Chapter 2
Blake
Istand, my feet rooted to the spot.
There’s a hen party taking up space at the tabletop not too far from ours, their rowdy laughter audible over the booming sound of the early noughties’ soundtrack vibrating from the overhead speakers.
All eight of them are dressed in brightly coloured princess costumes – short skirts, low necklines, and sky-high heels.
A very different look to the ones I remember from the childhood films my mum tried to get us to watch, before my three brothers and I begged for her to turn it off in favour of an action animation instead.
Hazarding a guess, I’m going to say the short brunette dressed head to toe in pure white is the bride-to-be. While the others—
“Knew we’d picked a good night to hit the bar.” My friend Jamie grins, knocking back the rest of his foamy pint. Apparently, it’s not just me who can’t seem to drag their eyes away from the hen party.
I keep my mouth closed; eyes focused on the busty blonde dressed up as Cinderella. The one who currently has a blown-up fake cock held between her thighs.
Pretending to scrub at the stubble coating my jawline, I hide my smile in my palm, while my own cock twitches in my jeans.
She certainly looks like a fun person to be around all right.
Cinderella and her friends either don’t seem to care or even notice the attention their gathering, with their drunken giggles and bright flashes of their phones as they dance and snap pictures.
I think every man in this entire bar – Myth, Jamie had called it – has had to adjust their trousers at the sight of the girls shaking their arses and grinding on each other while throwing their heads back with laughter.
“You’re very quiet over there, Millen.” Sam bounces his shoulder against mine. “Anything you want to share with the class?”
I shake my head, dragging my gaze away from Cinderella and her friend – the purple dress wearing princess – are whispering in each other’s ears.
“I’d tap that,” Sam continues with a shit eating smirk. “Cinders would look good wearing that get up while she rode my cock—”
He shuts up, midsentence, when the two girls pass us by, arms linked, legs a little wobbly, ducking into the ladies’ toilets beyond.
While the rest of my boys laugh and jibe, ribbing each other with the ease of years of friendship, I swallow back another yeasty mouthful of beer.
“You gonna throw your hat in the ring, mate?” Jamie asks, tipping his head silently to the giggling princesses, who are passing back and forth an expensive looking bottle of champagne, if the gold leaf label has anything to say about it.
It’s been six long months since I last slept with somebody; something the ache in my balls isn’t going to let me forget any time soon.
My day job has been a hard slog recently too, the stress building, burrowing itself deep into my bones.
Working with hormonal teenagers is never easy, but there’s been something in the air recently – the fact exam season is just around the corner, I would bet – making it feel ten times harder.
Getting my boys to listen on and off the school football pitch recently, has been nothing short of a disaster.
Which is exactly why I agreed to come out tonight.
Especially seeing as how all three of my brothers are loved up and partnered off now. Even Hudson, for crying out loud, and none of us thought that would ever happen.
So, maybe throwing my hat in the ring and seeing if I can blow off some steam tonight with a pretty girl, isn’t that bad of an idea.
Even better if it’s Cinderella.
I pop my shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, but by the excited sounding whistle escaping Sam’s lips, I think my face is giving away how I really feel. “If the shoe fits, I suppose.”
The boys grin while I drain the rest of my glass, throwing my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna get another. Anyone want anything?”
“I’ll come with you.” Sam slings his arm around my shoulders, while the other boys shake their heads.
The bar is crowded with patrons; tired looking bar staff running themselves ragged trying to serve everybody in a timely manner.
“Won’t be a minute!”
“No rush,” I assure the bartender. My first job when I was a teenager was being a server, so I know first-hand just how difficult and tiring the job can be.
“Sorry.” The bartender slings a damp towel over her shoulder, having to shout to be heard over the music. “What can I get ya?”
I flick two fingers up in gesture. “Just two beers please.”
She pours them with ease, filling the beer glasses up to the top with frothy amber liquid and taking my ten-pound note when I hand it over.
Sam swallows two mouthfuls down while I pocket my change, almost missing my back jean pocket entirely when my friend elbows me in the ribs.
“Wh—”
“I thought Cinderella only had one shoe?”
I lift my head to see who on earth he’s talking to, feeling my lungs constrict when I realise it’s her.
If it’s even at all possible, she’s even more pretty up close.
With her blonde hair, doe like blue eyes, and hourglass figure, I don’t believe for one second, that she’s single. Any sane man would snap her up in a heartbeat, but I don’t see a ring on her manicured left hand.
I watch as she straightens up at the sight of Sam and I, swallowing down the rest of the liquid in her glass until only the dregs remain. In the lowlight of the bar, I can just make out the imprint her lips leave behind on the rim; a unique set of forked lines and swirls that only belong to her.
The tip of her pink tongue darts out. I can’t help but follow the movement, the sheen of her pretty looking lips.
I bet they taste sweet.
Every inch of her.
“What’s your name?” Her voice is pitched lower than I expected; smoky, a little bit husky too but that might be from having to shout to be heard over the loud music emanating from the DJ booth.
For a split second, I think she’s directing her question to Sam; he’s the one who spoke to her first, after all. But then I feel her pretty eyes on me, dancing over my figure, leaving a trail of heat behind and my cock perks up in interest.
“I see how it is,” I hear Sam say. “Leave him in one piece, won’t ya?”
She narrows her eyes until they’re cat-like, a smirk tiptoeing across her lips. “Maybe I will… maybe I won’t.”
My fingers slip against the cool material of my beer glass, my heart thumping against the protective bone of my ribcage. I don’t even try to hide the smile overtaking my face, nor the slight raise of my eyebrows; I didn’t think Cinderella had it in her but colour me surprised.
