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23: Blurred
One more, one more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been smashed so one more. It didn’t matter any longer, it’s not like he had a job to go to, responsibilities. He had nothin’. He had starting again, and before that Reece intended to get hammered, because then he might forget for even a few hours what Audrey sending him away felt like.
He’d had been drinking steadily for most of the afternoon and he still felt like a cored apple, all the seed and stem, the heart of him removed and trashed. Polly had joined him for a while, but he’d left to be with Les so now Reece drank alone. He could still feel his feet and he didn’t think he had wings so he wasn’t yet drunk enough. He could still feel the heat in Audrey’s naked body as she took him inside her, as she moved her hands on his skin. He put his fingers to his lips because he could feel hers skating across them, latching on and sucking. He wasn’t near drunk enough, because he could smell her, aroused and impatient, over the yeasty beer and fried food coming out of the pub’s kitchen.
He should be legless and insensible by now. He should be asking Polly’s mate, Pat behind the bar to call him a cab, but he was still lucid enough to know Carrie had been watching him from across the room for half an hour. She’d come in with a group of friends, all chicks, no one else he knew. She looked different, glammed up, packs of makeup. The tightest pants, and killer boots, a top cut low and falling loose on her, no bra underneath. If she leant forward you’d see her tits. No accident that. No mistake about the kinds of looks sh
e was sending him either.
Pat put a bowl of French fries in front of him. He hadn’t ordered them but he picked at them anyway. He watched Carrie watching him. He didn’t smile or nod or wave or acknowledge her in any way, and she was the same with him, but it was on between them, and if he didn’t want that he needed to ask Pat for a cab.
He ordered another beer.
He watched Carrie flirt with him from half a dozen car lengths away, tossing her hair and laughing. She must wonder what he was doing here, drinking alone. Did she know about him and Audrey? Did he care? There was no him and Audrey. She was shacked up with the furniture removalist. He’d been a fuckwit to think he’d been more than sport and convenience for her. He was a free agent again. He could fuck whoever he wanted. He drank the beer and thought about walking across the room and putting his hand down Carrie’s shirt, filling it with her silicon breast while he ate her lipstick.
The fries were cold but he ate them. If he sat long enough she’d come to him. If she came to him then fuck Audrey, right, he’d fuck Carrie. He’d forget the way Audrey would hold his face in her hands and stare into his eyes as if she could read his thoughts that way. Forget the way she’d kiss every concern he had out of his head and make him tense with need at the same time. He wouldn’t think about how her most casual touch made him happy, how the sight of her in the morning, rumpled and cranky made his heart constrict. He’d forget the sound of her voice, the feel of her hair, the texture of her skin. He’d forget how pretty her tiny feet were, how delicate her hands, how wrapped in her conversation he was. He’d forget how she looked in lingerie and her ratty dressing gown. He’d fuck it all away in Carrie’s arms and all that would matter to either of them was the pleasure of the moment.
His phone rang. Not Audrey’s ringtone. Polly’s. “You still at the pub?”
He let the ambient sound answer for him.
“Mate, come have dinner with Les and me.”
“I’ve eaten.”
“Pub swill. Reece, what are you doin? You don’t want to do this.”
“I’m drinking, it’s legal. I can get as shitfaced as I want.”
“You can’t get over her this way.”
Carrie smiled directly at him. She made a little come here gesture with her fingers. He had a vision of his fingers curled inside her, making her come. He’d make her scream. “Fuck off, Pol.”
“Think about it, man. You and Audrey are not done. Don’t fuck it up worse.”
“We’re done.” He’d been replaced by Cameron and Barrett in less than twenty-four hours. “We’re so fucking done. I’m not some fucking wife she can buy. The sooner I move on the better.” He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. Took it out when it rang again. Sky. Polly would’ve suggested she call. He let the call ring out in his pocket. He made the same come here gesture Carrie had made to him. He couldn’t take her back to Polly’s. His car keys were behind the bar and staying there. She’d have her car, a Beemer. He’d fuck her over the hood.
Carrie tossed her hair. She’d be pouting, licking her lips. He’d have her use her tongue on him in more productive ways. He watched her say her goodbyes and make her way across the pub to him. She looked good. She’d taste better than this bitterness.
She stopped in front of him, not touching distance, but she didn’t appreciate how long his reach was, even sitting on a stool, or how quickly he could move, even half tanked, especially half tanked. That’s when he made his most aggressive moves.
“Are you really on your own, darling boy?”
He nodded. She wore those tight pants like an invitation to rut.
“You like what you see?”
“I like that you’re offering it to me.”
“I’ve been offering it to you for months. How come you’re in a taking mood tonight?”
“Shit happens.”
“Audrey.”
“We’re finished.”
Carrie gasped. “She’d be a fool to let you go and she’s no fool. What did you do, Reece?”
