehow I doubt it’s going to be that simple. The guy didn’t pay one speck of attention to me. This whole evening is turning out to be a disaster.
Seth
Tonight, I’m celebrating my divorce in the very club where I met my ex-wife. Talk about irony.
Up until now I’ve avoided eye contact with anyone other than my two friends sitting to my right. Apart from the blonde, no girl has attempted to talk to me. Every time I see a blonde, all I see is my ex-wife staring back. Anna hurt me pretty fucking bad.
Just as I’m about to order another shot, the DJ blasts the next tune. It’s not just any song he’s playing. It’s the same track that was playing when I first laid eyes on my ex. She was wearing a leopard-print skin-tight dress, and boy did she look like she owned the dance floor. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me that if I turn around, she’ll be there. I glance at the dance floor, scanning the people dancing, and my eyes go wide.
When did she get here?
Not Anna, but someone else. Someone I haven’t seen in years.
Lizzie Crowley?
Rick’s eyes burn into me. “I hope you’re not looking at who I think you are.” His voice is laced with accusation as he hollers over the loud music.
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. On the dance floor I see only her, Elizabeth Crowley. What’s she doing here? Didn’t she move to London after uni? Maybe she’s just visiting.
“Yo.” Rick waves his hand in front of my face. “Put your damn tongue back in your mouth.” He downs his pint. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Listen to your friend, Seth. Stop staring at Lizzie’s ass and get yours out of here.
But I don’t listen to Rick, and I don’t listen to the voice of reason in my head. Instead, I swig my beer, set the empty glass down, and make my way across the dance floor. To her.
The music is blaring, and strobe lights bounce off her body, highlighting every delicious curve. Her eyes are closed, her arms in the air as she sways from side to side. Wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a sequinned halter top, she’s lit up like a damn Christmas tree, and I’ve always been a sucker for Christmas.
I make no secret of the fact that I’m watching her, and that I like what I see. I join her on the dance floor and tower over her petite body. Her shoulder-length brown hair falls in spirals to her shoulders. Her face is the shape of a heart, her nose small, yet slightly upturned at the tip. Her perfect Cupid’s bow lips are painted fuck-me red.
Suddenly, her eyes open and recognition sparks in her gaze. She smiles right at me. Fuck! When did Cole’s baby sister turn into a beautiful, sexy woman?
“Lizzie Crowley!” I shout over the music. “Last time I saw you, you were at secondary school, and you were this tall.” I hover my hand in the air, estimating her height that last time I saw her. The fact that my hand is in line with her breasts hasn’t escaped my notice. Her breasts are a perfect handful.
She attempts to stand taller, puffing out her chest in the process. “I’m all grown up now.”
Stepping back, I allow my gaze to slowly rove over her body… a body she’s grown into. I’m a bit drunk and the part of my brain that’s supposed to help me reason isn’t working very well right now, so I’m openly staring.
“You certainly are,” I say. “Definitely all grown up.”
She swats my arm, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s blushing.
My ex, Anna, never blushed. She loved compliments. She was gorgeous, and she knew it. Beneath all her layers of foundation, fake tan, and hair extensions, she had an ugly soul.
I shake my head, removing my focus from Lizzie’s tits to her caramel-brown eyes. “It’s been a long time.”
She smiles. “Not that long. You saw me about two hours ago at the bar and completely ignored me.”
I run my hand over my beard, I honestly don’t recall seeing her at the bar, only Blondie and her lame attempt to get our attention. I was too wrapped up in bad memories to pay attention to the present. But I’m paying attention now.
“Want to dance?” I ask her.
She motions from me to her. “We are dancing.”
Well, shit, she’s right. In this moment I don’t feel like the guy whose divorce was made official today. I don’t feel like the guy who has to work a sixty-hour week to make ends meet. I’m thirty-three years old, newly single, and ready to mingle. I laugh.
Single and ready to fucking mingle?
God, I’m so drunk.
My sister, Darcy, was the one who insisted I go out tonight. She said I needed it, and she was right. I also needed the six pints and three shots. But more importantly, I need to get laid. Lizzie, however, is one girl who is strictly off limits. Her brother, my best friend—Cole—would kill me if I so much as touched her.
I work my finger up and down the strap of her halter-neck top and notice it’s tied at the back of her neck. I imagine how easy it would be to tug on that little ribbon and watch the straps fall one at a time. I can see she’s not wearing a bra underneath from the lack of straps and the way her nipples pebble under the thin fabric.
Stop thinking about her tits, douchebag.
As I glance around the bar, Rick and Dave are nowhere to be seen. No doubt they’ve moved on to another club. That’s loyalty for you, but people aren’t loyal, and I learnt that the hard way.
My gaze returns to Lizzie. “You’re not here alone, are you? Where are your friends?”
She points behind me, at a booth in the corner. I turn to see two busty blondes, one of them being the blonde from earlier. Lo and behold, Rick and Dave are perched at their sides. The guys are the same age as me, and I’m guessing the girls are around the same age as Lizzie. It kinda makes me feel less awkward about the age gap.
