Chapter 8
8
Aaron
George gives Holly an appraising look. Most days when he’s at the pub, he can be found napping in the corner when he isn’t arguing with the other guys, but Holly has definitely put a twinkle in his eye.
He pulls me in for a hug, and I have a hard time hiding my surprise. George is not a handshaker, a hugger, or anything like that. But then he hugs Holly, and it all makes sense.
I can’t say I blame him. You’d have to be half dead not to want to be close to Holly. She smiles widely at the man who only minutes before scared the crap out of her. My heart pinches at how warm and welcoming she is to this absolute stranger. It’s one of those things I think I love most about Holly. She is genuinely good down to every last bone. Her openness, heart, and fire are just the tip of the iceberg of the things I love about her.
George still has his hands on Holly’s upper arms when he looks at me. “This must be your wee friend you’ve been talking non-stop about for the last couple of weeks.” Trust George to open his trap. I should have stipulated one of the conditions of the free beer being that he doesn’t say a word to Holly about how much I’ve been obsessing over her the last two weeks and how excited I was for her to be visiting.
“Hello there, lassie. Holly, is it? Aaron said you were beautiful, but he didn’t say you were knock-out beautiful.”
Holly’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she turns to look at me. “You said I was beautiful?”
I roll my eyes, hoping I’m giving off the impression of nonchalance instead of the embarrassment I actually feel at being caught acting like a kid with a crush. “George, you should never have told her that, her head is big enough and now you’re just gonna make it worse.”
She bumps me with her shoulder.
“Aye.” George nods his head. “I remember the days when I got to revel in a bit of chemistry myself. Let me give you two a bit of advice. Don’t waste a moment of your youth. When you’re my age and falling apart, you don’t want any regrets of what could have been.”
Holly raises her eyebrow. I blame myself for getting drunk when I heard she was coming and spilling my guts. It’s time I shut this conversation down.
Time to shut George up. I clap my hands. “Okay, shall we get this show on the road?”
“Aye. The missus will be home at six after seeing the bairns, and I need to be in my seat when she arrives, or it’ll be burned toast for me again the night.”
There have been numerous occasions when George has come in complaining all he got for his supper was burnt toast. But within ten minutes he’s bragging about the fact that Elsie loves him enough to at least make him something, even when she’s pissed off.
I stroll over and walk behind the bar with Holly trailing behind me. I should be a gentleman and let her go ahead of me, but I won’t be very gentlemanly while I’m staring at her gorgeous arse. I think God invented jeans to torture men like me.
When I slip in behind the bar, I open the cupboard near the beer taps and hand her an apron with Mam’s bar logo on it: a circle of thistles with her name in cursive script in the centre. She loves that damn logo so much it’s on nearly everything. When we moved to South Africa, Mam always said the one thing she missed the most were the thistles. So, before my prick of a father did a runner, he bought the bar, named it after Mary, gave her the thistles and a false sense of security to assuage his guilt. And even though I wanted to roll the deeds to the inn up in a tight ball and shove them up his arse, it still means something to Mam, and I wouldn’t take anything else from her. He took enough.
Holly places the forest-green-and-gold apron over her clothes and starts tying it from the back. I know she doesn’t need my help, but I can’t resist the need to be near her, so I step up behind her.
“Turn around.”
She frowns at me, her lips pouting slightly with confusion, but then does as I suggested.
“Let me help you.” I release the ties from her hands and, as always, whenever I touch Holly a surge of desire rushes through me. I may not be able to be with her in the sense that I want to be with her, but I sure as hell can find ways to be close to her. A small flush feathers across her neck, and I hope that means she can feel this too despite the fact that it’s not going to go anywhere. As the blush spreads, I have to force myself not to trace the blush from her neck to her lips.
And, as always, my cock chooses the most inappropriate times to stir awake, so I make sure to get started. I need the distraction. “I’m going to show you how to tap a beer. I know your Da is fussy with how his beers are poured, but you’ve never poured from a tap before.” I realised then that I don’t know much about Holly from over the last two years. For all I know, she could have been working in a bar and be the boss at tapping beers. “Or, have I got it wrong and you’re a pro?”
“I’m definitely not a pro. Although, I do believe I will ace this. How hard can it be?”
“Confidence, I like it. Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”
All this time, George has been sitting on the bar stool, patiently waiting while watching a game of football on the telly. I take chilled glass from the fridge and hold it up for Holly to see. “Some of the guys like their beer ice cold, George here being one of them.” George looks up at his name and nods before turning back to the TV. “Which is why I keep some glasses in the fridge. Now, very important, some of the guys in here will literally stop speaking to you if you mess up their beer. So, you have to get it right every time. And each guy likes theirs poured differently, so make sure you ask them. You’ll need to remember because they’re impatient. Aren’t you, George?”
“Aye. That’s because that wee fucker Max just cannae get it right.”
Holly looks from George to me. “I take it Max is one of the other two guys who work for you?”
“Yup. I have Max and Trevor. They are each on shift so I can get Sundays off to play a bit of rugby and study. You’ll meet them tomorrow.”
