Page 21 of All Mine
Wren’s topknot was still in impeccable shape, even if she was slightly worse for wear. Rosie was delightfully squiffy and in the middle of a long story about the latest book she was reading.
‘Honestly, the sex! So well depicted!’ She rolled her eyes in pleasure.
‘There’s me thinking she’d be all highbrow when we met,’ interjected Wren, ‘but she’s as happy withBridgertonas she is with Jane Austen. The more sex, the better.’ They grinned at each other, infuriatingly in love. The music in the bar turned up a notch.
‘Yes!’ Wren exclaimed. ‘Let’s dance!’ She threw back the last mouthful in her glass and strode out of the booth.
‘Howdidyou two meet?’ Isabella asked.
‘Wren used to be a dancer,’ Rosie said, looking lovingly at her partner who was now purposefully moving onto the dance floor.
‘I can totally see that,’ Isabella said. ‘Was it ballet?’
‘Not quite,’ Rosie said with a giggle as Wren stepped up to the silver pole in the middle of the dance floor. Placing one hand on it, high above her head, she turned a tight pirouette underneath her own arm until she stood with her back to the pole. Lifting her knee, she placed her heel back against the steel and flicked a heavy-lidded look in their direction.
‘She used to work with Cirque du Soleil a long time ago, but I met her doing what she does best, on a pole, in a club.’
Wren stepped round the bar in two long strides; people made room, someone whistled. Then she lifted herself as though weightless, circling the pole perfectly with one arm, one knee leading the way, the other straight out behind her, flying without effort. A moment later, she was upside down, still circumnavigating the pole.
‘She’s incredible,’ Amber whispered, stirring her new blue cocktail with a steel straw.
‘She’s amazing!’ Isabella gasped.
‘She’shot,’ Rosie said with a proud smile.
The song ended and Wren landed elegantly on her heels to a roar of approval from the crowd. Next moment, the band bounded on stage.
‘Let’s get up there,’ said Rosie, scooting along the booth. Amber downed her drink and then she and Isabella followed. ‘It’s Throwback Thursday time!’
The guitarist started a well-known riff and then Isabella was dancing, hands in the air, happy.
Chapter Twelve
Etienne
Etienne saw Wren doing her thing on the pole. That woman had moves. He’d seen it before, but she never failed to amaze him. You’d think that people that ran a bookshop were quiet types, but Rosie and Wren were a riot. Walker had introduced them when Etienne first arrived in town, fondly describing Rosie as the only girl in Honeybridge who had ever turned him down, before pulling her in for a side hug.
The band, The Runaway Train, ran onto the stage next. They were always entertaining. Throwback Thursdays were a chance for them to play anything and everything from the past few decades– the cheesier, the better. The fact that most of the people in the bar hadn’t been alive more than forty years didn’t stop them dancing to music from before they were born.
He then saw Rosie coming across the floor to join Wren and, behind her, Amber from River Rats and Isabella, who wasalmostwearing a strappy camisole, jeans and heels. Etienne took a swig of his beer. She looked good.
He watched her smiling as she started to dance, arms above her head. That satin camisole lifting higher, showing more of her olive midriff, the muscles in her lower back, the soft curve of her stomach as she turned in the lights. Correct that, she lookeddamnedgood.
‘That’s Isabella, the new neighbour,’ he said to the guys and indicated the dance floor with his head. ‘Strappy top, long brown hair.’
Walker turned to see and Fox squinted onto the dance floor until they found her.
They all turned back to the high table at the same time.
‘I think I could use her to model my next sexy avatar,’ said Fox appreciatively.
‘I think she has a fire in her pants I could put out,’ Walker said. Etienne gave him his second dead arm of the night. There was no way he was letting Walker anywhere near her. Not with his hero status and his massive shoulders from saving people from burning buildings and the like. He let his eyes rest on her a while longer; her own were shut now, as she moved to the music.
‘We’re out of beer,’ Fox said. ‘Whose round?’
‘Mine,’ Etienne said, checking his wallet in his back pocket. ‘Time for whisky.’
The Bolthole was now rammed. The dance floor spilled out into the aisles, customers dancing in their booths, some on their tables.
