Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jules
T here are extra lines etched into Mick’s forehead as he flops down on the living room couch and tugs off his tie. It’s been three weeks since he started working at Parramatta Police Station. He’s been home early enough most nights for all of us to sit down to dinner together. Riley is happier to have more of her daddy’s attention, and so am I.
“Would you like a soft drink?” I ask. He shakes his head and pats the spot next to him.
I sashay towards him, getting off on how his gaze roams over me, lingering on my breasts in the silky floral top and the juncture of my thighs, clearly outlined by the tight black pants. I’ve missed these little exchanges, the way he makes my body sing and my breath catch in my throat with one heated look. He pulls me onto his lap. I giggle and wrap my arms around his neck.
Riley glances up from where she’s putting together Lego. “You guys should get a room.”
Mick stiffens. “Where did you hear that phrase?”
She shrugs. “I dunno.”
“Your mum and I are cuddling. ”
She stares for a few moments, then returns to playing with the Lego.
Mick whispers in my ear, “Do you think she’ll draw a picture of you on my lap?”
“I hope not. Mr Campbell’s already seen enough.” I massage his upper back, digging my fingers into the tight muscles. “A tough day?”
“Yeah. But a good one. So, what are you dressed up for?”
“I told you this morning that I was heading out for drinks with Taylor.”
Mick’s jaw tightens, and he does nothing to hide his disgust.
I swipe his chest. “Don’t be like that. She’s going through a difficult time.”
“She could make it easier if she didn’t try to hump …” He trails off as I glare at him. His statement is disrespectful.
“What are you talking about, Daddy?”
And this is why Mick should have kept his thoughts to himself. Little ears are far too sensitive. That’s one advantage of a dog. Zola sits beside Riley, chewing on a nylon bone and paying no attention to us. “Mick?”
He tugs at his collar. “Ah …” He shuffles me off his lap. Coward. I pinch his thigh. He squats next to Riley. “So, how’s the Lego dragon going? Are you nearly finished?”
Riley takes the bait. “Yeah. Then I’ll get back to my jigsaw.”
Mick ruffles her hair. “And then some reading. Let’s not forget your homework.”
I push off the lounge and collect my handbag. I don’t know why Mick won’t cut Taylor some slack. Her only mistake was marrying a dick who treated their wedding vows like optional guidelines. So what if she wants to have a bit of fun? She’s single now. And while she’ll probably hook up with someone tonight, that’s okay. I’ll be her wingman, so to speak, and burn some calories on the dance floor while I’m at it.
“Two more gummy bears.” I wink at the bartender. He’s got the cutest dimple and a lock of brown hair that keeps falling over one eye, reminding me of Mick.
He sets two shot glasses on the counter. Taylor and I upend them. The fruity-flavoured vodka burns the back of my throat. Phew. I wave my hand in front of my mouth as if that will help cool the fire.
Taylor licks her lips. “More.”
The bartender shakes his head and shoves two glasses of water at us. “You’ve just had four shots each. Hydrate. Then we’ll see.”
I get up in his face. “Is it because you think we’re too old?”
“Nope.” He points at the responsible alcohol sign. “It’s because I don’t want to lose my job.”
Huh. Times have changed. I don’t recall anyone refusing to sell me a drink when I was at uni.
“Forget the party pooper. Let’s dance.” Taylor drags me onto the floor. The music is awesome, but my feet tell me it’s a bad idea. I refuse to admit this isn’t as much fun as the ‘good old days’ and swing my hips.
Strobe lights flicker across the dancefloor, bathing the crowd in red and blue and encouraging a headache to form in the middle of my forehead. We soon have a group of four guys dancing with us. They look younger, early twenties. But that doesn’t stop them from flirting. I flash my left hand at one man when he gets a little too handsy. He nips the fingers. What part of married and unavailable is this guy not getting?
Taylor’s more receptive to the advances and soon she’s sandwiched between two men, the three of them dancing as one tight unit. I glare at the remaining two guys, making it clear I’m not interested in becoming anyone’s dinner.
After several more songs, my throat is so dry I can barely swallow. The bartender might have been right about hydration. I gesture to Taylor and we leave the floor and find a table. Our entourage follows.
“We’ll get some drinks,” says the handsy guy.
“Water, please,” I tell him. He gives me a wolfish smile and he and the other one who’s been trying to come onto me disappear into the crowd.
Taylor cuddles up with her new friends while I perch on my chair, ignoring their grope session. I can’t believe she’s making out with two guys in public. Then again, why am I surprised? This is Taylor. No amount of attention is too much!
I slide my phone out of the small handbag slung across my body. It’s only ten thirty, but feels later. I must be getting old. Or, more likely, bored. This isn’t my scene anymore.
The guys return with a tray of beers, no water in sight.
The handsy guy laughs at my sour expression. “It’s light beer. Just as refreshing.”
I’m too thirsty to argue and down my glass. Besides, it’s mostly water. We laugh and chat about music and movies. The men are younger than I thought. All in fourth-year uni, if they’re telling us the truth. I fend off the innocent flirting with the reminder about being married, and eventually, they seem to accept it.
The liquid goes to my bladder. “I’ve got to use the bathroom.” I slide my chair back. Taylor surprises me by extricating herself from the guys, where the petting has bordered on X-rated.
The toilets are all shiny black marble and stainless steel fixtures. Taylor preens in front of the mirror and refreshes her lipstick. “I’m so getting lucky tonight.”
“You already are. They’re really hot.” And so is she. Her obscenely short, bronze sequin dress leaves nothing to the imagination.
Once inside the cubicle, a wave of dizziness passes through me. I flick the lock and lower myself onto the toilet seat. That was weird. Maybe it’s time to call it a night.
“I don’t want anyone else hitting on my guys. I’ll meet you out there,” yells Taylor.
“Wait.”
The door bangs shut. Damn it. She’s gone.
A notice on the back of the door flickers into three. I haven’t had that much to drink. Have I? Four shots, a couple of glasses of wine and the beer. The alcohol in my stomach curdles, and I blink to clear my vision. An unsettling thought comes to me. The first rule of going out is never to accept drinks from strangers, along with never leave your drink unattended. Did those arseholes drug me?
I fumble for my phone. The buttons are a blur. I can’t see a thing. Mick will be furious. I finally find his number.
The phone rings and rings. Pick up. Please pick up. It goes to voicemail. Noooo. I ring again. This time, he answers.
“Jules?”
“Mick.” Fear laces my voice. How could I have been so stupid?
“Where are you?”
There’s banging on the cubicle door. “Hey!”
It’s one of the guys I was dancing with. Fortunately, the door is almost full length. Only a small child could slide underneath.
“Fuck off, you piece of shit.” The curse spills from my lips as a pathetic croak.
He swears, and then I hear the entrance door swinging shut. Thank God. Hopefully, he won’t come back. Oh no. What about Taylor?
“Jules, what’s wrong?” Mick’s strong, comforting voice keeps me grounded. I try to answer him, but my tongue is thick in my mouth. It’s like I used all my energy to yell at the guy who drugged me. The phone slips from my fingers.
Fuck. I will not be caught with my butt hanging out. With a surge of strength, I force myself to stand and pull up my underwear and pants. Then I collapse to my knees and puke.