Chapter Thirty-Two
Amber’s words stayed with Dee throughout the remainder of their time at the pub. Dee had a horrible feeling that Amber might have been right about her falling in lust with Harry. How could she not have? After all, Dee was a heterosexual girl. Josh hadn’t been interested in her for weeks, and suddenly Dee’s unattended libido had responded with gusto to a man who was, quite simply, sex on legs. She had no doubt that all Harry’s female clients must have the hots for him too. If they didn’t, they had to be blind, or gay.
Dee realised that for the last two hours she’d hardly given Josh a thought. She was meant to be broken-hearted about her boyfriend being in Tenerife with the mysterious Emma, not sitting in a pub in Seal with a bemused expression on her face as part of her brain played, rewound and played again the bit where Harry’s hand had brushed against hers as he passed her some papers. Or the way she’d admired his long, beautifully shaped fingers. Or how her mind had conjured up those same fingers burrowing under her top, unhooking her bra and–
‘So what do you think?’ asked Amber.
‘Er,’ said Dee, stalling for time. ‘Maybe.’
‘What about you, Chrissie?’
‘Well, personally,’ said Chrissie carefully, ‘I’m…I’m not too sure.’
‘But you were up for it yesterday,’ said Amber, looking put out.
‘Ah. In that case, er, yes, okay.’
Chrissie hadn’t the faintest idea what Amber was talking about. Her concentration had long since fragmented, like a complicated jigsaw without a picture guide to put it all together. Her focus had been on the barman, Jack. She mentally rolled the word around on her tongue. Jack. What a great name. So…heroic. Her eyes had been furtively seeking him out ever since she’d made a prize prat of herself. Each time her glance had strayed his way, she’d caught him looking at her. It had unsettled her, but also thrilled her to bits. She didn’t, for one moment, presume he was checking her out. Not in that way, anyway. Rather, he was simply making sure she wasn’t wrecking anything else in the pub. His pub. Amber had whispered to her that Jack owned The Beagle and Bugle.
It had also transpired that Jack owned two other pubs. He kept popping over between serving customers to make sure the three women were okay, and that no part of Chrissie’s anatomy had since ballooned up requiring a trip to Accident and Emergency. Fortunately, it was only her pride that was injured. Jack chatted briefly each time he came over with lemonade top-ups for Dee and Amber, and fresh gin and tonics for Chrissie. She was quite drunk. It had been several hours since her mother’s Sunday lunch. Jack had offered them all food on the house, over in the restaurant section, but they’d politely declined thinking it would be taking advantage of his hospitality.
Amber had nosily asked Jack if his wife oversaw the catering side of the business. He’d told them he didn’t have a wife. A girlfriend then? Nope, not one of those either. Chrissie’s heart had soared at this piece of information. But her joy had plunged, like a rollercoaster with no brake, as realisation dawned that there had to be a big reason why a man like Jack was single. She’d inwardly groaned. Why were all the good-looking guys gay? Chrissie suspected Amber might fancy Steve Hood if he wasn’t already paired off with “his mate”. Funnily enough, Chrissie had never had Steve down as being gay. Just like Jack. She glanced over at him again to find his eyes once again on her. She blushed and looked away.
Ten minutes later he was back, this time with more crisps. Further gems of information were divulged. His three pubs were a full-on business commitment, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It was rewarding, but hard graft. He didn’t have time for a girlfriend – much as he’d love one. Jack had looked at Chrissie when he’d said those last words, and she’d squirmed with joy knowing he wasn’t gay after all. And then Chrissie had found her mind wandering…imagining the large brass bell over the polished counter ringing as Jack called time…then Jack throwing the bolts across the door after the last customer had left. She fantasised about him giving her the sort of scorching look that would make the wood burner seem cooler than an air-conditioning unit…and then he would stride over to her and demand she set upon him in the same way she’d wrecked the tray of drinks and occasional table…and in her mind Chrissie had already placed her hands on his shoulders, trailing her fingers down to outline the shape of his muscular chest, and then in one swift movement ripped open his shirt so all the buttons pinged off and bounced across the polished floorboards as she moved down with her mouth, seeking out his nipples, her tongue starting to explore…hang on…she’d got this the wrong way round…too many gins…he was the one who was meant to rip all the buttons off her blouse and lick her nipples. Her brain scrambled to rearrange the scene just as Jack reappeared, this time with more drinks.
‘Another two lemonades, girls, and a gin and tonic for you, Chrissie,’ he smiled. He knew all their names now. ‘I can tell it’s your favourite tipple.’
‘Yesh,’ she slurred, naked images of Jack still playing vividly in her head. ‘I do love a nipple.’
His lips twitched. ‘I won’t give you any more, otherwise you’ll have a stonking hangover tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, and Dee and I have to work with her,’ said Amber. ‘I’d rather not be hand-feeding her paracetamol while she’s staring at her computer screen, and wearing sunglasses because the monitor is too bright.’
‘Tell your boss the blame is all mine, and that he must be very kind to you,’ said Jack with a wink. He collected up the empties and, with a last mischievous grin at Chrissie, headed back to the bar.
‘I think he likes you, Chrissie,’ Dee whispered.
‘Me too,’ said Amber.
‘Don’t be ridic-less,’ said Chrissie, with effort. She was feeling incredibly lethargic.
‘You’re pissed,’ said Amber.
‘I’m a tit bipsy, that’s all.’
‘You’re certainly a tit. Fancy telling Jack you like a nipple. Here,’ said Amber, passing Chrissie her lemonade. ‘You have this. Dee and I will share your gin and tonic. I reckon we’ve eaten the equivalent of a factory’s worth of crisps this evening, so a smidgen more gin between the two of us won’t hurt.’ She took a slug of Chrissie’s drink. ‘Yum. Now then, where was I? Oh yes. Madam Rosa. So that’s sorted. We’re all in agreement that I make another appointment.’