“Great, I’m looking forward to it.”
I need to change the subject because suddenly jealousy has my stomach in a terrible grip. Fuck, I need to work on that. Holly isn’t mine. Still, I know Max is going to try to put the moves on Holly. He thinks he’s a charmer and pretty much flirts with every woman who comes into the pub. I wonder if I can write up a no-fraternising clause before tomorrow.
I gesture toward the tap. “Ready to give it a go?”
Smooth transition, dickhead .
“I know I’m ready,” George pipes up. “I’m ready to drink my own piss at this point, laddie.”
Holly grins. “We can’t have that now can we, George? Let’s get this training going.”
“Let’s,” I agree. “Come stand in front of the taps.”
She moves as instructed, but she’s a little too close. Beer will splash all over her, so I put my hands on her hips, pulling her just a smidge back. Her breath hitches, and she glances back at me, her eyes blazing. It would be so easy to pull her back against me, wrap my arms around her, dip down and kiss her neck. Maybe I should be the one standing in front. God knows, I could do with a cold shower.
I reach around her and grab the glass. I could’ve been a gentleman about it and stepped around her to pick up the glass, but then I wouldn’t have been able to inhale her subtle scent or hear the small but sharp intake of air as I closed the gap between us. Maybe I shouldn’t draw up a no-fraternisation clause. I’d have to fire myself.
“I believe that belongs to me, kind sir?” Holly takes the glass out of my hands, her voice a little breathy.
I know she isn’t using the word ‘sir’ in the kinky sense of the word, but kindly tell that to my dick because it just twitched so hard it nearly busted through my zip. This was a bad idea. I should’ve just let her watch me the first five hundred times so she’d have it down pat, and I wouldn’t be standing behind her making excuses to be near her.
Ignoring the zing of electricity that shoots up my arm when she touches me, I say, “All right. So, you’re going to need to tilt the glass at about a forty-five-degree angle.” I cover her fingers with my own and demonstrate. “Now, use your right hand and grip the handle of the tap.” I banish the thought of us being in a similar position, with Holly sitting between my legs and me guiding her hand up and down my cock, and instead focus on the contrast of Holly’s warm fingers against the cool tap.
The rush of heat coming from Holly has me wondering if she’s thinking the same thing. Stepping closer so I can see over her shoulder, I close the gap between us, but I’m careful to leave a paper-thin space between us so she doesn’t feel how hard I am. I just hope she doesn’t move that sweet arse of hers because if she does, I’m toast.
She turns her head to look back at me, her breath feathering across my face. My eyes travel to her mouth and her tongue peeks out to lick her lips. “What next?”
“You pull. Like this.” I demonstrate without taking my eyes off her. I’m transfixed by her parted lips. It’s like she’s a siren summoning me to my death. The pull is too intense, and I find myself lowering to her mouth. Her warm breath is like a caress.
A rush of cold flows over my fingers and Holly squeals, yanking her hand back from the tap and jumping out of the way of the beer spraying everywhere. Neither of us are lucky enough to miss the brunt of my distraction, and we’re both soaked.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Holly grabs the dish towel and frantically starts rubbing the beer off me and herself. The commotion has drawn George’s attention away from the TV and onto us. He chuckles, the sound like a broken steam engine.
Holly joins in on the laughter, but I’m so rattled by my near fuck-up that I can only slap on a strained smile. I nearly kissed Holly. What was I thinking?
It would be better to show Holly how to mix cocktails. Trevor can teach her how to pour a beer. He’s madly in love with his fiancée, Meg, so out of all of us he’ll be the safest one around Holly.
“I’m sorry about that, George, let me fix you up.” I grab another cool glass and as I put it under the tap, George raises his hand. “Hey, laddie. Dinnae be wasting a drink now.” He points to the half-filled glass.
“I can’t give you this. There’s no head on here.”
“If I don’t have to pay for it, I don’t care how the head is.”
In my periphery, I see Holly cover a laugh, but a small snort still escapes her. Her sense of humour hasn’t changed. If I wasn’t so rattled from nearly kissing her, I would have teased her for snickering at something a twelve-year-old boy would find funny.
George looks confused. “What now?”
His question only sends Holly into a fit of giggles, and it’s such a magical sound that I can’t help but join in.
“Never mind,” I say, pulling myself together and wiping the spilt beer off the glass before handing it to him.
Holly eventually gets control of herself and starts mopping up the bar top. “Shall we try that again?” she asks, and I try hard not to read into what she’s saying.
I shake my head, more to rid myself of wishful thinking than anything else. “I think we’re safer making cocktails for the time being.”
Holly gives me a coy smile. “Let the record show I was not the one who messed up that beer.”
Well, I guess I’m not getting away with it that easily.
Like a coward, I ignore Holly’s statement. “What cocktail do you want to start with?”
I see the mischief in her eyes and steel myself for her to ask for a blowjob or sex-on-the-beach, but then her expression turns serious. “Why don’t we just start at the top of the menu.”
Seems like I’m off the hook for now. Still, I need to get my fucking shit together. If I don’t, it’s going to be a long six weeks.