Chapter 30: Little Bck DressI’m not doing this, I wrote, fingernails clig and glinting with each tap at the phone.

  You are doing this, she responded, plete with winking smiley face.

  I ’t do this.

  Of course you , Julia retorted. You’ve already been out with him.

  That wasn’t a fug date! That was drinks after work.

  You kissed him.

  He kissed -me-.

  You owe him.

  “I don’t owe him shit!” I hissed under my breath.

  Besides, the jackass was running nearly an hour te. Who keeps a sexy girl like dy waiting a whole hour?

  A month on from that disastrous Friday night out for after-work drinks, and here I was again: in publi a Saturday night, dressed up and on dispy, a sexy young girl perched at the bar of Chez Lu, Dan’s choice of venue, Julia’s plotting, the iable step in her efforts to extract revenge from my ongoing humiliation.

  Which is how I found myself squeezed into a cssic little bck dress: sequined, plunging sweetheart nee, sleeveless and tight, fitted over nipped-in curves to midthigh, finished with sheer seamed stogs. Paired with the tallest heels I could just about navigate for the evening, dy cut a fine figure at the bar. She glimmered in the soft romantic lighting—an effect of Julia’s generous application of some kind of shimmery body butter—in a most alluring way.

  sequently, she also cradled her rge gin with unbeing desperation. Gring into the balloon-shaped gss, the drink’s cherry glotured the bar’s light in a tumble of id tonibsp; I studiously avoided the surreptitious, appraising gnces of passing men, suppressing my own tremulous ay fluttering deep in my taut belly. But my own refle in the gss behind the bar mocked me. Heavy hoop earrings, smoky eyes, dark lipstick, darker thoughts: fuck you, Julia.

  No: fuck me, because of -course- that’s what Dan’ll be thinking about all night. He’d be staring at my lips, deep ruby shihat hi flushed passion, and imagihem wetly bobbing up and down his enged cobsp; He’d wonder what I was wearing uhis dress, the sexy uhings Julia’d strapped me into earlier, the d straps twining around my lithe form that made it possible for me to squeeze into this nothing of a dress, a naughty gift awaiting uning.

  Or he’d be eying up those padded curves pushing out my front, hands ag to reach out, firm, strong hands kneading, gripping, thumb and firoking through cy cups.

  Or the smoky shimmer of stog-cd legs, hand on knee, silky and soft, then thigh, trag the cy trim, sliding over suspeabs and embroidered welt, following straps ever higher, reag….

  I took a deep, desperate gulp of gin to hide the sudden flush blossomih bold makeup. The drink only partially cut through rekindled heat. Eyes closed, shakily breathing, fog on the sensation of id cool gss and the whisper of purified air ay too-bared flesh, I grimaced and fought through the agonising iy of arousal.

  Hooking up with Julia had triggered something ued. I’d have thought that the release of months of pent-up sexual frustration would’ve been a blessed release: four months now – over four-fug-months! living as dy, the lo I’d gohout getting id since esg the streets. David had enjoyed all-but-weekly one-night stands, the occasional longer retionships, a stant flow of mostly meaningless sex.

  dy—fortunately—not so mubsp; But now, with Julia, we were fug at least owice a week; but instead ing any kind of relief I just found myself horhan ever, my thoughts stantly twisting and writhing within fshes of nearly overwhelming desire.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  Worse, arousal brought disf sensations where I didn’t want them: in tightening nipples, blooming warmth, timorous tingling fl is suddenly eager to be held. At times my whole body felt… tight and teaut like a guitar string wanting to be plucked; other times, almost tremblingly weak, hot and anxious, as though ready to fall int arms. And it took real willpower to push through those moments, deep breathing and focus, even to just keep my own hands under trol. It was bad enough at home, where I could indulge my need; out and about was harder, with public eyes burning me uheir attentive gaze; at work this ure torture.

  I stantly doubted myself, felt distracted and uain. At times, it was like being lost in an agonising haze, and emerging I’d find myself somewhere ued; in versation, I’d zo, overwhelmed by sudden need and genuinely appear the pretty ditz so many took dy to be. Once or twice I’d even had to hide, log myself into a bathroom stall until the surge of passion passed.

