The Rule Breaker by Andie M. Long (2)

"Oh my God, his dick is huge and he knows just what to do with it."

This is what I have to put up with hearing all the time. Constant chatter about Evan Hale's monster member. I want to tell the women crowded around the bar to sod off, but Dan, the landlord, wouldn't appreciate it. I've worked at the Nag's Head for six years now. It started off as a temporary job while I went to college but I enjoyed it, so I stayed. Can't say I've ever had any high career aspirations. The bar isn't far from home which is another bonus. Yes, I'm twenty-five and still living with my mother and her husband, Adam. I receive many, many hints about getting my own place and they're ecstatic that I spend half the week staying at my boyfriend, Callum's, house.

I've been dating Callum for almost a year now. So, he's about to get dumped. Sorry, did you not hear that? Almost a year and bye bye, boyfriend. He's a great guy, with a good job. He's good looking, okay in bed. He's just...he’s not Evan Hale.

I know, I know, I know.

Yes, I’m wasting my time and my life but I still have a goddamn crush on the manslut. Believe me, I have tried everything possible to get rid of it. He moved out of his parents’ house when he was eighteen and you’d think that would have been the end of it, but no. I used to hang around my bedroom window like a sad loser on a Sunday to catch the 3.2 seconds of him walking up the path and into his parents’ house for lunch. Then once I got the job here, I saw him quite a few nights of the week and every weekend. Always at a distance though. He'd always walk to the opposite end of the bar from where I was to get served, so I soon got the message not to bother.

I don’t know what I ever did to him.

My sensible side knows he’s a complete tosser. No, that’s a lie. I don’t have a sensible side.

Regrettably however, although he avoids me, he does not avoid other women.

Not in the slightest.

So, more often than not, I find myself standing here in between serving, overhearing some poor bitch's tale of woe as she pours out to her friends how the best shag ever went south.

Take tonight for example, it’s just more of the same.

"So, what happened next?" Her best friend is eager to hear but has a narrowed eye. I can see she wishes it went bad for her friend. How charming.

"So, it was all over and I thought, god, I can't wait for him to wrap me up in those fine arms, and he said, 'the bathroom's downstairs. Let me know when you're done and I'll call you a cab'.”

I snort and disguise it with a cough, then serve a bloke at the bar while still listening in.

Evan's shags are like a carefully rehearsed military operation.

• Seduce.
• Shag.
• Send out on their arse.

He never veers from his plan and there's one major rule that he never, EVER, breaks.

No one gets to stay the night.

What amazes me is none of these women are ever pissed off with him. They hunger for more, giving him doe eyes when he walks into the bar and perform resting-bitch-faces in the direction of the next object of his affection.

I really, really should hate him. The bloke is a twat.

Instead, what I want to know is, why has it never been me?

He's punched above my weight and he's punched far below it. Skin colour, hair colour, body shape and size - you name it, he's nailed it.

I'm probably the only person in Waterthorpe who hasn't bonked the Heavenly Evan. Yep, my teenage nickname for him became the name his conquests call him. Because they reckon that's what the experience is like — heavenly.

"Erm, can I have my pint then, love?"

I realise the pint has been overflowing while I've been eavesdropping and daydreaming. I make up some crap about it being a new barrel and running the beer through the system.

After the bloke moves away, I spot his dark hair, and watch his dark chocolate brown eyes fix on Anna, the other barmaid. He gives her a cheeky smirk that crinkles the sides of his eyes, and I watch her flirt back.

My next customer wants a packet of cheese and onion crisps, the box of which is, unfortunately, positioned right behind Anna. I move across and as I reach into the box I hear him tell her, "You're too gorgeous to be trapped behind a bar on a Saturday night." I can't help myself. I make a barfing sound while I'm digging in the box and then look entirely innocent as I get back up and give my customer his crisps. I can feel Evan's eyes burning through me but he can do one. He ignores me, so I'm not giving him the time of day.

As it gets near closing time, Dan tells me he's doing an afterbar with a few customers and asks if I want to stay.

"Thanks, but Callum is picking me up."

Not two minutes after I say the words, Callum comes through the door. His short blonde hair is gelled up on top and he’s wearing a smart white shirt and black suit pants. He’s a bit overdressed for the Nag’s Head. He saunters straight over to the bar, leans over and kisses me on the mouth. "Hiya, gorgeous."

I hear a quiet but unmistakable barfing noise coming from a certain man's direction. Callum remains oblivious.

On my tiptoes, I lean over again, wrap my arms around Callum's neck and give him a massive snog.

"Have you finished work?" Callum asks, "because I want to give you your anniversary present."

"It's not until tomorrow," I say, my forehead creasing. I don't want him to give me a present, I'm going to dump him later. I can't have anyone getting too serious with me. I don't want anniversaries. I should have finished with him last month but he has a really comfy bed.

"I can't wait." Callum beams. "I had it all planned out for tomorrow, but nope, I can't bloody wait. Come around the bar, Rach."

"I can't. I need to clear up," I tell him, because I don't like the expression on his face.

"Nah, Rachel, you're fine. Take off," says Dan.

Trust me to have a nice boss. Why couldn't he be a slave driver?

I sigh, go around the back to grab my belongings and come out on the customer side of the bar, to find Callum on one knee.

