Page 42 of Hard
As his laughter deepens, he leans back in his chair. Out of the purple glow, the stubble on the scruff of his cheeks now glows gold.Like someone who looks like him needs further gilding.And Lord, I know how that stubble feels between my legs.I shake my head a little because this so isn’t the time to swoon.
Go on, make it obvious you’re easy for him, why don’t you?
‘You look nice.’ His mouth might saynice,but the way his gaze devours me says something else. Something that looks more likeutterly fuckable.
Maybe Max was right. Maybe there is such a thing as too much collarbone because where his gaze touches, my skin feels alive. I spent a while getting ready tonight, not that I’d admit it out loud. A long time pulling my hair into a messy bun that screamsthis look took thirty seconds rather than thirty minutes.I was excited, sure. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. But something tells me he’s not scanning my clothes. But maybe he’s anticipating my underwear.
And I do like underwear.
‘Have you been here before?’
‘Do I come here often?’ I repeat, taking another sip from my glass. ‘No, I’ve never been here. I didn’t realise it was so... ’
‘Mad?’
‘I was going to say pretentious, but mad works, too.’
The outer corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth as he scans the place; the barman mixing cocktailsatother tables, the waitress wearing little more than underwear and face paint. The braying laughter of some jackass city types.
‘There’s something you’d never hear a bloke say in Scotland,’ Keir murmurs, turning back to me with a wry smile.
‘Why? What did they say?’
‘Barman!’ Keir begins in a perfect imitation of one of Chastity’s uppity friends. ‘Bring me a bottle of your best champagne!’ Then he claps his hands like a flamenco dancer.
‘Scotsmen don’t drink champagne?’ I ask, trying hard not to laugh.
‘Not when they’re out on a night with the lads. It’s more likely to be pints of beer or shots of whisky. And cries ofg’wanandget another round in!’
I hiccup a little around my straw. My drink is melting rapidly under the purple light, and I’m probably consuming it a little too fast. ‘You’re good at that, you know. Switching between accents.’
‘I must have missed my calling then. Maybe I should’ve been a thespian?’
‘Oh, I know there’s a market for it.’
‘Thespian porn?’ he asks just as the waitress arrives by his side.
‘Something like that,’ I mumble pink-faced in response.
Flipping open the beverage menu, he frowns down at it, eventually opting for a craft beer.
‘Not a Mexican one?’ I ask as the slightly overfriendly waitress retreats.
‘The kind you have to add fruit to, to make it palatable?’ His mouth twists on one side. ‘I prefer the kind of beer that needs no adulteration.’
‘Naked beer, huh?’
‘I like naked,’ he responds, his tone low and definitely seductive.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, because I am, because I led him there. He’s only just sat down! I need to get a hold of my behaviour this evening. Rein it in a little. ‘This margarita is making me inappropriate.’ Because I’ve got naked on the brain.
‘Maybe I should get you another one,’ he suggests with a smirk.
‘Hold that thought,’ I say, sliding my legs out from under the table. ‘I’ve got to visit the little girl’s room.’
‘Take all the time you need.’
Naked came up a little too quickly, I advise myself once in the confines of the equally strangely decorated powder room; velvet and street graffiti. Posters ofLucha Librewrestlers.The designers must’ve dropped acid before tackling this place.
