Page 34 of Chasing Storm
“I gave him my name and this place to send his dry-cleaning bill to,” I admit reluctantly.
“Ahahahaha!” she screams with laughter, clapping her hands together while Sadie glares at us. “Oh, Storm. You fell right into that trap! He’s into you.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He wasn’t very nice. And just now, I made a date with Franco from the coffee shop, andThatchertried to warn me off. I mean, what the fuck, right?” I huff.
Cheryl shakes her head. “So all three of them, hmm? You realise that all of this makes you sound incredibly dumb. One of them yells at you so you give him your name and place of work. Another onekissesyou, and another warns you off from a hot Italian with a bod that rocks. How was the kiss?”
I groan softly. “So good, but their reputation definitely precedes them. They aren’t into being serious, and I don’t want to be another notch for them.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I hear you. Do you want me to find out their intentions? I could ask Tim; he’d be super casual about it…”
“No, please don’t do that,” I say desperately. “I’ll deal with it on my own.”
“If you change your mind, I’m happy to help.”
“Thanks,” I murmur and then roll back to my desk before Sadie starts hissing at us.
“By the way, good on you for getting a date with Franco. He’shot!” She licks her finger and places it on her arm, making a sizzling sound. “But watch your back with him. He’s also a massive player. Probably worse than JP.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just for funsies. I don’t expect anything from him.”
“Tell me all about the sex tomorrow.”
“There will be no sex,” I point out.
She looks perplexed. “Then why are you going out with him?”
Good point. Maybe there will be some sex. It’s been a while. I’ve only seen action with my vibrator for a few months.
“Ah,” Cheryl says. “You’re thinking about sex with him now, aren’t you?
I snicker and feel my cheeks heat up. “Maybe. But he’s going to have to work harder than just a drinks date.”
We go quiet as Angela comes into the office. She ignores me completely and has hushed words with Sadie before leaving again.
By that time, Cheryl is already engrossed in her filing, and I’ve got a stack of invoices that won’t pay themselves.
* * *
Later that night, dressed to bowl Franco over in a pink dress with thin straps, a low cleavage and a waterfall skirt, I head out for the short walk to the bar, armed with a purse stuffed with condoms—can’t be too careful—and an anxiety level that is practically shooting off into space. I change my mind three times before I force myself to walk past the coffee shop with the bar in question in my sight.
This is a bad idea.
Franco isn’t the settling down type, and aren’t I done with casual sex? It’s been a while; I’m probably a bit rusty. And possibly dusty. Not even that deep down in my soul, I know I only agreed to this to piss Thatcher Sinclair off and to hopefully get him and his cronies to back off me. None of them are marriage material by a long shot. I’d probably have a better chance at getting Franco down the aisle than any of them. That thought makes me baulk and go a bit nauseous.
What am I doing?
Trouble is, if I back out now, the grapevine will know and Thatcher will find out and then that leaves me wide open again. I need the illusion of hands off, and that is the only thing that forces me to push the door open. The sounds of a packed bar whoosh out, sending my nerves into a tailspin. But I soldier on now that I’m here. I spot Franco by the bar and roll my eyes. He is talking to a pretty, petite blonde who is looking up at him with doe eyes. She is young and stupid. She’s already fallen for him like a ton of bricks. I know that this is nothing, just a bit of fun for him, and along with chasing Thatcher away, I’m also pretty sure I’m here to get Josh’s kiss imprint off my mouth. It’s been there for days, taunting me. But it all just feels so empty and unsatisfying.
Trouble is, if one thing is clear after my conversation with Cheryl, it’s that I can’t be mooning over Josh. He comes with baggage in the form of his rep. Although, who doesn’t have baggage? Well, me, for a start. I’m fairly baggage free—no serious boyfriends who broke my heart or unrequited loves. Nope, just me doing my thing and enjoying myself, waiting for the ones who will sweep me off my feet in a gesture worthy of Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. I have no doubts in my mind that I want to be surrounded by love and feelings that fulfil my every want and need. Not this.
Watching Franco flirt with the blonde, I know that being here is a waste of time. I’m about to turn and leave when he looks up, and his eyes light up. He smiles that sultry, sexy smile that has swayed a thousand women, probably more. He abandons the blonde, who glares at me with a furious expression, and weaves his way through the crowd to greet me with an air kiss on both cheeks.
“You are beautiful,” he murmurs.
He’s not so bad himself. He’s dressed all in black, with a tight tee and sexy jeans.
Ah, fuck it.
