Page 12 of Prove You Wrong

Mouth-watering visions of getting better acquainted with Ella’s thighs thrust into my mind. Slipping the hem of her skimpy dress slowly up, skimming my fingers over creamy skin, easing my way between her knees. Higher. These thoughts won’t let me think straight, nor are they helping the current situation in my boxers. Luckily serving shots to drunks can be done on autopilot.

As I move further away from the distracting woman, the lust-induced static fogging my brain clears.

A leg spreader … I’m not sure if I should take the comment as a compliment or a criticism. Sure, my younger self would be high-fiving that reputation, but that guy was an immature, heart-broken, dick. Don’t get me wrong, the string of one-night stands I enjoyed in my early twenties were always mutually satisfying, I made sure of that.

A quiet snort of laughter huffs through my nose. Mindless, anonymous sex lost its appeal, and these days, I’ve not seen nearly so much action. Focused on working —on getting my shit together — it’s not that I’ve given up women, I just haven’t found any that float my boat.

But, there’s something about Ella.

The thought of getting to know her, and her thighs, a little better, is something I could really get on board with.

The group in for a pub crawl call out a rowdy goodbye. I stack their empties in the glass washer and continue tinkering away in the background. As I restock a fridge, my brain keeps picturing Ella, legs akimbo, and I wonder if my semi is ever going to settle down or if this gorgeous woman is going to keep me stirred up all evening.

Probably. She’s been on my mind all week.

I’m more than intrigued. Waltzing in to fix her car one night, dissing bikers the next, it's safe to say she has firmly got my attention. She's ballsy but in the most conservative way. The way she blushed when her friend mentioned Sex on the Beach, I'd love to see how far into her cleavage that blush travelled. I feel compelled to see if I can elicit any more reactions.

Enzo comes over to check a fifty pound note with me and I remember I still have a job to do. And a boner to quash. I picture my old physics teacher, who used to smell of mustard, while I help my colleague. I need to focus on work, try to be professional.

It’s no use.

As I tidy around the bar, more of the ladies’ conversation filters over to me. I can’t stop myself from overhearing. At least I’m invisible back here behind the pumps, amongst the optics and packets of crisps. No one ever notices the barman, so they’ll never know I’ve lost my fucking mind and been entirely hypnotised by Ella.

‘Urgh, that text’s from my mum,’ her sweet voice sounds defeated.

‘Everything okay?’

‘Yes. No,’ Ella sighs.

Her friend is soothing her arm and a pang of worry has my ears straining harder.

‘She’s managed to get a double shift tomorrow, which is great. But we were going to spend the day together. Do the big shop, cook a batch of meals, clean the house. It sounds dull but when we do it together, it’s kind of fun. Now it looks like it’s all on me.’ Her head has dropped onto the bar and I hear a muffled, ‘Again.’

‘Sorry, I wish I could help,’ her friend sighs.

‘It’s okay, they’re just chores.’ I glance over to see her sit back up with a flick of her hair. ‘I was hoping to spend some time with my mum, that’s all.’ She tries to give a small smile. ‘We’ll make up for it on Sunday.’

Geoff calls me over and I go and see how I can help my best customer. He’s a great guy, always has an interesting take on life, so will be a welcome diversion from my one-track mind tonight.

‘Different crowd in this evening. It’s nice to change things up.’ He indicates over to the girls with a knowing eyebrow.

‘What would Pauline say?’ I pretend to scold him and he chuckles.

‘She knows I don’t have the energy.’

‘She’s a wise woman.’

He eyeballs me pointedly. ‘She’d tell you to go for it.’

I return his look. Maybe I haven’t been as incognito behind the bar as I’d thought.

‘Youshouldgo for it,' he continues, ‘but grab me another pint first.’

Chapter 7

Ella

‘Ells, all this shit at home, shit at work, what I’m hearing is that you need to. Get. Laid.’ For emphasis, Josie pokes at the bar with her fingers to punctuate the last couple of words.

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