I’m not doing anything wrong, I remind myself. It’s just one dance.
Dave and Rick join us on the dance floor, along with the two blondes. Lizzie’s friends each flash me a glance and then waste no time grinding against my friends. Or rather grinding against Rick, while Dave attempts to join in. It’s comical to watch. Dave isn’t bad-looking, but Rick is a show-stealer. He’s built like a tank, tall and muscular from all the hours he puts in at the gym. His dark hair has been sleeked back and secured in a manbun. He’s no stranger to the dance floor—his moves are smooth.
Before long, one dance turns into two, and two into a dozen. Rick buys our group a fishbowl—a humongous glass bowl filled to the brim with spirits and cranberry juice. The sober members of the group get tipsy, and the drunk get louder. We’re having a great night. I make small talk with the girls, Amber and Chelsea, but I know I’m standoffish with them. I can’t help it. The more I drink, the more they remind me of my ex.
By two am the music is quieter and the songs begin to slow as we approach closing time. Dave makes out with a redhead to my left, while Rick and the blondes are nowhere to be seen. The space between me and Lizzie gets smaller and smaller, our bodies grinding together. She gaz
es up at me with expectation and without thinking I lean down, capturing her chin, and brush my lips against hers. It’s so quick it doesn’t even qualify as a real kiss… just a brief brush of skin against skin. Just a tiny taste. Not enough to count. Not enough to get me in trouble with her brother. Or at least I hope not. My thoughts in that moment are far from innocent. I’m picturing what I’d like to do to her. She’s far too drunk, though. Even I’m too drunk.
So stop touching her already.
I put some much-needed space between us and shove my hands in my pockets. “I need air.”
Confusion skates over her features. Without a word I take her hand, grab my jacket from the bar stool, and lead her down a flight of stairs and out back to the beer garden. It’s a small bricked area with minimal lighting. A few people linger, puffing on cigarettes or chatting on mobile phones. I think there are more people loitering, but dim lighting conceals them from view.
Lizzie and I sit on a small wooden bench underneath a wall-mounted light that flickers on and off every few seconds. The fresh air is sobering. I look to Lizzie, who’s shivering. I slip off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Her makeup has faded from earlier, her mascara has smudged under her eyes, her fuck-me red lipstick now resides on the glasses of wine she was drinking from. She looks younger now, and the arm I was about to place around her stays in my lap.
We’re alone, and for the first time in a long time I’m lost for words. Lizzie sits in total silence; I get the impression that she’s waiting for me to talk. I guess I could ask her what she’s been up to. “So, what have you been doing with yourself?”
Lizzie shrugs. “You know, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” She smiles awkwardly. “I’m a schoolteacher. I teach art at the local high school.”
I pass her a sideward glance. “You always used to write my name in clouds.”
They were hearts, not clouds, but I won’t embarrass her. She was a cute kid, but so annoying. One day every annoying kid grows up, and Lizzie turned out to be one fine woman.
She begins fumbling with her phone, and finally tilts the screen in my direction. “Here, let’s swap mobile numbers.”
I can see she’s still keen. I stare at the screen for a beat. I haven’t given a girl my mobile number since Anna. Reluctantly I take the phone from her and start typing in my number. What’s the harm in texting?
“There you go.” I pass her back the phone. I’m itching to put my arm around her, be close to someone. I need something to do with my hands, so I pull a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and light up.
Lizzie doesn’t move away, but instead rests her head against my arm.
We sit in silence and I can see her toying with the material of my jacket. “Eighteen,” she says out of nowhere.
I frown, not following. “Eighteen?”
“I was eighteen when I last saw you.”
How can I forget? If the truth be told, I haven’t. I was twenty-seven. Lizzie dropped in where we were working one day. She’d brought sandwiches for Cole, but he’d driven out to grab lunch, so she’d missed him. She offered the sandwiches to me, and I was only too happy to accept. We spent my lunch hour talking in the front seat of my work van, laughing and eating and having a great time. The thought of kissing her then crossed my mind, but I just couldn’t do it. She’d just turned eighteen, and besides, she was my best friend’s baby sister. When I looked at her, I imagined Cole’s reaction to the two of us together. There was a spark between us even then, and after tonight, I can definitely say there’s an even stronger one now.
Lizzie always has been and always will be an itch that I can’t and won’t scratch. Damn it, I should never have danced with her tonight.
She’s waiting for me to respond, but I don’t. Instead I put out the cigarette against the side of the bench.
I look down when she places her hand on my knee. It’s a perfectly innocent gesture on her part, but I can’t help imagining her hand skimming higher up my thigh to my crotch. I’m so hard right now it’s all I can think about.
“Do you want to do this again sometime?” she says. “We could all meet up again.”
I know I can’t let this go any farther, so I decide to let her down gently. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
She scrunches up her face. “Why?”
