“Could I just grab a water please?”
“Water, you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m. . . no, I’m not sure of anything right now.” She laughs again, this time it sounds a little more genuine. “I’ll have a water, but could you also get me a vodka, lime, soda? You know what, I’ll get these, you got the last round.”
I watch her as she rambles. I want to argue, but not wanting to upset her any further, I nod.
“Sure, yeah. If that’s what you want.”
She pulls cash from the wallet attached by a strap to her wrist and hands it to me.
“Would you mind getting them?”
“Yeah, no worries.”
I’m not a Neanderthal, but taking her money doesn’t sit right with me, but I order our drinks and take a moment to get my shit together, at the same time, hopefully giving her time to compose herself.
I pass her the glass of ice water first, take a sip of my bourbon, before turning with her vodka in my hand. She drinks the water down in one go and places the glass back on the bar.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“Don’t be. Shall we just start again? That introduction was really fucking bad,” I admit with a smile.
“It was the absolute worst,” she agrees with a grin. “Hey, Gabe, I’m Lauren.”
“Lauren, hey. Good to meet you. So, do you come here often?”
“Really? I give you a second chance, and that’s all you’ve got for me? Wow,” she says with a shake of her head.
Her accent is killing me. It makes everything she says sound like she’s cracking a joke at my expense, which I think she actually might be. She’s wearing the biggest smile as she talks before reining it in with another shake of her head.
“That was just, wow, I’ve literally got no words, and that’s saying something. Where’d you pull that one from, the fifties?” Her head turns from side to side as she appears to be looking around the room. I silently watch her, mesmerised, transfixed. I swear, the little red-headed witch has me under some type of spell.
“What are you doing?” I finally ask.
“Sorry,” she shakes her head as she speaks. “I was looking for a jukebox, the Fonz and the Cunningham’s,” she deadpans.
“Wow,” I mimic what’s apparently her favourite word. “Don’t hold back. I mean, you’re cutting me deep here. I’m emotionally wounded.” I press a palm to my chest, feigning injury. “Fair play though, that was poor. Really poor. I’m shit at this,” I admit while giving my head a shake.
“Oh, I doubt that,” she says sarcastically.
“You doubt that I’m shit at small talk?”
She shrugs, sips on her drink, and looks around the bar before landing her pretty eyes back on me, shining now with mischief, not tears.
Gesturing with a nod over my shoulder, she sucks in both her lips as a voice whispers into my ear.
“Hey, stranger, where you been hiding.”
“I rest my case,” Lauren says, accompanied by a quick quirk of her brows.
I turn slowly to see Alysa standing there.
“Hoooooleeeeey shit!” Zac whisper shouts loud enough for me and most of the bar to hear.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Lauren says with a wink. “Thanks for the drink,” she adds before turning and walking away.
Chapter 7
Lauren
“What the fuck was that all about?” I snap at Jo when I reach where the girls are standing.
“Oh, do be quiet. I’m just helping you get back in the game.”
“I don’t want to be back in the game. I’m not even out of the game yet. I’m still in the game, just a different game.”
“He’s cute,” Lou slurs. “Just use him to practise on.”
“Lou!” I shake my head in horror at her suggestion. “He’s someone’s son. Imagine if someone talked about one of your boys like that one day?”
She shrugs.
“It’s all good, Lauren, it’s all good. . .tune,” she shouts before bouncing on her toes and fist-pumping the air as she sings along to ‘Living on a Prayer’.
“I should go home,” I tell Jo and Jemma who are both watching me.
“No, you shouldn’t.” Jem throws her arm over my shoulder and says, “Ol’ blue eyes is on his way over here, and what you’re gonna do is let him buy you drinks, have a little flirt, then go home later and go to bed feeling a million times better than what you did last night.”
“Sorry about that, Lauren. I meant to give you my card, just in case. . .” He trails off, shrugging awkwardly while his mouth opens and closes. I wonder if it’s because I got upset earlier at the mention of finding somewhere to live, and he maybe doesn’t want to bear witness to another one of my mini meltdowns.
I notice the girls slope off and join Lou on the dance floor, once again leaving me alone with this man. We stand facing each other in another awkward silence, I use the moment to take in his gorgeous face. His dark hair, brows, lashes, and stubble make the blue of his eyes pop. The dark circle around his irises highlighting the colour even more. He’s tall, I mean at a little under five-two, everyone is tall to me, but he must be over six foot. Muscled, but not bulky. His limbs long and lean like an athlete. Dark chest hairs escape the T-shirt he’s wearing, pooling in the divot at the base of his throat.
Those blue eyes apparently have a direct line to my clit, and I shift, embarrassed at the effect he’s having on me.
Aware that I’m studying him, he smiles. It’s not a big smile, just a small one. But with his head tilted to the side and the way it lights up his eyes, it’s truly, heart-stoppingly magnificent.
My hand involuntarily begins to rise. I catch it, dropping the offending appendage to my side before it commits the ultimate flirting move and touches my hair. Really? This is what I’ve become? A horny, desperate, middle-aged woman, reacting to the slightest attention thrown my way. Could I be any more obvious?
He leans in and says huskily into my ear, “So, do you want it, Lauren?” Hot breath fans my cheek and neck setting my skin on fire. . . or that could be the alcohol or menopause. Both are possibilities.
“W-what?” I stammer.
“My card, do you want it?”
Desire is also right up there as a cause of the scorch travelling from my toes to my scalp. I haven’t had sex in months. Not with an actual person at least. Since my husband stopped paying me the right kind of attention, I’ve turned more and more to battery-operated options. But there’s only so much pleasure a girl can get from a kinky romance novel and a BOB. It’s intimacy I crave, a kiss, a cuddle, skin on skin. I realise this is all running through my mind as I stare blankly at him. Gabe, Gabriel Wild, even his name oozes sex.
“Yes. Yes please. That would be great, but like I said before, I’m not in a position to be able to afford rent just yet. I have some shit going on, and I need to get back to work.”
I’m rambling, unsure of why I’m explaining all of this to him, this man, this stranger.
“What is it you do, for work, I mean?”
“I’m an interior designer, but I’ve let life get in the way of work over the past few years and I need to rebuild my client base again, get my name back out there.”