Page 8 of Tangled With the Wrong Guy
‘But what’s the point, if the bloody groom’s not with them!’
‘Because believe it or not, the bloody groom doesn’t want a bar of it. They’ll have more fun without him.’
She made apftsound.
‘I thought you didn’t approve of stereotyping.’
‘What?’
‘Stereotypical lad-on-a-stag behaviour. Maybe we’re not all like that?’
She shook her head.
‘Look. The dress-ups were Gaz’s idea. We made a deal. They let me have Paris instead of Amsterdam, and a visit to this cemetery instead of the topless boat trip, on the condition we dressed up.’
‘The word isNo,’ said Chloe. ‘JustNo,I do not want a sleazy weekend stag do, I do not want to dress up like a twat,I just want a few pints in the pub with my mates. Where’s your backbone?’
‘Chloe?’
She met his gaze again, and it clicked, who those eyes reminded her of. Less intense, less focused, but … they were dead ringers for Jim Morrison’s big, beautiful, soulful eyes.
‘Well, it’s a moot point, anyway’ he said. ‘Take it from me – they’re not coming back any time soon. And I need to get free of this stuff, I’m sweating like a pig here.’ He looked down at the cling film and tried to move. The plastic cocoon creaked. ‘You’ve got a free hand. Can you try and get me out?’
Instead, she lifted her right hand, pulling his left up with it, examining the chain and the padlock.
‘Is it hurting you?’ he asked.
‘No. But …’ She yanked it quickly upwards, shook it. The metal rattled and the padlock and chain held fast. It was the real deal, security grade, and it had been applied properly, with intent.
‘Shit.’
‘Please, Chloe, can you get this off me? It’s bloody uncomfortable. And I need a wazz.’ The cling film squeaked again as he wriggled.
A wazz. Chrissakes.Was he now going to add wee to the vomit? Could this get any more sordid?
She looked at the glistening plastic on his torso and arms, searching for an edge, a way in. He peered down at himself, doing the same. She reached over and prodded him a few times, to get a feel for how thick the layers were.
‘That’s not helping.’
‘I’m just looking for a weak point.’
He grinned. ‘That’s a bit lower.’
Her head shot up. ‘Don’t even–’
‘Sorry.’ He grimaced. ‘Just trying to lighten the mood.’
He was like her ex, Dan. And every other good-looking bloke, with their cocky assumption you found their flirty banter appealing. Well, she didn’t. And never would again.
She sat back against the tree and wrapped her free arm across her body.
He glanced at her. ‘I said sorry.’
‘We’ll just wait.’
‘They’re not coming. Honestly, Chloe –’ he screwed up his face, ‘Ireallyneed a wee.’
Her own bladder squeezed in response. She needed to go, too, dammit.
