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But with Solo—holy cow, it was one big adrenaline rush.
And at the same time so comfortable and easy and just plain fun; he made her smile and laugh and…
Polly sank her head in her hands with a groan.
This was the problem with chemistry. You could never trust it. She’d had it big time once before, when she was sixteen. And he’d promised her the world. Shite, she’d only just been legal. When she’d followed him to Perth, she’d found out she was nothing more than a notch on his bedpost. The barely-legal virgin he’d bedded and then boasted to his mates about. What a coup. And the biggest humiliation of her life.
She rubbed her forehead as a tight band started to form over her eyes.
Oh yeah, she’d learned the lesson; from the way Dad treated Mum, from her first love: all men were bastards. She’d vowed she’d never let herself trust one again.
And she’d stuck to that rule through thick and thin.
Maybe Alice was right. Maybe it was just her ovaries, all those little eggs dancing up and down and squealing for attention as she nose-dived towards thirty.
She shook her head and refused to meet her own eyes in the mirror as she washed her hands.
As she flicked the lock and tiptoed onto the narrow landing, she heard a loud thump coming from the stairwell. Heart pounding, Polly clutched at the material of Solo’s T-shirt over her chest, fearing that he might have done some weird sleep-walking thing and fallen down the stairs. She tiptoed to the banister and peered over.
A long skinny body was crumpled against the wall, halfway down the stairs. “Fuck,” it muttered, followed by a weird kind of caterpillar walk up a couple of stairs. Then, as if it was all too hard, the figure slithered in a jumble of arms and legs to the bottom of the stairs.
In a heartbeat, the carer in Polly was down those stairs and leaning over him. “Carts!”
Carts lifted his head and two bleary eyes stared back at her. A hand came out and put a finger to his lips. “Shhhhhhhtttttt, you’ll wake everyone up,” he muttered. Then, in some deep recess of his alcohol-addled brain, something registered and his eyes focussed. “Poll, is that you?”
Oh God, here she was in nothing but Solo’s T-shirt, which barely skimmed the top of her thighs. Her choices were limited: a) Leave Carts to fend for himself, possibly to incur hideous consequences from a night crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, or b) Help him to safety and risk him recalling her semi-naked presence in his house, therefore deducing the obvious.
Summoning her professional skills, Polly did a lightning-fast risk assessment and concluded that Carts, who had now buried his head in the crook of one elbow and was gently snoring, would likely not remember her presence. The most humane choice, therefore, was to get him comfortable and then brief Solo not to let on.
After which she would run.
Crouching down, careful to keep her bits out of view, she hoisted an arm under his shoulder. “Come on, sofa for you.”
Somehow, she managed to drag a grumbling, partially compliant Carts into the front room, where he draped himself over the sofa like a human hammock, legs sticking out over one end, head dangling off the other. Polly shoved a couple of pillows under his neck and removed his shoes. He had his jacket on and it was a warm night, so she decided against searching for a blanket.
Carts waved a hand in her general direction. “Fanks, Poll.”
She crept closer and muttered in his ear. “I’m not Polly. And you never saw me, okay?”
“Okay.” And then the snoring started up again.
Polly darted out of the room and up the stairs. When she got into Solo’s room he was sitting up in bed.
“What was all that noise?” he asked, rubbing at his hair, which made him look so damn cute.
She grimaced. “Carts is home, pissed as a fart.”
“Oh.” He grinned. “Did he see you?” He didn’t look at all perturbed. But she was.
Ripping off Solo’s T-shirt, she shimmied into her bra and panties.
“You’re not going, are you?” The edge of disappointment in his voice was obvious.
“I had to help him onto the sofa and he recognised me—wearing nothing but your T-shirt.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t want him to know I was here.”
