Chapter 9
9
Aaron
“See? It doesn’t taste that bad.”
I rub my thumb across my lip, hiding the smile trying to break free. Jesus, she’s cute.
At nine o’clock, I opened the bar and started serving customers while training Holly. After a few mishaps with the cocktails—mostly because I couldn’t concentrate being so close to her—George, Jeff, Nick, and Doogie, a couple of the regulars, decided Holly should taste the cocktails she messed up. The jovial mood inspired Holly to invent Christmas cocktails—God spare us—which consisted of pretty much anything red and green. Let’s just say that fireball whisky and peppermint liqueur does not make for a great shot. Especially with the green and red cherry “baubles” and enough edible glitter to shame a stripper. But arguing with a tipsy Holly was futile, especially with her new loyal, wasted band of brothers at her back.
The regulars were rowdier than usual. Rather than sitting in their little corners, they sat at the bar, egging Holly on, which was a welcome change. Lunch was pie and gravy, and Holly scarfed hers down like we were starving her here at the inn. Clearly, she was working up an appetite while being the pub’s entertainment. It gave me a weird sense of pride to see her getting along with those I considered to be “my people”. Every single one of the regulars sitting in the bar today had been there for me and Mam when Dad did a runner, and I’ll never forget that. At one point, when everything was being finalised, and we weren’t sure where we stood with the pub, they took up a collection amongst themselves and handed my mum a hundred-and-twenty pounds. Most of the regulars were retired and five pounds was a lot for them, so it truly meant a lot knowing they were sacrificing for us.
The pub was nearly empty, just the usual stragglers reluctant to go home to their pissed-off wives. I don’t blame them; some were more blotto than usual, but I think that had a lot to do with the fun and games going on in the pub today.
“Drink up,” Holly insists, pointing at me with her empty glass with only a slice of orange, mint, and enough cherries to make me think I might have to order more. There’s definitely a theme running with the cherries.
“Trouble, I’ve lost the ability to taste anything.” I’m not joking. I think the last drink took the top three layers of my tongue off. This stuff is starting to taste like methylated spirits.
She sets the glass down and scrunches up her face. “You’re a pussy.”
“I assure you I’m not, nor will I ever be.”
“Then drink.”
“How about this? Play a game of pool with me. If I win, we throw this swill away. If you win, I’ll drink it.”
“Okay, but you need to know I’m the queen of pool.”
“You think you can beat me, Hols? I have more experience.”
She mumbles something that sounds a lot like “ain’t that the truth,” but I can’t be certain. She might just be muttering tipsy talk.
I take her hand so she doesn’t fall off the bar chair and lead her to the pool table. When I let go to put a coin in the slot, I feel the loss of her warmth immediately. I point to the pool cues lined up in the rack against the wall. “Choose your weapon.”
She wobbles over to the cues and inspects each one, her tongue peeking out as she concentrates. When she makes her selection, she points the cue at me. “Your turn.”
I head to a cabinet and pull out my cue bag, taking out the two pieces and screwing them together.
“Oh, excuse me, Your Highness, are you too good to share?”
I hold it out to her. “Want to swap?”
“Nope.” She pops the P. “I don’t need fancy equipment to kiss—I mean, kick your arse . Rack ’em up.”
I do as I’m told and grin. “You’ll be kissing my arse soon enough. Ladies first.”
She crosses her arms. “Oh no, you don’t. I don’t need your handouts.”
I chuckle. “Fair enough.” I bend over and break, sinking two solid balls. “Solids, it is then.”
She nods, looking mighty pleased with herself for sticking to her guns and allowing me to shoot out in the lead. I take another turn and sink the white straight after another solid.
“Ooh, someone doesn’t have such a great touch.”
Someone needs to give me a reward for not pressing her against the wall and showing her how great my touch is. I blow out a breath. This is going to be a long game. “Your turn.”
She bends over the table and lines up for a shot. It takes everything in my power not to do move up behind her again, but that proved to be dangerous earlier.
I’m playing with fire, and I know I’m going to get burned. For some reason, though, I’m not afraid of the pain—even if I should be. The only thing stopping me is Spencer’s voice in my head. I don’t have any right to wreck her life. So, instead of touching her like I want to, I stand back, my hands clasped around the cue, and torture myself.
She aims for the ball and misses, then rounds the table to stand in front of me. She pokes me in the chest. “Oops. Your turn. But don’t let this give you a false sense of confidence. I’m still gonna whip you.”
I raise an eyebrow. If only she knew the things I fantasise about when I allow myself to, she’ll know that if anyone is going to be doing any form of whipping, it’ll be me.
