Chapter 2 #2
She falls into a fit of hysterics causing the men at the side of us to look, at the same time as the pink bunny-eared vibrator falls out the box. Jesus!
I can’t pick it up quick enough but luckily the men all turn their eyes back to the TV screen leaving me to die a little inside. “I love you, but seriously?”
She waves me off. “Your mum told me about the house, so I thought it would make the perfect housewarming gift.” She winks. “If you know what I mean.”
I shove the new sex toy addition back into the bag, trying to cool down my embarrassment. I’m glad when she changes the subject.
“Shannon, you have your own home.” Her smile is genuine, probably because she knows she’ll be spending time there with me when she’s not working away.
Talia’s a hospitality consultant, she gets to travel the world to some amazing destinations and give advice and ideas on services, so the customers keep coming back.
She’s one of the best. I know she’s going to be full of ideas for my glamping business.
“I know, I can’t wait.” I take a sip of the full pint she bought me. “ It’s your scrapbook house.” We both raise our glasses, tapping them together.
I think back to my younger self who fell in love with the little bungalow, my head full of dreams of me and my future sweet cinnamon roll boyfriend, the kind who’d be out in the garden chopping wood while I baked him peach crumble.
Talia was all for the idea when we were teenagers, but by the time we were in our twenties, we’d both fallen in love with romance books and our ideas morphed into something else.
I wanted a passionate, fierce lover — someone who wasn’t afraid to touch me.
No longer did I want the sweet words or hesitant hands, like the man I gave my virginity to — Barney.
I wasn’t a delicate flower.
I was a grown woman who didn’t have a tiny waist or slim hips.
I craved to be manhandled by someone who wasn’t afraid to break me.
I’m still looking for this mystery man. I thought I’d found him last year, but he turned out to be a cheating scumbag when his wife turned up announcing they were married.
Handsome arsehole.
Talia leans over the table. “Where have these men been all my life?” she practically shouts as she scans the pub.
She oozes confidence, never afraid to say exactly what she thinks. Flicking her long pink hair over her shoulders, she pushes her breasts out, eyeing up the three men sitting beside us.
All of them are wearing Leopard’s shirts.
They’re good-looking, all a little rough around the edges, with beards, thick thighs clad in dark denim.
Two of them have tattoos crawling up their muscled arms. I wonder what their hands would look like gripping my hips.
I really need to get out of this funk of not having a man in my life.
The last person I slept with was Barney, and to make things worse, he was my next-door neighbour.
Talia pipes up. “How tall do you think they are?” I haven't got a clue but I’m sure she’s about to ask them.
Assessing the men, trying not to make it too obvious, I shrug. “Don’t know… six-two, maybe?” Talia, being the ever-loudmouth, scoots over and taps the arm of the closest one. He looks at her with a huge smile, almost cheeky in a way, but undeniably bloody gorgeous.
“So, my friend and I…” she starts, and I immediately drop my head. Here we go. She always says ‘we’ when she really means herself, but of course I’m interested too.
“We were wondering how tall you were.” She flutters her eyelashes and bites down on her lip, turning on her irresistible charm. Such a flirt.
He leans in slightly, a faint blush creeping on his face — it’s endearing, he looks genuinely flattered.
“I’m six-three.” His voice gruff with a subtle hint of edginess.
Talia blows out a breath, then shifts her gaze over his shoulder. “What about your friends?” She waves a pink-painted finger towards the rest of them. It’s safe to say her favourite colour is pink.
The bloke turns to face his mates before looking back at Talia.
“Tristan’s six-three,” he says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the one sitting next to him.
He looks really handsome. Homing in on hearing his name, Tristan turns towards us, flashing a wide smile.
“Hello, ladies.” He’s a smooth talker, definitely a ladies’ man.
He doesn’t hide; he’s staring straight at my tits. “It’s my birthday, buy me a drink or give me a kiss,” he reads my badge out loud. A dirty grin spreads across his face.
Raising his long fingers to his lips, he pauses, like he’s mulling over what to say next.
“Can I do both?” He’s deadly serious.
Bursting out laughing in the most unladylike way earns me a look from the third one in the group.
He hasn’t paid any attention to us, keeping himself to himself, but I did catch him eyeing up my new toy from under the brim of his cap in a fleeting moment before he swiftly turned his gaze back towards the TV screen.
There’s something familiar about him, like I’ve seen him before.
His posture is screaming Don’t talk to me — the grump of the group — clearly dragged here under false pretences or for the sole purpose of the game and nothing else.
He’s not chatty, I’d say he’s antisocial, or he’s just plain rude.
As if he can hear my thoughts, he catches my eyes once again.
I swear I’ve seen him before. He’s got this whole natural born broodiness about him and a whole lot of edginess, mixed between rugged with a hint of keep your distance, like someone who should be playing for the Leopards.
The type of man who could command a room with just one look.
He’s taller than the rest, unshaven, chiselled, and very easy on the eye.
His gaze lingers on mine while Talia and the rest of the group chat away, but he doesn’t say a word. He looks pissed off we’re talking to his friends, but there’s no mistaking the hot flush on my cheeks as his blue, almost grey eyes, slowly scan over my body.
