Chapter 6
Edie
“You seem a little on edge. What’s up?” Henrietta asks as I nurse my gin and tonic, the Take That tribute band’s absolute destruction of my favourite tune, Pray, making me want to pluck my eyes out.
“Nothing’s wrong. I was just up late last night with Nina and I’m still recovering,” I lie.
The truth is, I’ve spent the entire evening watching the pub’s entrance wondering whether Dorian will come storming in and demand why I stood him up. But he’d have to know where I am first, and I doubt he’d have any inkling I’m sitting in my local pub acting as a wing woman for my best friend.
“I adore Nina. She’s full of fire,” Henrietta says, distracting me from my thoughts. “In a few years, she’ll be a ball-buster just like her mum. How is Beth, anyway? Is she still happily single and chasing off men with a stick?”
“Elizabeth’s good. Excellent, actually. She’s a fabulous mum, and a far better role model than I could ever hope to be,” I say, taking a sip of my drink, and forcing myself not to look at the door for the millionth time tonight.
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re amazing. Dorian seemed to think so too…” Her voice trails off as she leans in closer, waggling her brows. “Please tell me you’ve seen him again.”
I shake my head. “Not since the video call.”
Again, another lie. If I tell her he turned up unannounced at my house last night, or that we made out in my front garden for anyone to see, she’ll want every candid detail, and I’m not in the right frame of mind to relive that moment just now.
Nor am I willing to confess I’ve stood him up, too.
She’ll throw a hissy-fit, and I just can’t deal with it. I’m tense enough as it is.
“I don’t get it. He was so into you.”
“Clearly he came to his senses,” I mumble, my gaze straying to the door again.
Henrietta shifts in her seat and narrows her eyes at me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve got nothing to hide,” I protest, but I can feel heat flooding my cheeks, a telltale sign I indeed have something to hide.
“Oh no. What have you done?”
“Nothing.”
“Please tell me you fucked that gangster’s brains out, and you’re being all coy because you don’t want to make me jealous.”
“I have not fucked him,” I hiss.
But I have sucked on his nipple, and palmed his rather impressive cock.
“Edie, you should know I am more than happy to live vicariously through you. My poor neglected vagina has started to seal itself back up after a whole six months of not getting any action,” Henrietta continues, motioning to her crotch.
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? Besides, your vagina has seen action. Didn’t you recently get an order in from—”
“Not the real kind,” she replies, cutting me off. “And given the less than appealing men in this pub, I’m unlikely to get any action tonight either. Anyway, stop deflecting and spill the juicy details. What happened?”
I take another sip of my drink, biding my time, and wondering how I can change the subject without it looking like I’m hiding something, but before I can even formulate an answer, two men approach.
Neither of whom holds a candle to Dorian.
My shoulders slump and I groan. This is not what I need right now.
What I need is a dangerous, dark-haired gangster with tattoos and piercings, but I’ve sabotaged that for reasons only known to a part of me unwilling to share why.
“Oh, here we go,” Henrietta says under her breath, eying the men who give us both a wide smile. “I’ll take the one on the right. At least he’s bothered to brush his hair.”
“I know I said I’d be your wing woman, but I’m really not—”
“Evening ladies, thought you’d like some company. Can we sit?”
“Absolutely,” Henrietta replies, squeezing closer to me so that the man she’s already claimed as hers for the evening can slide into the booth next to her.
The other hovers beside me, his gaze immediately falling to my tits encased in a low cut, navy velvet top. He licks his lips, and I try not to gag. “Room for one more?”
I stifle the urge to get up and leave, forcing myself to shrug instead. “If you must.”
Henrietta gives me a sympathetic look before turning her attention to the man on her right, who very loudly introduces himself as Mark. Looks like I’m stuck entertaining his friend for the rest of the night. I love Henrietta, I really do, but right now I kind of hate her.
Why did I ever agree to this?
“The name’s John,” the guy says to me, his gaze focused wholly on my cleavage. “And your name is?”
“Are you asking me, or my tits?” I reply, bored already.
His gaze snaps up to my face, eyes wide with shock.
“Can I give you a piece of advice?” I continue, not bothering to wait for a response. “The next time you try to pull a woman, it would be better if you pay more attention to her face than ogle her chest like you haven’t seen a pair before.”
“Well, that’s fucking rude,” he has the gall to say.
“No, just the truth,” I snap back. I’m really not in the mood to stroke this man’s ego.
