‘However’ – Charlie held up one finger – ‘whilst away from home it would be madness not to have one final fling… one last dropping of the boxers in order to indulge in some frantic no-strings steamy sex with someone I never have to see again.’
Ben tutted.
‘So you’re planning on pulling tonight?’
‘Of course. And so, my friend, are you.’
‘Oh no I’m not,’ said Ben resolutely.
‘Oh yes you are,’ said Charlie in a pantomime voice. ‘As you just pointed out, you’re single. Footloose and fancy free, mate. Make the most of it.’
‘I don’t want to. I’m using this time to reflect. To put an appropriate distance between Anna and–’
He abruptly shut up.
‘Who?’ Charlie pounced.
‘Never mind. You’ll find out. In another two or three months. I want to be sure nobody can ever point the finger and say, “Oh dear, that woman is Ben’s rebound.”’
‘Well until you’re officially hooked up with she-who-shall-not-be-named, can I suggest you pop into the men’s toilets, stick some money in the machine on the wall and treat yourself to a packet of rainbow condoms. You need to indulge in some uncomplicated pleasure.’
‘Like you?’
‘Like me,’ Charlie nodded, picking up his glass and draining it. ‘Fancy another?’
‘Go on then. You’ve twisted my arm.’
‘Back in a tick.’
Charlie walked over to the bar where a small group of women had congregated. One of them gave him the once over. Clearly she liked what she saw because Charlie clocked her nudging a little blonde number who had her back to him. As the woman whispered in her friend’s ear, Charlie smirked. God had bestowed him with both good looks and the gift of the gab. Maybe, in a bit, he’d chat this female up and see where it led. It would save him the bother of going on to the club in order to pull.
Whilst waiting for the barman, out of his peripheral vision Charlie watched, amused, as the woman finished whispering to her blonde girlfriend. She’d no doubt told her gal pal to subtly turn around and check out the handsome Adonis standing behind her. Three… two… one. Yup! As he’d suspected, Blondie was now swivelling her head to casually regard Charlie. He had trouble not laughing out loud. Women thought they were so discreet, but sometimes they couldn’t be more obvious.
Charlie let his gaze wander back to the woman who’d initially checked him out, and then lazily move on to Blondie. He wanted her to know he’d been studied and was perfectly up for taking it further. But before he could say anything, Blondie let out a squawk.
‘Charlie!’
Charlie jumped. Flipping heck. He’d seen this woman before. In fact, he’d seen all of her before. He’d picked her up the last time he’d been in Birmingham, what… two months ago? Yes. It was definitely her. He’d met her in the very club he’d been planning on going to later this evening. What was her name? Sandra? Sarah?’
‘Oh my God,’ Blondie shrieked. ‘I’m so glad to see you again.’
She tottered towards him and flung her arms around his waist.
‘Darling,’ said Charlie, returning the hug, while his brain scrambled for Blondie’s name.
The woman who’d given him the once-over was looking incredibly put out that Blondie had claimed Charlie for herself.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Sophie?’ she grumbled.
Sophie! That’s right. If Charlie remembered correctly, Sophie was a recently separated secretary who’d temporarily moved in with her sister following a dispute over the marital home.
‘Listen, girls’ – Sophie turned to her group of friends – ‘me and this gorgeous guy have some serious catching up to do. You’ll have to carry on without me.’
Sophie turned back to Charlie.
‘Come on, handsome. Whatever plans you’ve made for this evening, cancel them. You’re taking me out to dinner.’
She looped an arm through his and led him towards the pub’s exit.
‘A night with you will be my pleasure,’ Charlie murmured.
Passing Ben, he gave a discreet shrug. Ben rolled his eyes and stood up. He’d have to get his own pint. Never mind, thought Charlie. Perhaps Ben would get lucky with Sophie’s pissed-off mate. He should at least try. Ben seriously needed to loosen up. Since meeting this secret woman, he’d turned into a boring old fart. I mean, who exactly was this female he kept referring to, and why was she so special? Whilst Ben hadn’t exactly been around the block like Charlie, there had been a time when his mate had been less stuffy. He’d been up for the occasional pub crawl and – in Charlie’s pre-Willow days – had convulsed when Charlie had told him a story about one little minx writing her phone number on his willy. What a hoot that had been.
