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“Don’t you?”
“Why would we? A clitoris is so much prettier.” She smiled up at him sweetly. “Don’t you agree?”
He lost his cool. Spluttered.
“Ha, by that look you obviously do.” Eyebrows kicked up over dancing green eyes. “It’s your turn.”
He shifted forward, holding back the tide of questions, the urge to crack her open, find what made this woman tick. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Carts appeared. Solo bit his lip, gripped his cue and forced a smile as disappointment roiled in his belly.
“Who’s winning?” Carts had a dreamy smile on his face. Walking Judith to her car had obviously met with his approval.
“Moi, of course. Back already? Carts, you are such a gentleman.” Polly was leaning lightly on her pool cue, rubbing her hand up and down it. Solo really wished she wouldn’t. He thought of her at work, handing the tissue box to the young girl curled up in her chair with such a sweet solicitous expression on her face, and it occurred to him that she was one hell of a complex woman.
“You’re only saying that to make me feel better about my abject lack of dating prowess,” Carts grumbled. “Same old story. Already taken or whipped out from under my nose.”
Polly gave him a motherly pat on the arm. “I promise the right woman is out there. It would never have worked with you and Alice. Neither of you would have made it past hand-holding. Besides, the height discrepancy was unacceptable.”
“That’s a discriminatory statement,” Carts muttered, to which Polly gave a wicked giggle.
“Who’s Alice?” Solo asked.
“My best friend,” Polly replied. “Long story.”
“Mysupposed best mate decided to fall in love with her just as I was about to ask her out,” Carts grunted. “And it’s allherfault.” He jabbed a finger into the flesh at the top of Polly’s arm. In return, she swiped him playfully on the butt with her cue.
“So how do you two know each other?” Solo asked. He guessed this was one way to get a bit more info about Polly without looking like he was nigh on drooling.
“We vaguely knew each other at uni and then saw more of each other through mutual friends over the years. That’s Perth for you. Six degrees of separation,” Polly said. “We’ll no doubt find out we know more people in common, even though you’re from Sydney.”
“Hope not.”
Solo hadn’t meant it to come out so sharply, and she cast him a funny look.
“Why? Are you on the run from something?”
His forehead tightened. “No. Time for a change, that’s all.” He turned abruptly back to the pool table and potted a hole in one.
End of conversation.
The three of them played a few more rounds, making light, meaningless banter, and the muscles down Solo’s spine slowly unlaced. This was what he needed right now. Fun. Pure, unadulterated, uncomplicated fun.
And heck, if he didn’t look at herthatway, he would get used to being around Polly Fletcher, wouldn’t he? Desensitise himself just the way he had to the sight of blood as a medical student. He had to simply think of her looking neat and professional in her lilac blouse and slacks, hair pulled back, no make-up, talking in a calm voice to her patients. Yeah, he could do this. They were colleagues now.
Justcolleagues.
When they all decided some while later that no-one was sober enough to drive, the three of them stood out on the street and waited for an Uber.
In the back seat, Polly was pushed unnervingly up against him because they were ride-sharing and someone was already in the front, which meant Carts had to fold himself like a human tripod on the other side of Solo with his knees practically jammed around his ears. Solo’s thigh was pressed along the length of Polly’s, and he was consumed with the warmth of her seeping through his jeans and her perfume tumbling him right back to a hotel bed with bad springs.
In the space of a nano-second, Solo found he had to clasp his hands over his throbbing erection and hope to god she didn’t have X-ray vision.
But knowing what he did of Polly so far, she probably did.
* * *
Squished up next to Solo,Polly was trying not to respond to the steady thrum between her legs.
Out the corner of her eye she could see Solo’s hands clasped in his lap; hands that were tan and strong and those long, blunt-tipped fingers that looked like they belonged to a guy who rode motorcycles and worked on building sites, not a psychiatrist. Hands that had smoothed and stroked all over her body, bringing every inch of her skin into delicious focus…