“Don’t know why you’re being such a bitch. It’s not as if you’ve got a line of men wanting to speak with you. You’re no spring chicken.”
Before I’m even able to open my mouth to respond, Henrietta rounds on him. “Excuse me, what did you just say to my friend?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said, you fucking ignoramus. It was a rhetorical question. First, don’t insult my friend. She’s fucking hot, and way too good for the likes of you, and second, have you looked in the mirror lately?” she laughs then and Mark grabs her arm, his whole countenance changing.
“You should watch your mouth,” he warns.
“Watch my mouth?” Henrietta snaps, trying to yank her arm out of his hold. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. You’re not welcome. So why don’t you both just fuck off? You clearly have no idea how to treat women.”
Except they don’t fuck off, and despite the fact the pub is full of people, they’re all too busy watching the band to notice what’s happening. Instead of fear, anger blooms inside my chest.
I lean across Henrietta, grabbing Mark’s wrist, attempting to pull him off her.
“Let her go, arsehole,” I seethe, my fingernails digging into his flesh. I don’t care if they draw blood, but I do care I might break a nail whilst doing it. I’ve only just redone them.
“You fucking bitch,” Mark hisses, still refusing to let Henrietta go.
“Don’t call her a bitch,” Henrietta shouts, and with her free hand, slaps Mark around the face.
John decides at that point to wrap his hand around the back of my neck in an attempt to pull me off of Mark, and I’m just about to let his arsehole friend go so I can punch him in the face, when a familiar figure steps into my periphery.
“Take your hands off my woman before I remove them from your fucking body.”
Dorian’s voice is low, but the threat is loud.
Loud enough for John to release his grip on the back of my neck, and for Mark to let Henrietta go, too.
I let out a whoosh of breath, partly in gratitude and partly in lust, because when my gaze meets Dorian’s it’s very clear that the gangster side of him is about to come out to play, and I’m pretty sure I’ll like it.
“Get the fuck out of here before I make sure Dorian follows through on his threat,” Logan says, stepping out from behind him.
Henrietta gasps, her attention snapping to Logan. “Oh Lord, have I died and gone to heaven? Because you are an angel”
He cocks a brow, his blue eyes sizzling. “No, you haven’t, and no, I’m not.”
She grins, licking her lips. “I beg to differ.”
“Unless you want to lose your tiny little cocks as well, I suggest you get the fuck out of here,” Dorian interjects, that dangerous look in his eyes more menacing than his threat.
I’ve never seen two men dash from the pub as quickly as John and Mark. It’s comical watching them scramble out of the booth and barge through the crowd as though they’ve both got a firework shoved up their arse.
I can’t help but laugh.
It bursts out of me, and I smother my mouth with my hand as Henrietta joins in, giggling too.
“Talk about saving the day,” she says, absentmindedly rubbing at her arm where Mark had held her so tightly. “You’re our knights in shiny Armani suits.”
“Did he hurt you?” Logan snaps, his gaze focussed on the red marks tainting Henrietta’s skin.
“I’m fine,” she replies with a smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Hmm,” Logan mumbles, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he slides into the seat beside Henrietta and runs his fingers over the mark.
Her sharp intake of breath is drowned out by the band crucifying It Only Takes A Minute.
Henrietta gives me a wide-eyed look, as if she can’t believe her luck.
Logan on the other hand has quickly removed his fingers from her skin and is staring at his hand like it doesn’t even belong to his body.
“Edie, are you okay?” Dorian asks, drawing my attention back to him.
His whole body is practically vibrating with repressed anger. I’m not sure if it’s aimed at me or the men who just hightailed it out of here. Probably both.
“I’m fine…” My voice trails off as he pins me with his stare. I square my shoulders to stop myself from squirming in my seat, not because I’m intimated, but because he’s just so damn beautiful.
“You stood me up,” he says.
“I—”
“Wait, Edie stood you up?” Henrietta questions before poking me in the side. “You told me you were free tonight. Why on earth would you stand Dorian up? Have you seen this man? He’s bloody delectable.”
“He’s not that impressive,” Logan states, and Dorian slowly turns to look at him, brows raised.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask, cutting through the tension.
“Hettie posted a photo of you on her Instagram account about an hour ago,” he replies, his heated gaze roving over me. “She wrote in the comments the girls are out to play, and she tagged the location.”
“She did what?” I look over at Henrietta, who’s back to ogling Logan. “Henrietta, when did you post a photo of us?” I ask. She knows I hate it when she does that.