Back then Ben had laughed along with Charlie, and been fun with a capital F. These days he was more like a nun with a capital N. Charlie let his thoughts return to the present and tuned in to Sophie who was chatting away.
‘…and I’m just so relieved to see you again…’ she was saying.
‘Me too, sweetie,’ he said huskily, giving her arm a squeeze.
She really was quite a looker and, if he recalled correctly, she’d been pretty hot between the sheets.
‘…because we need to talk.’
If Charlie hadn’t been so distracted with thoughts about later taking Sophie back to his hotel bedroom and undoing all those tantalising buttons on her little black dress, he might have paid more attention to the ominous note in her voice.
Forty
‘How was it for you?’ said Jezz to Emma.
He had a wicked twinkle in his eye.
‘Excruciating,’ she snapped.
She wasn’t sure if Jezz was mocking her or being flirty. He’d bantered with both her and her mum throughout the procedure, although it had been Karen who’d hung on to Jezz’s every word whilst endlessly flicking her hair, sticking out her chest, and making comments full of smutty innuendo.
‘You’ll be a returning customer,’ said Jezz confidently.
‘Unlikely. Apart from anything else I’d had no idea it would take so long. It was daylight when I came in. Now it’s dark. Poor Willow. She must be bored out of her skull waiting for me.’
‘She’s fine,’ said Karen. ‘I told her to go shopping.’
‘Oh,’ said Emma, looking put out.
She had hoped to go shopping with Willow herself, but hadn’t realised how time-consuming this appointment would be.
‘This is a sizeable tattoo and was never going to be a quick job,’ said Jezz. ‘Anyway, it’s always the ones who protest the most that come back for more. They’re the ones who secretly enjoy the pain.’
‘Not me,’ said Emma firmly.
‘I can’t wait to have my tattoo,’ said Karen, batting her eyelids at Jezz. ‘Pain causes the central nervous system to release endorphins, which generate an opiate-like response in the body.’
‘You’re right,’ said Jezz. ‘The role of endorphins is to block pain, but it can also produce a feeling of euphoria. Athletes, for example, know this. They refer to it as “the runners’ high.”’
‘I don’t run’ – Karen let her eyes snag on Jezz’s – ‘but I do enjoy a good massage. I love it when the masseur finds the sore spot on my back and kneads right into the muscles. It makes me cry out with the absolute joy of it all.’
She picked up a tendril of hair and began slowly twisting it around one finger, her gaze not leaving his face.
‘A classic example of the thin line between pleasure and pain,’ said Jezz, holding Karen’s gaze.
Emma’s eyes flicked between Jezz and her mum, like a spectator at Wimbledon. Her mother was clearly staking her claim on Jezz. Pulling all the flirty stops out. But exactly where the heck was this new line of conversation going? She didn’t have long to find out.
‘Yes, I agree,’ said Karen, speeding up the hair twiddling. ‘Some pain is exquisite – like those massages I adore – whereas other pain is just awful. Isn
’t it strange that I wince when my daughter treads on my foot, but I’m quite happy paying a small, robust woman to make me moan?’
Emma rolled her eyes. Only her mother could use the word “moan” and make it sound like she was having an orgasm. Frankly it was embarrassing. Willow’s mum didn’t carry on like this.
A mental picture of Anita, Willow’s sensible and practical mother, sprang to Emma’s mind. There she was, pinny on and standing alongside Jerry, Willow’s mild-mannered father, letting him massage her tired shoulders. “That’s it, Jerry. Right there. Oooh, perfect. You can stop now. Shall I put the kettle on?” But her own mother was something else. Emma’s mouth fell open as Karen dared to push the conversation boundaries further.
‘I suppose, the pain of a massage is enjoyable because one can relax into it.’