As I go to take my next shot, she touches my arm ever so lightly. “Can I change the deal?”
This could be dangerous, but anything to do with Holly is. “Depends on what it is.”
“Okay, if you miss the next shot, you have to tell me something.”
“Trouble, I don’t like where this is going, but I just told you I’m no pussy.” My next shot is easy enough—a straight shot into the top left-hand pocket, which I’ve made a million times. I’m confident I’ll make it again now. “All right, you have a deal.”
I suppose it’s too much to ask for karma to be on my side, considering every dirty thought I’ve had about her tonight. So, I’m not entirely surprised when I miss the ball.
Holly jumps up and down. “Woohoo! You missed. Iterogater time…Interog… Time to ’fess up. Boy, words are hard today.” She scrunches up her nose. “You ready?”
Nope. “A deal is a deal, isn’t it.”
“Thash right.”
She makes to lean her hip against the pool table but misses and stumbles to the side. Reaching out, I steady her.
“Are you trying to kill yourself? Jesus, were you always this clumsy?” My tone comes out harsher than I want it to, but in a matter of two days Holly has found herself in numerous situations where she could’ve got hurt, one of them being because I was a jerk. And I’m not okay with it.
She pats my cheek. “Someone’s grumpy. Jush because you lost the bet doesn’t mean you need to be a sore loser.”
“If you were more careful, I wouldn’t be.”
“Sooo protective. We would have been amazing together.”
I freeze. The conversation can’t head in this direction. “Let’s not go there.”
“Why are you so ’fraid of what my brother thinks anyway? Two yearsh ago I might have been na?ve… huh, I’ve stopped shlurring. Oh wait…never mind.” She waves her hands about and even that nearly causes her to lose balance. “Back to business. Even on the flight over I told Celine that there was no way on God’s green earth that you would want to fuck me.”
So, Celine and Holly were talking about me and fucking Holly. Interesting.
She pokes me again. “Especially since you’re so scared of Spencer. But…” She emphasises the word, drilling her finger into my stomach. “I did not misunderstand what was going on with you earlier at the bar. You looked like you wanted to kiss me but you didn’t, so tell me why you are so scared of my brother.”
“Holly—”
She pushes off the pool table. “Oh no, you don’t, Aaron Walker. You’re not going to renege on a bet. Wow, I said it. That’s a hard word to say when you’re tipsy. Sooo, spill it, buster.”
I chalk my cue for something to do while I try figure out how I’m going to deal with this. I come up with a big fat nothing. “Holly, now is not the time to get into the serious conversations. You’re drunk, and besides, there’s just no point. In six weeks, you’ll be going back to South Africa, and I’m going to stay here and take care of my mum.”
“See? What did I say. Pussy.”
Just like that, I lose my resolve. I eat up the space between Holly and me, placing my hands on either side of her on the pool table and caging her in. “Be careful what you wish for, Holly. You might not like how it turns out.”
“Sounds like something out of one of my mafia books.” She waggles her eyebrows, but then her skin turns a sickly shade of green. Panic flashes over her face, and she looks around frantically. I yank the flowers out of the vase on the mantel, dump the water out the window, and quickly hand it to her. The concoctions she mixed comes out in a long stream. I don’t think the vase is big enough. I scoop her into my arms and run into the bathroom. Setting her down in front of the toilet bowl, I gather her hair seconds before she heaves up the rest of the alcohol and everything else in her stomach.
Now that I know what a lightweight she is, I’m definitely not going to indulge her future experiments.
Once Holly’s stomach is empty, I carry her upstairs to her suite.
I pull back the covers. “In you get.”
“I can’t shleep in jeans,” Holly says, unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them down. I spin around so fast it’s like I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl.
“Don’t tell me playboy Aaron Walker hasn’t seen a girl get undressed before.”
I’ve seen plenty of girls undress, and 100 percent of them always put on a show for me. Honestly, I didn’t enjoy the pageantry of it all. But Holly would never undress in front of me when she’s sober, and I’m not a dick who takes advantage of women when they’re drunk.
There’s a crash and cursing. Instinct has me turning round just in time to catch Holly before she faceplants on the floor. Her jeans are half off, one leg twisted around her ankle, and she’s wobbling off balance. I steady her and drop to my knees. With herculean effort, I keep my eyes fixed on the jeans and will my gaze not to travel up her body. It takes everything in me to ignore the fact that my face is mere centimetres away from her pussy, to ignore how desperately I want to taste her.