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“Yes, Banjo.”
“Ye Aussies are strange. But ye won a prize singing it?”
She nodded, leaning in as if sharing a great secret. She bit her lower lip and the urge to kiss her came over me.
“Twenty dollars,” she mock-whispered. “Big money for an eight-year-old.”
She giggled and I couldn’t help but smile with her.
“I’d really love to hear ye sing again.”
The smile faded, her eyes shining with surprise.
“What you really need is water.” Amanda walked over to my kitchenette and I trailed after her, still an eager puppy for her affection. “Water and some ibuprofen, or you’re going to be intolerable tomorrow.”
“But I’m always intolerable.”
“That’s true.” She bent over and looked in a cupboard, her robe riding up. I caught sight of the satin sleep shorts she wore with black lace on the hem.
Christ, I really was fucked. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met.
She stood up, coffee mug in hand, and turned on the tap. “If you don’t hydrate and get some painkillers into you now, you’ll be even more of a beast tomorrow.”
“Have ye decided yet? If I’m the Beast or Gaston?”
Amanda set the mug of water down and took a step away.
“You’re a beast who prowls the hallways and growls at everyone. Frowns all the time.” She hesitated for a moment. “Except tonight. Tonight, you’ve smiled the most I’ve ever seen.”
I swayed slightly again. I might be drunk but I did notice she avoided the question.
“But that’s probably due to the drinking with Ewan,” she continued.
No, lassie, it’s you.
“Ewan thinks I’m finding my feet but I should have found them by now and it’s really hard to manage it all and get the new whisky recipe ready and everything is riding on it…” I sighed and pushed a hand through my hair. “I’m an arsehole to everyone.”
“But you’re not. Not really.”
“Ye don’t think I’m an arsehole?”
She shook her head.
“Why?” I was genuinely stumped.
“I know you care but you find it hard to show it.”
I blinked again. Now, there were two of her, which didn’t help. I guzzled the water in one go. Amanda took the mug, refilled it and handed it back.
“Thanks, hen.” I whispered.
A strand of hair escaped from the messy bun on her head.
“The first thing I noticed about ye at George’s was your hair.” I reached out, twirled it around my finger and tucked it behind her ear. “It’s the colour of whisky and ye…you’re sunshine.”
Her eyes were dark and her breaths rapid. She’d moved closer to me as we’d talked. My hand tilted and water from my mug spilled down the front of my trousers.
“Christ,” I muttered. “Fuck!”
