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“Open your eyes.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The command was in his tone, and her body obeyed. His eyes gleamed up at her from between her thighs. His hot, predatory gaze burning into hers as that merciless tongue slid over and under. It was so erotic. So…
“Vickey? Hello! You still with us over there?”
Vickey blinked through the haze to find Erika sitting across the table, waving a dainty but expertly manicured hand tipped with silver and white nails. Angela sat beside her, not saying anything, but that sly little grin pulling at the corner of the fiery redhead’s mouth spoke volumes. At the very least, it was enough to assure Vickey that her flatmate knew exactly what was going on.
Heat blooming across her face, she dropped her gaze to their table, refusing to meet their eyes. Dammit, I did it again. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get him out of my head?
“Geez, Vi, you could make a cherry look pale,” Erika observed, dropping her hand to take a long sip of her colourful cocktail, draining the glass. “Mmm… that’s good. My usual now, Mike,” she called to the burly chap behind the bar. Though not exactly their local, they were there just often enough to be called regulars and have a slate for their drinks. They paid off just enough that Mike, the publican, and his staff would let them slide when they wanted a drink but were having a bad week. Or if they showed off a bit of thigh and asked nicely. “So, who brought that blush to your cheeks?”
Vickey shuddered and kept her eyes down, resisting the impulse to touch the heat still burning her skin. The Crown was the quaint, old-fashioned sort of establishment one would expect to find lost in the pages of an Agatha Christie or Jane Austen novel, with a piano in one corner, oak beams running across the ceiling, and a huge old oak bar framed by every sort of bottle and glass. It was a quiet pub where friends could meet and chat after work, but hardly a place to discuss the man haunting her dreams whenever she closed her eyes.
“Oh, I know,” Angela cut in. “It’s him. Right? The guy you were seeing.” The small grin spread into a smile that was surely evil incarnate. “The one you’ve been pining for.”
“Piss off!” Vickey rounded, forcing a smile, but she was unable to resist rising to the bait.
The redhead shot a sideways look at Erika and winked. “He’s all she thinks about.”
“Goddammit Angie!” The heat was practically radiating off her now. “I told you to stop eavesdropping on me when I go to bed!”
“I ain't been droppin’ no eaves miss, honest.” Angie grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Wish I could, Vick, but you’re a screamer, and I live vicariously.” The redhead laughed again as her roommate flipped her the bird.
“Isn’t it bad enough you steal my clothes when I’m out? Don’t think I don’t recognise that top you’re flaunting.”
Angela’s smile dropped. “Aww… come on. You know this looks way cuter on me.”
“Is that your idea of an excuse? I know the only reason you want it is so you can show off your tits to every guy who walks by our booth.”
“Exactly.” She gave an exaggerated wiggle that had her already emphasised breasts jiggling within the confines of the plunging halter that had rhinestones along the hem of the bust. “They get a show, and in return, I get a free drink. Isn’t that trade worth your sacrifice?”
“No. I want my top back,” Vickey countered dryly, refusing to back down. She needed to stay on the attack and keep the conversation moving.
“What, you want me to strip off right here? In front of everyone?” She grinned and gestured over her shoulder to where a group of lads were clustered around a tallboy. “I know it’s Christmas, Vick, but shouldn’t I wait to let one of those lucky guys open his present?”
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t,” Vickey countered. “Anyway, I bet it’s not something half the guys here haven’t opened before.”
“You bitch.” Angela laughed, only to be checked by the sudden appearance of a fresh tray of drinks.
“Hey girls,” a waitress by the name of Autumn greeted. She was a natural head-turner with sun-kissed curls and rosy cheeks, and she was made all the more noticeable by the little two-piece Santa uniform that showed off plenty of thigh and midriff. “These are from the guy over at table thirteen.” She shuddered, though made sure to keep it as nonchalant as possible so that only the three other women around the table would notice before tilting her head. Vickey followed the movement.
At first, it looked like she was indicating to the lads around the tall boy, but the black number nine stamped to the edge of the brass plate suggested otherwise. So instead she looked past the lads to the far end of the pub where a forty-something guy with a greasy top-knot was drooping in a chair. The table’s brass plate was marked thirteen.
Following Vickey’s gaze, Angela visibly deflated, and it was all Erika could do not to burst into hysterics. Seeming to sense he had an audience, the guy then turned towards them, smiled and raised his half-a-lager. His broad smile made him look remarkably like Jabba the Hutt, and all three girls quickly looked away.
“Thanks,” Angela mumbled to Autumn’s retreating back, then pushed the drink over to Vickey. “Okay, bad example. But I-”
“Wait a minute!” Erika’s eyes were suddenly bright. “You mean that guy, right? The one you said was a marathon man? Looks kinda like a young-ish Sean Bean, only with a goatee. Oh… he was hot, but…” She looked from Angela to Vickey. “Didn’t you give him the elbow last month?” Geez, thanks Erika.
Immediately aware of both sets of eyes fixing on her, Vickey dropped her gaze down to the drink Angela had passed her. Eyes pricking with tears, she refused to let either woman see her cry and instead focused on the bubbles rising to pop on the murky top of the Rum and Coke. Had it really only been a month? And to think, they had been so happy.
She had been so happy.
It was such a strange idea, her, happy.
But she had been at the time. That's how it had been with the others. A few dates, that was all. Then she’d end things. No attachments. No teary farewells or goodbyes. No commitment. No emotion. It was the best way. Best for her, and most certainly best for them.
And she’d been fine with it every time. They were just men, after all. If necessary, the best parts of them could be replaced by a pair of Triple-A batteries and a trip to the toy aisle in Ann Summers. But with Jake…
It was madness, pure madness, but in the space of a few weeks, he had completely consumed her in a way no other man had. Made her feel complete and safe. Happy.