Sam laughs loudly, slapping me on the back hard, before he walks away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him enfold himself back into the group.
“Do you have a name or are you going to make me work for—”
This woman.
She has no fucking clue what I’d like to make her work for… although I bet she could take a guess.
I open my mouth, tongue rounding over the vowels in my name. “Blake.”
“Blake,” she repeats with a wild grin.
I swallow back a small mouthful of yeasty beer, noticing the way her eyes watch the bob of my throat.
“And what is it you do, Blake?”
“I’m a sports coach at a high school.”
“Hm.” She hums noncommittedly, placing her empty glass on the sticky bar top to be collected. Her hands come down to her sides, fingers curling and uncurling as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with them now, she doesn’t have an object to hold.
Taking a step forward, an inch or so, I move forward into her orbit. Here, further away from the speakers, we can actually hear each other talk. “Do I get the honour of knowing your name? Or would you rather I guess?”
I know which one she’s going to choose before she answers, maybe before she even makes up her mind.
“Guess.”
“Well, it’s got to be pretty.” I say. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”
Cinderella preens under my praise.
Interesting.
I catalogue that realization away to unpack at another time.
“Won’t you give me a hint?”
She shakes her head wordlessly, the grin on her face portraying just how much she likes this little game.
I reel off three names from the top of my head, watching as Cinderella shakes her head at each of them.
“You’ll never guess it,” she singsongs.
“Tell me,” I urge. I’ve never felt such a need to know somebody’s name before, but I can’t bear the thought of going the rest of my life without knowing hers.
She giggles, this sweet little sound I want to make her do again, capture with my lips and swallow down.
I gaze down at her, towering above her even in her five-inch heels. “Your trouble, aren’t you?”
“Me?” She places a hand to her heart. “Never.”
“I disagree.”
She shrugs. “It’s whether you can handle it or not that makes the difference.”
My blood thrums red hot in my veins. “You—”
“Calla!” I hear a feminine voice shout. “Calla!”
I follow Cinderella’s line of eyesight as she peers over my shoulder, waving away whoever is calling for her. One of her friends I presume. Slowly, I drag my sight away from the hen do, landing back on the pretty blonde in front of me and tilting my head to one side, assessing.
“Calla?” I ask, feeling her name settle into my bones.
She nods once, lashes shuttering to half-mast.
“And what do you do, Calla?” I throw her question back at her.
“Real estate.”
I take another mouthful of my drink, while I look at her, unable to put my gaze anywhere else.
“So, how long have you known the bride-to-be?”
“Since we were children,” Calla answers, shifting a hairsbreadth closer to me, our hips almost grazing.
“And when’s the big day?”
“September 2nd.”
“Whose idea was the fancy dress costumes?”
Calla peers up at me through her lashes; her attempt at faux innocence, I think. “Who do you think?”
I can’t help but laugh, tipping my head back and letting my guard down.
It’s not something I do easily and certainly not usually around people I’ve just met, but I can’t deny there’s something about Calla that has me pulling my armour down a little.
She’s just so easy to be around; a little firecracker, keeping me on my toes. Who knows what she’s going to say next.
“Are you single?”
Her question has nothing to do with what we were last talking about, but I go along with it regardless.
“I am.” I nod. “Are you?”
“Painfully so.”
“How is a woman like you single?”
“A woman like me?” Calla repeats narrowing her eyes for a heartbeat.
“Mhm. Funny as fuck, and a knockout to boot.”
Calla pops her shoulders. “I’m too wild.”
I furrow my brow. “Too wild?”
“Yep. At least, that’s what my ex told me.”
I can’t stop the way my heart pinches at Calla’s admission.
“There’s no such thing as too wild.”
“There is,” she argues. “I can’t be contained.”
I shake my head, gripping my beer glass so tight I feel the blood begin to pool in my fingertips. “You don’t need to be contained. Be wild. Be crazy. Be whoever the fuck you want to be, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”
“It does when I keep scaring them away.”
I pop my shoulders in a shrug. “He was obviously the wrong person for you then. The right person won’t be scared away.”
Calla squints, traversing her gaze up and down the length of me, appraisingly. I wait for her reply, but it never comes.
Instead, she cocks her head to the side, listening to the catchy pop song being pushed through the speakers.
Grabbing my forearm with her dainty fingers, Calla spins, pulling me – with more force than I thought she had in her – away from the bar and into the sweaty throng of people gyrating on the makeshift dance floor.
I shove my still half full pint glass behind me, on to the bar top, latching both of my hands around the curves of Calla’s waist as she rises up onto her tiptoes, grazing the delicate shell of my ear with her glossy lips.
“Come dance with me, Blake.”
The sound of my name on her lips…
I’m a fucking goner.
I can’t dance for shit. But I’d be stupid to say no to the free spirited, knockout of a woman standing in front of me.
Smoothing along the satin feel of her bodice, I follow Calla, staying still, and silent, when one of her friends – Princess Jasmine – bounds over, frantically whispering in Calla’s ear.
When Calla smiles reassuringly, I see her friend’s shoulders drop, tipping her chin over to where I can see the bride-to-be, head to toe in starch white, grinning, and giving Calla and I two thumbs up.
I catch Calla’s resounding laugh, before she pulls us a little further away from her friends, but close enough that they’re still in reach.
“Everything okay?” I ask, bending my head to be heard. The music is much louder here than it was standing at the bar.
“Mhm.” Calla blinks up at me. “They just wanted to make sure I’m safe.”
I nod. I want to say something, anything, to apologise for previous men because nobody should ever feel unsafe, but Calla simply bats my silent words away, turning in my arms and moving her hips against mine.