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But lately his thoughts on dating and relationships had taken a different turn, leaned towards something more real. More permanent.
Something more meaningful.
In the last year, his sister, Abby, and brothers Rafe and Toby had all found their perfect match.
After two unhealthy relationships, Abby had found someone who appreciated her, loved her for who she was and not what they wanted her to be.
And sixteen years of fighting their feelings came to a head when Rafe hadfinallymarried his soulmate—after he’d knocked her up and she’d almost married someone else, of course, but better late than never.
While Toby, the quiet giant Ollie had begun to assume would live forever as the world’s most eligible bachelor, was getting married the following weekend to a woman who was not only a perfect match for his sexual proclivities but was just as much of a neat freak too.
He’d watched all of them enter their new—and, some would argue, improved—lives, and a part of him envied them for it. A part of himself he hadn’t recognised in a very long time had started to make itself known again, craved what his siblings had found in the arms of another.
I should be so lucky.
But he also knew the woman sitting opposite him wasn’t offering anything even remotely akin to a relationship.
As he watched her over the rim of his glass, Oliver knew this woman wasn’t for him. Not long term. She was an out-of-towner attending a wedding and would be gone in forty-eight hours or less. Still, she was here now, and he could count on one finger the number of times he’d had sex in the last six months.
Permanent could wait a little longer.
He was about to suggest they get out of there when Dave, the publican, approached their table with the basket of hot chips Ollie had ordered before the pretty blonde caught his eye and he’d invited her to join him for a drink.
“Sorry to interrupt, Ollie,” Dave said as he put the food down, “but I was wondering if I could borrow a moment of your time.” The older man glanced at… Haley? before landing back on him.Shit. He really needed to ask for her name again.
“Kinda in the middle of something here, Dave.” He flashed an apologetic smile at his date. “Can it wait ’til another time?”
The old publican flicked his weary gaze between Oliver and his companion again, then shook his head and smiled tightly. “’Fraid not, son. It’s a matter of some… delicacy.”
Confusion warred with curiosity over his friend’s meaning, which in turn warred with mild irritation at being interrupted. Ollie’s balls were bluer than a clear summer sky, and his dick was already standing at half mast, eager to get better acquainted with… Heather?
But Oliver also knew Dave wouldn’t have interrupted if whatever it was he wanted him for wasn’t important.
Flashing another apologetic smile at his date, he said, “Sorry about this.” Taking a twenty out of his wallet, he placed it on the table. “Why don’t you refresh our drinks while I speak to my friend.” Then he winked and grinned as she flashed him a coy smile of her own. “And help yourself to the chips before they go cold. I’ll be back in a tick.”
“A man willing to share his chips?” she said, her voice a smoky purr. “I’ll definitely be waiting.”
Slipping from the bar stool, Oliver followed Dave out through the kitchen to the rear of the pub. Plastic milk crates and wooden pallets were stacked against the back wall, and perched on top of one of those stacks was a hooded figure.
A woman, if he wasn’t mistaken. Not that he could tell from the way she was dressed in baggy jeans and sneakers, nor by her face, which was obscured by the hoodie and the thick brown hair that had escaped it. He could hear the person muttering to themselves, but it was too quiet to make much sense of what was being said, let alone hear if the voice was feminine or not.
But all women moved in a certain way, and judging by her size and the way she jiggled her arse as she tried to get comfortable atop the stack of plastic crates, Ollie would bet good money he was right.
“Why am I here, Dave?” Ollie asked, watching the woman as she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small silver flask.
Dave gestured at their mystery guest. “Someone needs to take her home, and you’re the only yahoo in there tonight,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder at the pub, “who I trust to do just that.” He sighed and rubbed at his grizzled jaw. “I’d take her if I could, but it’s a Friday night, and I’m down two staff members. I’m swamped.”
Ollie’s confusion over the whole situation caused his brow to furrow tightly. What the hell did any of this have to do with him? But before he could ask, the woman cried out, “Oh shit!”
A second later, the stack of crates she was sitting on toppled over, sending her in a flailing heap towards the ground.
“Jesus.” Both men rushed forwards, but Oliver was quicker. He caught her amid a hail of bouncing milk crates, preventing her from smacking face-first into the cold concrete. “I don’t suppose you called Scott or Marie?” he said over his shoulder at Dave.
Surely helping a drunk woman was more in the realm of the local copper or his doctor girlfriend than a perverted blacksmith?
He helped the woman get back on her feet. “You all right, love?”
She kept her head down, hiding her face in the shadows of the hoodie, but nodded, so he let her go, holding his hands at the ready in case he had to catch her again. And thank goodness he had. Within seconds of letting go of her, her knees wobbled, seemingly unable to hold up her weight—slight as it was—and she crashed into him again. Her hands scrabbled in his shirtfront, popping a few buttons loose, and Ollie gritted his teeth to quell his irritation.