  This… couldn’t happen; I couldn’t meet Dan—any man—like this, trembling like gossamer petals in a summer breeze. I opened my eyes and looked at the remainder of my drink and judged I could knock it ba one ahe hell out of here. A pity I’d have to clear my own bill—I hadn’t even checked the prices, ting on Dan to pick up the tab, and judging by appearances dy really couldn’t afford this kind of pce—but Julia be damned: date night with Dan was a whole level of bullshit too far.

  Time to get the hell out of Chez Lu. I gulped the gin and reached down from the tall stool—frustratingly designed for an average man’s height—to find my footing. Uain in fashionably too-tall shoes Julia’d insisted on buyio wear tonight, I wobbled momentarily, gripping the ter to steady myself—a a sudden hand on my shoulder, strong and sure.

  “Easy there,” rumbled a mase voice at my side.

  Rolling my eyes, I turo tell the guy to fuck off, thank you very much, a his damned hands off of me; saw the speaker; and froze, log up in momentary fear.

  Last time I’d seen this guy up close was months ago.

  He’d been within striking distance, as I crouched behind a dumpster in an alley behind a strip joint. I’d lightly cradled a broken beer bottle in my hand. Either he’d been elsewhere these intervening months or—far more likely—had done a better job of keeping himself hidden as he spied on me. Jeff: that was his name. My stalker, some dickhead Steele had stu dy’s ass to keep an eye on her, in the unlikely event she somehow revealed some link back to David Sanders. I’d nearly killed him back then, eager to twist the jagged edge of the bottle into his ned watch the blood spurt free.

  But I hadn’t and now here he was.

  The man gri over me. At a gnce I’d give him an easy 185cm, slender and smartly dressed. I ehe fort and manoeuverability of his clothes: bck trousers and fitted, sharp white shirt, hinting at firm muscles beh. Dirty blond hair pulled ba a short ponytail, heavy watch, a solitary ring on his right hand, pin and silver. Hazel eyes sparkled with mirth but there was an aura of threat to him, a subtle tension in the way he stood and to his jaw that suggested a quiess to anger and a. A redo his eyes, the unshaven two-day’s stubble, trasted with his otherwise crisp appearance.

  He had every advantage: height, reach, weight and strength; clothes, stable shoes, ns or bracelet or neckces to catch or tear. Even so: if I acted now, poised as I was and when he didn’t expect it as I gingerly stepped down from the stool, I could take him. Pivot and ko the groin. Spike heel thrust down into his instep; smash the gss into his face; grab a bottle from the bar and crack his skull, at the temple, and fulfill the promise of blood made months ago by thrusting the shattered edge of gss into his exposed flesh.

  No.

  Instead, I licked my lips; and dy smiled.

  “Surely a pretty girl like you,” he said, and with a strong hand helped me bato the stool, “isn’t aloonight?”

  “I’m not alone,” dy chirped, and she tossed long, blonde hair back over the left shoulder, smoothing it down with her free hand.

  “Really?” he said. He made a show of looking around, behind the bar, behind him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  dy giggled. “No, silly.” She tapped her phone. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  He sank into the stool o her, signalled for the bartender. “Girlfriend? Is she as cute as you?”

  “ry,” she answered. “Boyfriend. He’s running te.”

  “You must be kidding.” He ordered a beer. “What kind of guy keep a girl like you waiting?”

  “I knht?” She tapped her gss with one nail, and the hollow sound of the empty gss rang clear. “But he’s a nice guy, so….” She trailed off and shrugged.

  “Nice?” The man scoffed. “Girls don’t need someone hey need a guy who’s strong.” He grinned. “Like me.”

  dy made a little moue of disapproval. “Hey, nice is good.”

  “Sure,” he answered. “Wan I guess the name of this ‘nice guy’?”

  “Bet?” she said. “Sure. Three ces.”

  He grinned. “What’s my prize if I get it?”

  dy tapped her gss again with a nail. “You buy me a drink.”