‘You’re right,’ Jezz nodded. ‘And therein lies the key to enjoying pain. It’s about trust and control. You trust the masseur to keep your best interests at heart.’
‘Yes,’ said Karen, giving him a dazzling smile. ‘It’s that same sense of trust and control that makes sadomasochistic sex… the giving and receiving of pain… so pleasurable. Er, so I hear.’
‘Ah… erotic spanking. Yes, you’re right. Er, so I hear too. Perhaps, after all, I can find the time to do your tattoo today.’
Karen stopped twiddling her hair and looked at Jezz under her lashes.
‘Perfect,’ she purred. ‘I shall look forward to the delightful sting… and delightful warmth… and delightful vibrations.’
‘Delightful,’ said Jezz, nodding away.
‘I suppose the bottom line is’ – Karen frowned theatrically – ‘that there is no bottom line when it comes to spanking.’
‘Except the bottom line,’ Jezz murmured.
‘I think you’re both talking out of your bottoms,’ said Emma, swinging her legs over the side of the couch.
Heaven only knew what this tattoo artist and her mother would be getting up to later. Yuck.
Emma peered down at her tattoo. Despite the whole experience hurting like mad, it had been worth it. She was thrilled with her butterfly. Emma wondered if she’d ever get to show the tattoo to her lover. Oh dear, she must stop thinking of him in that way. She also wondered what he was doing right now… miles away in Birmingham.
Forty-One
Charlie was having a frustrating evening with Sophie. Having abandoned Ben in the pub, he’d walked Sophie across the road to a restaurant.
She seemed to be stringing out the dinner they were having, taking way too much time over choosing a starter. Why couldn’t she just skip straight to mains? It would speed up getting them out of here. He wanted to get Sophie back to his hotel room and maximise recreational time under the duvet.
‘I can’t decide whether to go for the curried parsnip soup or settle for the goat’s cheese tartlet with velouté. Do you fancy a starter, Charlie?’
‘Only if there’s something on the menu called “Sophie”.’
Sophie giggled. ‘I’m starving. Aren’t you hungry?’
‘Just for you,’ he murmured huskily.
‘Oh Charlie, you are naughty’ – she giggled again – ‘but I do love my food.’
Charlie, on flirty autopilot, only just managed to stop himself saying, “and I love you”. From the look on Sophie’s face, she’d been half-expecting him to say those very words.
Instead Charlie said, ‘So you love food. Does that mean you enjoy cooking too?’
‘I do,’ she beamed. ‘What about you?’
‘Now and again.’
He loathed it.
‘What’s your speciality?’ she asked.
Charlie appeared to give this a moment’s thought.
‘Chocolate brownies,’ he said eventually.
‘Oooh, I love chocolate brownies,’ Sophie squealed. ‘Will you make them for me one day?’
‘Of course, darling. Although I might get seriously distracted if you’re around me while I’m making them.’
Sophie smirked upon hearing this.
‘You mean you might incinerate them?’
‘Exactly. But on the upside, it would be the quickest way to burn two thousand calories.’
‘You are funny, Charlie.’
‘And you’re sexy. Are you sure you want dinner? I’d much prefer to be ravishing you than sitting in this restaurant. Shall we go back to my hotel right now? I can always order room service later.’
Sophie opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by Charlie’s phone, which had been resting next to his side plate. It let out a merry tinkle signalling Willow was ringing. Charlie snatched it up before Sophie could see his girlfriend’s name on the caller display.
‘Hey,’ he said into the mouthpiece.
‘Hi, darling. I was just calling to see how you are. How did the convention go–?’
‘It’s a shocking line,’ Charlie lied, cutting across Willow. ‘I can hardly hear you. Let me give you a call back later.’
Without further preamble, Charlie hung up. He then switched the phone off.
‘Who was that?’ asked Sophie.
‘My mother.’
The waitress appeared with a notepad and pen. Her request to take their orders thankfully stopped Sophie from asking any awkward questions about Charlie’s mother. He couldn’t quite remember what line he’d spun Sophie when he’d last seen her. It was important not to contradict himself. At least not before he’d got her between the sheets.
