Page 19 of Prove You Wrong

Hot Guy says something I can’t hear and then there’s the roar of motorcycle engines. What fucking imbeciles. Drinking and riding. I hope they don’t encounter Jamie, or anyone else for that matter.

The light from the door diminishes and I know my barman has gone back inside with voice number two.

My phone buzzes and I check the screen, hoping it’s Josie saying she’s commandeered a helicopter and is minutes away.

Josie: Claire’s chundered in the car, gonna be at least another 30.

There’s another message I hadn’t noticed too.

Mum: Got a shift Sunday too. Double pay :)

It’s like a switch has flicked.

What has my life come to?

Shat on and under-appreciated at work. Spending nearly all my free time doing housework, cooking, taxiing my sister around. Worrying about bills with my mum, who’s working literally every hour she can. My car surviving on axle grease and hope alone. My social life in a tailspin. And on my one night off, I’m left literally out in the cold while my sister steals my ride. Is it too much to want a little something just for me?

The door opens and shuts again. Boots crunch on gravel over to the last vehicle in the car park and it roars away.

I find my feet working before I realise what I’m doing.

Suddenly I’m pushing the bar door open with a swoosh and I’m back in the warm, welcoming pub.

The barman’s voice calls out, ‘Seriously, Chunk, I can close up on my own.’ I can’t see where he is, the bar is deserted. The door feels cold and hard behind me as I lean back on it and I find my hand scrabbling to bolt the lock. ‘It’s not Chunk,’ I call out. My own voice sounds strange. Husky, and somehow in control.

I don’t feel anything like in control.

He appears in a doorway behind the bar.

‘You’re back?’ He’s coming towards me with an intense expression on his face and I’m not sure how physics has let him cover the ground so quickly. Like a magnet, I’m pulled right over to him.

‘You okay?’ His hands are on my arms, his skin scorching mine.

‘I was wondering about that …’ Deep eyes scrutinise me as I pick my words. Brow creased in concern, his full lips part as if to ask a question, but before I can consider what I’m about to admit, I hear myself saying, ‘ … Screaming Orgasm.’

It’s my voice, but not my brain. Is this what an out-of-body experience feels like? Why the hell am I out-of-body? I want to be in my body if this is going where I think it’s going.

Gaze locked, we share a heavy breath.

‘You want … another cocktail?’ His voice is ragged. Strained.

Taking my time, I unhook my bag and lower it down on the freshly polished surface of the nearest table. Pausing, I inhale. Then I look at him. ‘I’m not thirsty.’

What am I doing?

I don’t do things like this.

I don’t even know his freaking name.

He’s so close I can see his eyes have darkened with want.

Slowly, he trails his knuckles down my arm, cascading a wave of goosebumps, awakening every nerve ending until he reaches my fingertips. Then he gives a tug towards him.

We collide, frantic.

As I press into him, his mouth captures mine. Prickly stubble is soothed by soft lips. A woodsy fragrance engulfs me, mingling with the scent of real ale and something else … something undeniably him.

His hands comb into my hair, tugging a little, angling my head. The pull sends a jolt straight to my core. His lips move with mine, urging me to open and I can’t stop a moan from escaping when I feel his tongue, hot and wet.

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