Yes, this is how I dreamed of being proposed to. The groom-to-be on his knees in spilled beer and dirty footprints in the middle of a thronged bar on a Saturday night, with drunk people singing and half-shagging around the place and no doubt a pile of vomit somewhere nearby. It's a fairy tale come to life.

"Rachel Summers, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

I look at the sea of faces around me. Although I want to break up with him, I can't do it now, here. Not in front of hundreds of people. It would be too embarrassing. I'll do it outside. Shit, he's put me in a right spot. I nod my head and mumble yes.

The drunks roar their congratulations. Callum puts what he tells me is his grandmother's engagement ring on my finger. It's too big and swirls around, but I say it’s fine and ask if we can leave.

"Yes, let's go and find somewhere to celebrate, like in bed," Callum says.

I walk outside and get in Callum's car.

"Don't set off yet," I tell him. I turn to face him. "Callum, you're wonderful, but…"

"Shit," he says. "Shit, shit, shit."

"I felt pressured in there, in front of everyone. I'm sorry. I don't want to marry you. To be honest, I want us to split up. I took all my stuff from your house yesterday. Did you not notice?"

Callum shakes his head. "My mother called round. I thought she'd tidied up. But, Rach, I love you. Don't do this to us, please?"

"I'm so sorry." I remove the ring and grab hold of his hand, turning his palm up. I place the ring back inside it. "I don't feel the same. I wish I did, but I just don’t. You deserve someone who will love you so much it hurts and who’ll rejoice when you propose."

I jump out of the car and walk off down the street.

He follows me in the car and winds down the passenger window. "At least let me drop you home."

"No. It’s okay." I shake my head. "I want to walk, it's not far. I need the fresh air."

With that, I watch as Callum drives out of my life. I feel guilty as fuck. The man loved me enough to propose with an antique ring. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to get over this stupid crush on the manslut. It’s affecting my whole life.

Spotting the current answer to my problems, I walk into the off-licence and buy a small bottle of whiskey with a screw top and then I walk around the back of the pub and sit on a swing in the kids’ play area. I know Dan’s doing afterbar but I don't feel like joining them in person behind the bar. I am, however, going to join them in spirits.

The whiskey burns my throat. It's such a good feeling. Remarkable liquor. I carry on drinking and as I begin to mellow, I start to play on the swing and slides. After totally losing track of time, I hear patrons start to leave the pub.

"Party's over, Rach," I say, and then scold myself. "Sshh. Wait til they're all gone before you go home. Esssppeccciiallly if fuckface is with a bird."

As I get up and everything spins, I thank the Lord that my bar uniform consists of jeans, a tee-shirt and trainers, so I don't have heels to contend with, like most Saturday night drunks. Anyway, I'm just merry.

I sneak up to the side of the pub and peer around the corner to see if the coast is clear, only as I tilt my head, the whole pub goes with it. I fall arse over tit onto the ground.

"Rachel?" A dark haired, sex god looms over me, but not in a going to shag me way.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," I sing-song.

His face doesn’t look happy from this angle, and where's his lay for tonight? He’s on his own.

"Where's your Saturday shag?" I shout up.

"Pardon?"

"You know." I twirl my hand up from my position on the floor. Actually, I might sleep here. I feel a bit tired, plus the stars look so pretty in the sky. I sigh, content.

Evan plonks himself next to me on the ground. "I can't fucking stay in that upside down position, gonna be sick if I do."

"Seduce. Shag. Send home," I shout out.

"Are you drunk?"

I look around for my bottle of whiskey. Shit, I left it on the top of the slide. I sit up but everything spins around again. "Whoa." I put my hand up towards Evan. "Just give me a minute." The spinning stops and I get up. "I'm going down there to get my whiskey," I tell him.

He gets up. "You're not going down there on your own. You might fall again." Then he hiccups.

"Are you drunk, Evan, too? Is that why you've not pulled, cos you're so drunk it won't work?" I hold up my index finger and demonstrate it flopping.

"Where's Callum?" Evan snaps. "Why has he left you alone in this state?"

I stagger down the back of the pub towards the slide. "Callum went home." I pick up my whiskey. "And I went to the offy."

"Fuck, Rach, I'm pissed myself. That must be why you're making no sense tonight. Why aren't you with your fiancé?" He spits the word out. "Wait until I see him, leaving you in this state."

"He's not my fiancé." I take another swig of whiskey and pass it to Evan. "Drinky?"

"You accepted his proposal, Rachel. That’s usually what you call your husband-to-be."

"Yes, but then we came outside, I unaccepted it."

"You did what?”

“I unaccepted it. I took my yes back.” I put my fingers and thumb together and make a pinching expression as if I’m retracting something."

“You said no?”

"Yup."

"But why?"

"Because he's not my number one. He's not my one. He’s my number, er, maybe two. He’s a poo." I cackle with laughter.

"You're one what?"

"I…" I sway a little as I make my speech. Then I poke him hard in the chest with my index finger. "I… am seduce, shag, stay the whole fucking night."

"I do not want to talk about your sex life, Rachel."

He doesn't get to say anything else as I launch myself at him, locking my lips on his and knocking him back onto the soft play area matting, the bottle of whiskey sails out of his hand and into some bushes down the bottom of the beer garden.