Page 15 of Prove You Wrong

‘Is it my terrible cocktail making skills?’ I give the shaker a toss for effect. ‘Or my mechanic skills?’

‘You only held the torch,’ she counters with a wry smile.

Encouraging her to finish the sentence, I say, ‘So, you don't date … guys like me?’ I clutch my heart pretending to be offended, while her cheeks pink up.

I put on what I hope is a cute pout, popping my dimple like when I was a kid trying to get away with murder. 'You know, you could totally take me home to meet your mum. Mums love me.'

It’s her turn to raise her eyebrow. ‘That’s not a great brag, you’ve meta load of women’s mums.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Realising my mistake, I raise my hand in surrender. ‘I mean … my mum loves me.’ It comes out as more of a question and I try the cute smile tactic again.

‘It’s not mums I'm worried about.’

‘Tell me more?’

She smiles but shakes her head, as if still talking herself out of something. ‘I’ve got to set a good example for my sister.’

‘Are you suggesting I'm a bad example?’

Her brown, doe-eyes sparkle. ‘That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.’

‘Like I’m abad boy?’ I whisper the last bit and watch the crimson spread across her delicate skin. I’m not like that anymore but I can’t stop pushing her for more, riling her up, seeing how I affect her.

‘I don't think agoodguy would be going to quite such trouble to make me feel uncomfortable.’

I kind of love how she's already calling me on my bullshit. Can she feel this frisson between us, too? I can’t be imagining it.

Propping my elbows on the bar and leaning closer to her, I speak right into her ear. ‘But you respond so strongly to me just messing around here, imagine how it might be in my bed?’

Visions of her writhing about in my sheets fills my mind and I wish I’d told her my name when she’d asked so I could imagine her gasping it.

Her face is now scarlet, from her ears, which I am so close to I could nibble, down to below the neckline on that unbelievable black dress. If I ever get the chance to explore that particular route, so help me, I hope I get lost.

She swallows. ‘You’ve gone from a friendly cocktail to your bedroom pretty fast. It’s not doing much to dissuade my concern you’re not a,’ she curls her hand to shield her mouth from view and then mouths, ‘bad boy.’

I give her a wry smile. ‘This sounds like a challenge. I need to prove I’m not like that, huh?’

Her friend reappears and Ella sits up straight, focusing all her attention back on her, avoiding my question.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Being this close to Ella overloads my senses and I can’t stop myself from saying and doing things that are sure to give her the entirely wrong impression.

But getting this kind of heated response from her? It’s addictive.

Her friend chucks her phone down as she arrives. ‘Gemma wants to know if we can come to the display on bonfire night.’

‘I can’t, but you go.’ Ella’s voice remains light but I notice her smile doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

‘Boo. It won’t be as fun without you.’ Her friend takes a dramatic breath. ‘But it’s a chore I shall have to bear on my own.’

‘Eat a hot dog for me and say hi to the gang.’ Ella raises her glass, a few dregs of cocktail and old ice sloshing in the bottom. ‘Fancy another?’

Her friend nods enthusiastically and Ella turns to me and asks, ‘What’s next on the menu?’ before wrapping her lips around the straw, sucking on the slush.

Fuck, she’s killing me.

Looking her right in the eye, I say, ‘How about a Wet Pussy?’

The drink is ejected rather forcibly back down the straw as she coughs and splutters. She tries to take another sip, making a loud slurp.

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