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She almost wobbled over at least twice.
The second time he had to actually do something to stop her going down. Though he did it with as much agility and skill as he had when she’d almost slipped in the kitchen. He just sort of tightened his biceps around the arm she had through his. Thenhe tilted his body, and oh holy fuck, suddenly she was almost off her feet. She was lifted right out of the stumble she was about to go into.
And then set back down as if nothing had happened.
Which probably seemed like the case for everybody there. The whole thing had taken him seconds, and almost no movement at all. He hadn’t even looked at her while he did it. She wasn’t even sure if she’d just imagined it, in the aftermath. So what was there for anybody to see?
Nothing, quite clearly.
And that was good.
Because literally everyone in there was staring.
“Why are they all looking at us?” she whispered the second the posh escort left them. She wished she’d hadn’t, however. Because he slid closer in the plush booth they’d been given to hear her better.
“Go again, this ear’s fucked,” he said.
So now they were almost wedged together, facing out onto a sea of eyes that were all turned in their direction. While talking so closely they could have licked each other, no problem, and so low it had to seem like they were saying something bad.
Instead of just panicking about being gawped at.
“I think I must look wrong,” she said. “They’re onto me.”
“You don’t look wrong. You look spectacular.”
“But check him over there. His eyes are practically popping out.”
He reached for the water on the table and poured her a glass. Almost like he was ignoring what she was saying. Then just as she was about to panic he said, “Which one? Old man with his child bride, or Tory wanker?” And she understood, clearly: he hadn’t made that move to brush her off.
He’d done it so he could surreptitiously look.
And she could now finger the culprit.
“Tory wanker. Though how we know he is one I don’t know.”
“It’s called growing up in communities left to rot by anenemy you can now sense from fifty paces. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go batter said enemy for trying to undress you with his eyes.”
“He is not trying to—” she started to say.
But Alfie was actuallygetting up.
So instead of doing that, she had to grab his arm. She had to grab it, and do it hard, and then yank, and even then he didn’t wholly give up the ghost. He struggled against her grip, just a little bit. And he looked completely indignant about her attempts at restraining him. “Mabel, stop holding on to me. It’s not fair when you know I can’t do anything to stop you.”
“The fact that you can’t is why I’m going to do it more, until you see sense.”
“My sense is perfect. That twat needs a beating. He’s laughing now.”
“Yeah, probably because he knows he’s got Alfie Harding riled.”
“So he’s doing it on purpose?” He cracked his knuckles. “Even fucking worse. I’ll kill him.”
“You’re not going to kill anyone for not even doing anything.”
“He did do something. He leered at you. Like you’re a piece of meat.”
“I’m not even the type of meat he’d want to leer at, Alfie, sit down.”
He didn’t, though. He just seethed and twisted in his seat, agitated.