Even with the scowl on his face, the kind of broody, untouchable look, it would make most people want to run rather than challenge him. He’s still watching me and I refuse to blink, refuse to look away. I doubt I’d be able to look away, even if I wanted to.
After all, it is my birthday, and the drinks have been feeding me a steady flow of extra confidence.
I need to know if we’ve met before. “Do I know you?” I say, lifting my chin and keeping my voice friendly.
He frowns, deep creases forming between his dark brows.
From looking at all three of them, I’d say he’s the older one in the group, but each of them has their own rugged appeal, built to break a girl’s heart but fuck you like a raging bull.
I always thought the quiet ones are the fiercest in bed and I’m yet to prove my theory.
Without saying a word, he lowers his tattooed hand, wrapping his long fingers around his pint glass and bringing it to his full lips, downing what’s left in two big gulps.
My eyes are drawn to the way his throat works as he swallows.
Wicked thoughts tease my mind as I sink my teeth into my lower lip.
And then it hits me. No, that can’t be him — maybe he has a brother. I shake away the thought of my past and last blind date.
Pulling my eyes away from him, I notice people are starting to leave, either heading home or moving on to the next pub.
We’re lucky enough to live in a small town surrounded by scenic views of farmland and country houses, the ideal place to settle down, to make a home.
But it’s still big enough that you don’t know everyone who lives here.
His glass hits the table with a light thud drawing my attention as he stands up. My God, he’s so tall.
His thick, gorgeous thighs are wrapped in dark denim with his Leopards rugby shirt stretched tight across his chest. He must work out, or maybe he’s working in a job where heavy lifting is a requirement.
My gaze as usual falls to his feet. I've got a thing for men’s shoes and boots.
You can tell a lot about the shoes a person wears — especially men.
The laces of his boots are undone, like he was in a rush to get out of the house.
I can’t pull my eyes away from him. I know it’s him.
He’s scowling at me.
It feels like I’ve invaded his space.
He takes one last look my way then grunts his goodbye to his friends and leaves, without saying a single word to me. Rude, much?
His mates wave him off, but they all look a little… off. Like there’s something they’re not saying, at least not in front of me and Talia, who’s currently flirting her way through the rest of them. They’re loving the attention.
Something in my gut tells me to turn around.
We’re sitting near the large windows by the entrance, giving us a view of the town square. Ashbourne in all its glory. And just as I glance over, I catch him walking by.
But not before he stops.
Not before he looks directly at me.
His face is unreadable. Then, with a small shake of his head, he turns and walks away.
I don’t give him the privilege of my curiosity.
In fact, I push Mr Grumpy bollocks right out of my head.
Because I know exactly who he was, and he knew me too.
Talia and I leave the pub, a little wobbly on our feet as we try to walk the short distance back to my parents’ house, already knowing Mum has made beer snacks.
She hates the thought of us drinking on an empty stomach.
We both stand, leaning against each other, laughing hard as we face the steep hill — the one we used to race down on our Happy Shopper push bikes, baskets filled with flowers and jars of insects when we were kids.
“Fuck, should we call a taxi?” Talia says, trying to catch her breath, bending over and gripping her knees. She’s about as fit as me when it comes to running, or even walking.
“What are you going to do when I move?” She suddenly stands up and throws one arm around me.
“I’m going to miss staying at your parents’.” She wipes her forehead with her free hand. “And… this is your year to get a nice bloke,” she adds, poking my chest.
“Speaking of men, did you notice the grumpy arsehole who just got up and left?”
Talia thinks for a second, then, like a lightbulb has just gone off in her head, she throws her hand over her mouth and gasps.
“Holy shit,” Talia mumbles behind her fist.
“So, you know he was last year’s blind date guy?” I ask as I follow her towards the kissing gate separating the field from the country lane. The last thing we want is to be ploughed up by a John Deere.
“That was the Wesley Parker?” she asks.
The whole disastrous date plays through my mind. I suck in a breath. The man who played me like a fiddle, while his wife stood by and watched.
“Shan, you know it was all on him,” Talia says, wiping a wispy strand of hair off my face.
It still doesn’t help my pride. “He made me feel like shit.” No wonder he walked out of the pub.
Talia hugs me, rubbing small circles on my back like I’m really upset, when, honestly, it’s just the drink talking, and I couldn’t give a shit about the tosser. I’m about to move into my new home and it’s my birthday. Fuck him and his hot as hell self.
“Wesley Parker…” she slurs the name; I throw my hand over Talia’s mouth to stop her talking.
“Wesley fucking Parker is a waste of my time…” I practically shout, waving my hand in the air. But I don’t get to finish because Talia fills in the blanks.
“And a waste of your Virginia.” God, we’re drunk, because I think she means vagina, but I don’t correct her, because, honestly, he’d be a waste to the whole state of Virginia too.
Reaching into my gift bag, I pull out my pink vibrator and wave it around in the air.
Then I pull it to my mouth like a mic and sing-song the words, “Who needs Wesley Fucking Parker when I’ve got Jack the pink rabbit.
” Tears spill down our cheeks as we both hobble the last mile up the hill.
I make a mental note that if I ever see him again, I will tell him exactly what I think of him.
But I’m not expecting to ever bump into the arsehole again.
So, what if he’s the kind of man sent from somewhere out of this world to ruin the hearts of women as well as their panties, or maybe it’s just my panties.