The waitress melted away and Sophie reached across the table. She enfolded Charlie’s hand in hers.
‘Isn’t this nice?’ she beamed. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you again. I was in such a panic after discovering I’d lost your number.’
Charlie was puzzled. He wasn’t aware he’d given Sophie his contact details. He must have had far too much to drink to have done such a thing. How careless. It was one of his rules… always take the girl’s number. Never the other way around. Okay, he’d broken that rule with Kev, and to his detriment. Just look at how that had turned out. The blasted woman hadn’t left him alone. He’d had some very sweaty moments with Kev texting him at home, badgering for sex, even with Willow sitting right next to him as they’d watched telly together.
‘You lost my number?’ said Charlie, pretending to be outraged.
‘Yes, but that’s probably because you wrote it on a really tiny scrap of paper. It must have fluttered to the floor in our moment of passion and, later, been accidentally vacuumed up. It was only when I’d finished hunting high and low, that I realised what had probably happened. By that point the vacuum cleaner had long been emptied, and I’d resigned myself to believing I’d never see you again.’
‘And that would have been terrible,’ said Charlie disarmingly.
Hopefully, after tonight, he never would see Sophie again.
‘So give me your number, but this time we’ll do it properly.’
She withdrew her hand from his and reached into her handbag for her mobile.
‘This time’ – she waggled the phone at him – ‘I’ll put it in here.’
‘Later, darling. There’s plenty of time for exchanging numbers.’
‘No, I want to do it now,’ she persisted.
There was something in her tone which warned Charlie she was having a moment of doubting him. That would never do. Not before he’d got her into bed.
‘And then I want to ring your phone to double-check I programmed the number correctly,’ she added.
O-kay. She was definitely having a moment of doubt. Fine. He’d give her his contact details. After they’d been to bed, he’d block her number. Simple.
The time at the restaurant passed too slowly for Charlie’s liking but he played the game and flattered Sophie. She lapped up his compliments until she was glowing brighter than Kev’s collection of aromatherapy candles. Finally, after listening to her interminable waffle about her yoga hobby, how much she loved her goldfish George, and what a bastard
her ex-husband was for threatening to flush George down the toilet, Charlie was able to settle the bill. And now they were standing up, and she was linking her arm through his. Hurrah.
Sophie allowed Charlie to walk her back to his hotel, through the foyer, into the lift, down the corridor, inside his room and – he mentally punched the air – flop down on the bed where he finally got to work undoing all those tiny buttons on her little black dress. But… what was she doing?
‘Stop that,’ she said, slapping his hand away.
‘Why?’ he gasped.
Had he just spent all that money wining and dining her only to have her turn him down at the last minute?
‘Because they’re not real, silly.’ She gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘Look. There’s a hidden zip. See?’ She pointed.
‘Even better,’ he murmured, as desire flooded through him. ‘It will be like undoing a beautiful present.’
For the next hour neither of them said a word, for which Charlie was particularly grateful. He’d already decided that Sophie’s voice wasn’t so much sugar sweet as saccharine sour. It jarred him. And if he heard one more time how George loved swimming under his ornamental bridge and wagging his fishy tail like a dog, he might say something regretful. Like understanding why Sophie’s husband had accused her of loving George more than him.
Finally spent, they sank back against the mattress. Sophie snuggled into Charlie’s armpit.
‘How’s your sister?’
Charlie’s brain reeled. His sister? He immediately adopted a vague tone.
‘Which one?’
‘The sister you live with. Willow?’
‘Oh… that sister.’
‘Is she still awful to put up with?’
‘Yes, dreadful. Drives me mad. Natters on and on about her boring job at the library. Tells me off for not being more involved with the community or helping with local fund-raising. She’s ancient before her time, poor dear.’
‘Are you still looking to move out?’
‘Yes. In time. I need to pick my moment. Willow relies heavily on the rent I pay for my room. She’d expect me to have a very good reason for finding somewhere else to live.’
Willow's Wedding Vows: a laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist! Page 18