“Because I’m not going to get myself involved with another female ever again. You’re trouble, all of you.” I need to remember that not every woman is Anna, but it’s hard. My heart took a beating, and I fear it’ll never beat again.
I blow out, feeling I need to explain myself so she doesn’t think I’m a complete tosser. “My divorce came through today. To be honest I’m not looking for anything serious. I was just hoping to get laid tonight. I’ve not had sex in a very long time, and—”
Wait, did I actually say that out loud?
She doesn’t move for a second.
Maybe I thought it?
My jacket is strewn across the bench. Tears stream down her face.
Shit.
“I can’t believe you’d think so little of me.”
“Hold on, Lizzie, I didn’t mean—”
My words are taken from me. I don’t see her hand, but I feel the slap.
Without another word, she takes off. The two blondes appear out of nowhere and run after her. The clicking of their stiletto shoes on the concrete disappears with them, and I’m sitting alone, holding my cheek.
Clapping his hands, Rick steps out of the shadows. “Smooth, real smooth,” he says, humour in his voice. “Let’s round up Dave and head to mine for a nightcap.”
I’ve not consumed nearly enough alcohol to call it a night. “I have a better idea.”
Lizzie
I’ve never felt so angry, so humiliated. The tears that fall from my eyes are tears of disappointment from years of hope gone up in flames. That’s what I get for playing with Fate. Guess she didn’t want Seth and I to meet for a reason.
We’re queueing in the club’s small reception area, waiting to pick up our jackets from the cloakroom. Chelsea’s arm is wrapped tightly around my shoulders. My friends heard exactly what was said, and to say they’re less than impressed is the understatement of the century.
Amber squeezes my hand. “You’re better off without him.”
I smile, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. She’s right, I know she is. It’s time to find someone else to obsess over. The truth is, I never knew Seth, not really. I fantasised over the idea of him. Tonight has made me question what is it about the man that made my knees buckle and my heart gallop. The reality is I’ve never looked for a relationship, never really put myself out there. I held back. Held back for what?
Amber hands our tickets in and retrieves our jackets. “What about we get some food and head home?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t want to go home, not yet.”
Arms linked, we leave the club and glance around the town. People are jumping into taxis and leaving bars and clubs.
“Everything is closing, hun,” Amber points out.
I nod towards the white-walled pub sitting on the corner of the street. “Not the Bull’s Head.”
“I thought it closed at two am?” Chelsea is correct, but my brother’s on-off girlfriend Gail is the landlady. She’ll ring the bell that hangs above the bar for last orders and host lock-ins for the regulars. They play drinking games till late morning. Gail can drink most men under the table.
I lead the way to the pub. People pass us as they exit and, as predicted, Gail stands at the bar ringing the bell.
“Last orders.” Her voice is husky, her tone sharp. She smiles when she sees me and nods her head in the direction of the back room. “Cole’s changing the barrel; he’ll be out shortly.”
I glance towards the door behind her and give her the thumbs up. We take a seat at the bar. My brother often helps her out on their busy nights. I think he worries about her safety sometimes, so he acts as her bodyguard, but he nee
dn’t bother. Gail is not a lady you mess with.
Smiling, she grabs three glasses, topping them up with vodka and orange juice. She pushes the glasses our way. “On the house.”
I take a sip, enjoying the heat as it goes down. “Thank you.”
She certainly knows how to pack a punch with the vodka. Gail single-handedly runs the roughest bar in Cornwall. The Bull’s Head attracts bikers from across the county. They seem to have a mutual respect for Gail, who is also a biker. She’s a petite lady in her mid-fifties. She has strawberry-blonde hair and the lightest green eyes. Her body is covered in ink, mainly bike memorabilia and skulls. I never understood why Cole always went for the more mature lady until he met Gail. Gail’s hot. I always come in to talk to her on my nights out. It doesn’t escape my attention that her black leather skirts are considerably shorter and her tops are skimpier when Cole’s about.
Gail slaps the bar with her hands, making a drumroll sound. “Lock-in tonight, ladies?”
Amber downs her drink and slides it back to Gail for a top-up. “Yes, we aren’t nearly as drunk as we want to be.”
“I can solve that problem for you.” Gail’s eyes bypass me, and she waves. I turn. Oh, great. Seth and Rick are standing in the doorway. After our earlier conversation, Seth is the last person I want to see.
Maybe his words were a slip of the tongue, who knows. He didn’t want to hold my hand. He only reluctantly gave me his mobile number. I could feel his resistance like barbed wire wrapping around my infatuation, stripping it back to mere interest.
Seth rubs the back of his neck. “We should go.”
Rick takes a few more steps towards us, his eyes on Amber. “Nonsense.”
“Oh, goodie.” Amber claps her hands together, jumps from her bar stool and runs over to Rick.
I fix my gaze on the back door.
Come on, Cole.
I know my brother and Seth have a mutual respect. Rightly so, they’ve been best friends since they were toddlers. Seth will feel awkward when he sees Cole and will surely leave.
