“Yeah, okay. You’ve tried.”
He turns around and joins me with his back against the bar. His gaze sweeps the area. I sense him tense next to me, before he turns back around and beckons the barmaid, ordering two bottles of Peroni.
“Is she here?” It’s the only explanation I can come up with for his unsettled behaviour. Even on the worst jobs, he’s the most relaxed bloke I’ve ever come across. And women are the only things that can fuck with a man’s mind.
He nods without looking at me and takes a drink.
“Oh, shit.”
“You’ve got that right. Some bloke’s all over her and I’m this close”—he holds up his hand, forefinger and thumb virtually touching—“to ripping his fucking head off.”
Fit chicks are plentiful here; there’s no way I’ll figure out who she is without asking, but if he wanted me to know he’d volunteer the information, which he hasn’t. “Do you want me to get in his way?” It’s the only offer I can think of to help.
“What? And have her want to shag you? Cheers, mate, but I don’t think so.”
In a childish act, I nudge his elbow just as he’s about to take a drink. It misses his mouth and splashes down his chin instead. He wipes the liquid away with his forearm before he swings his elbow back straight into my gut, winding me. At least it raises a laugh out of him when I cough.
“I need to piss. Back in a few,” I state, and head off towards the toilets.
Trying to get there resembles walking up the down escalator, but I manage it, relieve myself, and walk back out. I survey the area, do a double take, and stop dead at the sight of a woman shaking her arse on the dance floor. She’s wearing a figure-hugging black dress, low in the back, a light sheen of perspiration covering the exposed skin I had fixated on earlier. Her hair’s up, exposing her neck, and when she gyrates around, my breath catches in my throat.
She throws her head back and laughs at something a dark-haired woman says to her, before the friend gets pulled away. Even in the mass of bodies heaving on the dance floor, she still stands out.
Lizzie.
Alone.
And the smile she wears makes me want to claim her, here and now, on the dance floor.
For a few moments, I take in every movement her body makes while she’s lost in the music. The flex of her calves, the sway of her hips, the way a lock of hair trails down her neck. My cock swells as thoughts of those same hips moving aggressively against mine flood my mind. I’m drawn nearer, wanting to touch. My fingers tingle with the need.
The music alters, bringing her out of the trance she was in. I move even closer, drawn to the curves of her tits straining against her dress. She lifts her head and wipes away the hairs stuck to her face. Her gaze wanders the area looking for something, someone, before her eyes meet mine.
Well, I’m fucking it. She’s having me—every fucking inch. I’m only a few feet away, but the sudden desire in her eyes glows brighter than the strobe lights. It’s all the invitation I need.
Without speaking, she takes my outstretched hand, and I pull her into me. Her scent fills my senses, a heady combination of what can only be described as sunflowers mixed with the fresh smell of rain. Her hitched breath grazing across my neck has my half-mast cock hard within seconds. I keep a firm hold on her hand, place the other on her lower back, and press her against me. Every inch moulds into my body. A perfect fit. Her tits press against my chest, and I swear I can feel how hard her nipples are through my shirt.
Small fingers wrap around my bicep, while mine graze across her damp, silky skin, as we sway to the music. Her head drops onto my shoulder. Each breath she takes grazes my neck, sending shudders through my taut body. Hard as stone, my cock presses up against her hip, as she rocks against it. The sensation of her body moving close to mine pushes me almost to the point of no return. My pulse increases, thundering through my ears louder than the music, and the urge to mark her as mine takes hold.
The song changes and she pulls away. My whole body protests at her loss. She examines my face as I wrap my fingers under her chin—asking for permission without words. Asking her to let me claim those fucking lips as mine. Her chest rises and falls; she’s as breathless as I feel. But the desire in her eyes splutters to a stop, and a startled expression crosses her face. My hand falls away from her.
She mouths, “I’m sorry,” before she turns on her heels and runs away through the crowd. I’m left standing in the middle of the dance floor, with a raging hard-on, wondering what the fuck just happened.
A random girl bumps into me and rubs herself up against my body, but all I care about now is where the woman went who lit something inside me yet again. I remove the stray hands, exit the dance floor, and fight my way back to the bar.
Bear raises his eyebrows at me when I approach him. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You. Dancing?”
“It was me dancing, fuckwit.”
“Who was the chick?”
I rub a hand over my head and give him a lopsided grin. “Lizzie. The reporter I told you about from Nitrous magazine.”
His face hardens a little before it relaxes. He lets out a low whistle. “Well, now I know what all the fuss is about. What happened? Did she blow you off?”
It’s not a natural response from Bear, but I shrug it off. Maybe he can see that other bloke pawing his lady friend. “Not in so many words.” I rub my stubble. “But yeah, she did.” Shaking my head, I laugh, although I can’t figure the whole thing out.
Maybe that’s the attraction? Unlike the usual bar bunny, she’s not easy prey. “So, where’s your lady?”
His humour shuts down. “She left.”
“Hmm. On her own?”
“No.” His jaw clenches.
I don’t need to ask him anything else, and turn to the barman to catch his attention. “Two shots of JD, mate. And make them doubles.” And I point to the barmaid, adding, “We have a tab running with her.”
Bear grasps my shoulder. “Do you want to sit down?” He points to a quieter area where a table’s free.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. I’m the first to walk on hallowed ground. “So, what is it about her that gets you all worked up, then?”
He sighs. “I really don’t know. Ask yourself the same question about that Lizzie bird.”
“Nothing to ask. She gets my cock hard. Nothing new there.” I play off how I feel because I have no fucking clue how to deal with actually feeling anything other than a hard-on. My emotions are never combined with a stiff dick. It’s new territory.
“That,” he gestures to the dance floor, “was new.”
“I dance.” I lean back and use the table as a footstool.
He smirks. “Not like that you don’t.”
I down my drink and slam the empty glass on the table. “Fuck off, Bear.”
He nods and just like that we end the heart-to-heart, neither of us willing to break out with mushy feelings crap.
A shadow casts over the table; the figure looms above us then sits down next to me.
“What’s up, pussy?”
“Zan, you can fuck off, too.”
“Hey, you can’t talk to my cousin like that.”
“Bear, shut the fuck up. Zan can take it.” I turn to Bear’s cousin. “Can’t you, cocksucker?”
He winks at me. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“Who says I haven’t?” I joke, giving him a sly grin. “I love arse, but the cock sucking thing, nah. Goes right over my head.”
Zan bursts out into deep laughter. “Yeah, it does, mate. That’s the point.”
I laugh at our easy piss-taking. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t give him a little shit. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Working for this bastard,” he answers and gestures towards Bear.
I nod. “Easy or hard?” I know better than to ask any in-depth questions about on-going work.
Zan grins back at me, but his eyes don’t match the forced smile on his mouth. “Best job I’ve ever had. It’s a piece of piss.” His face twists a little as if he’s in pain, but before it settles, it’s gone, and is replaced with his usual couldn’t-give-a-fuck face.