  “I like. And if I lose?”

  “You lose all this,” she said, stig out her chest, rolling her bare shoulders, and tossed her hair. “And you go away, of course.” But she smiled, taking away the possible sting of her words.

  The man nodded, suddenly mock serious as he performed deep thinking. He took a sip of beer and stared upwards for a long moment. Then he lowered his gaze, and locked eyes with dy.

  “David,” he said.

  For several seds—though it felt looo loared at each other, the silence heavy between us, his smile twisting into a smirk at the er of his lips. His eyes narrowed the ti fra. We were in this moment, alone in the bustliaurant, and I saw then, clearly, past the charming surface to what y beh.

  I passed the tip of my tongue over my lips and smiled brightly.

  “David?” I said and ughed. “Daves are, like, forty-year old car meibsp; Not my type.”

  His expression didn’t ge; he maintained a strange look between mirth and mockery; sudden tightness built across his ned shoulders, and it seemed as though he were about to sh out. I supressed a wince, half-expeg a sp across the face I felt powerless to prevent. But theension drained away, and his face rexed into an easy smile.

  “Okay then,” he said, without breaking eye tabsp; “Thomas.”

  I gave a little sigh. “That’s a good name. I had a friend called Thomas, once,” I said, wistfully. “He was cute.” And then, staring back at him: “But no, not really boyfriend material.”

  He shrugged. He seemed to hesitate, as if suddenly unsure, and then spoke quickly. “Jeff,” he said.

  I supressed my surprise at him using his real name. “Hmm, Jeff.” I rolled it around my mouth, ptively. “Jeff,” I said, drawing out the fricatives. “Bearded guy in his thirties doing the weather report.” I wrinkled my nose. “Grows his owables. No thanks.”

  He made of show of appearing wounded, holding his hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Your name’s Jeff.”

  “You’re better at this than I am.”

  “Well, Jeff,” I said. “It’s been fun but…”

  “Let me buy you a drink.” He waved at my empty gss on the ter. “Even if I lost. Anything you want. A prize for beati my own game.”

  “But…”

  “My pleasure,” he interrupted, and waved at the bartender. “A drink for the pretty dy.”

  “Listen, I don’t think….”

  “Then don’t,” he snapped. He held up one finger and shushed me—I flushed with livid e and frustration—and then his hand was on my forearm, fingers gently gripping my flesh as the anger drained from him. “Please,” he said, “don’t overthink this. There’s nothing wrong with a drink and chat while you’re waiting, right?”

  And I saw in his eyes, then, such yearning, such desperate sadness and loneliness, that my protest caught in my throat. Stifling the instinct to snatch back my arm, I stared back at him in genuine surprise. “Jeff—”

  “Sorry, hey, sorry I’m te, I—”

  And then Dan was standing there, red-faced and mouth open as he looked at me, at me and Jeff, and surely he he haing over my arm. And it occurred to me, suddenly, that I could py both guys off of each other, that I held an ued position of feminine power and that with a coy gnce, a soft touch, the right words I could have both these men at each other’s throats.

  It was an insane, fleeting impulse—Dan wouldn’t stand a d theuation flipped: if I didn’t act, the situation could so easily devolve into something nasty, with me somehow to bme, especially as Jeff made no move to pull back his hand from where is rested far too casually, staring back evenly at my so-called ‘boyfriend’.

  I flung myself from the stool into Dan’s arms, releasing a little squeal of joy. “You’re here!” Surprised, he heless caught me—and I kissed him on the mouth, deeply, arms ing around his nebsp; As he stumbled and spun me about, I looked over his shoulders at Jeff, who’s brow darkened and a look of anguish passed across his features. He grabbed his beer and walked away.

  At which point, of course, I became aware of Dan’s tongue eagerly expl my mouth, one hand on my bare shoulder, the other intimately fortable around my waist. I pulled away, looking down at the floor in a way that I hoped appeared bashful, hiding the shudder of revulsion that tore through me.

  He took my hand. “Hey, what was that for?”

  “Just happy to see you,” I answered, and he led me to our table.

  Author's Notes

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