Page 103 of The Worst Guy Ever
“How is it working here?” I lean across the bar to ask. She bends over to reach down into the low fridge and I’m treated to a sliver of skin at the top of her thigh and those perfect legs, long and smooth, in bright, white knee-high boots.
This is torture. How the fuck did I ever think I’d be able to get over this woman?
“It’s good,” she leans back. “Keeps me busy, I like the social aspect. It’s always a riot when guys I’ve fucked come in with their girlfriends. The look on their faces when they figure out how they know me is fun.” I imagine it’s similar to the look on my face right now, like she’s gripped my balls in her fist and won’t let go.
“Are those chaps ass-less?” she asks, and I burst out laughing.
“You’ll have to take a good look when I walk away and find out,” I say and I can tell how much she hates herself for laughing too. “Nah, I considered it, but the last thing I want is anyone thinking they can have a squeeze of the goods.”
“Wow,” she drawls, her eyes locked on mine as she shakes my drink over her shoulder. “Look at you, all grown up.”
She pours the pink, creamy liquid into a tall glass, tops it off with a tower of whipped cream and a bright red cherry. I have no idea what this is, but it looks revolting, like something a kid would order for dessert. A far cry from my usual beer or whisky on ice.
“Open up,” she says and I oblige, leaning closer to let her pop an extra cherry into my mouth. I catch her fingertip when I close my lips around it, and her eyes go wide as I suck it in further. I close one hand gently around her wrist, lick the sticky juice from her skin, then release her with a pop.
“Delicious.” Of all the things we’ve ever done to each other, this is right up there as one of the sexiest. Her jaw ticks and her chest heaves and I remember how much I loved getting her breathless. As if I could ever forget.
“Oooh, what are you drinking, Cowboy? It lookssogood.”
Two women have muscled their way to the front of the bar beside me. The one dressed as a nurse flips her hair over her shoulder, and presses her firm tits against my bicep. Old me would have loved this, but now it feels like a violation.
“Can we have a taste of your cream?” her Sexy Cat friend laughs from behind her. I snap my eyes back to Hattie, who looks fucking livid.
Jealous, furious Hattie has always had a soft spot in my heart. She’s the first one I got to know, the first one I fell for, but this is not what I wanted at all. I angle my back to the women and shield my drink, making it clear I’m not interested.
“What do I owe you?” I ask.
“It’s on the house, dickhead,” Hattie shouts, and storms off somewhere up the far end of the bar. I lean over and shove a twenty-pound note underneath one of her bottles, pick up my monstrosity of a drink, and leave before these two make things any worse for me.
I spend most of the night lurking, unable to do anything but watch Hattie from afar. The crowd thins out around two in the morning, and soon the music ends and the lights go up.
Luke and Kara left an hour ago. Megan snapped up their offer of a lift, but I couldn’t tear myself away from my favourite girl. Instead, I take a seat in a booth and torture myself a little longer. When Hattie appears, she spots me and pauses, her chin resting on the top of the broom handle as she tries to decide her next move.
“We’re closed, you know.” She sounds exhausted, and I’m not surprised. Hours on her feet dealing with drunk, demanding customers, loud noise and sticky surfaces. It’s the opposite of a rest.
Walking slowly towards her, I take the broom from her hand and get to work on the floor. I’m not in the mood for an argument, and luckily she relents. “I know.”
“Where are your friends?” she asks sarcastically, and I frown in confusion. “The nurse and the cat.”
Oh, still jealous, are we?“I’ve no idea. I don’t know those women.”
“So you didn’t come here to get laid?”
I shake my head, and she disappears, returning a few seconds later with another broom. From opposite sides, we sweep our way back to each other in silence. When we’re finished, I hold my arms out wide, and she steps into them.
There we stand, in the middle of the empty dance floor, gently swaying side to side. I’m certain she’ll make a run for it any second now, but when she breathes out and melts deeper into my arms, I wrap her tight to my chest, happy to do this for as long as she’ll let me.
Somehow, in this moment, we don’t need words. We don’t need to bicker and insult each other, we just need to be held by each other.
“I think you’re the best dressed person here tonight,” she mumbles, her forehead nuzzling against my shoulder. It might be the first time she’s ever complimented me without a hint of sarcasm, and I fold the feeling up and tuck it away with all the other memories I hold dear. She’s wrong though.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. You are.”
“No, you are,” she teases. She always has to have the last word.
I want to coast my hands lower, give her ass the playful squeeze I’ve been desperate to give it since I saw her bend over earlier, but I keep my hands up high, caressing between her shoulder blades.
“I’m not arguing with you, Hattie.”
