Page 43 of (Not) The One
And, as I glance back at Miranda, it’s time for me to leave.
‘It was lovely to meet you, Olivia.’ And even lovelier to hear where I can find the girl with the Batman underwear Monday through Friday. There’s obviously little point in talking to her this evening, so I’ll bide my time. And I don’t think I’ll say goodbye, not while she has an audience.
‘Thank you so much for Miranda-sitting.’ Her gaze slides from where Miranda sits, warm and sincere.
‘It was my pleasure.’ And dammit, I can’t seem to help it as I take one more look.
Was that Olivia’s way of telling me she’s too young for me? She can’t be much older than Miranda herself. And she married Beckett, of all people.
Talk about making your life difficult.
‘She’s really quite sweet,’ I murmur, unable to help myself. It’s a generic compliment, but I mean it. Maybe not tonight, but that first night... she tasted like silk and honey, and I didn’t get my fill. As I walk away, my tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip. It’s almost as though I can still taste her.
* * *
My car is parked outside, but I don’t leave immediately, preferring, or perhaps needing, to make sure all is well with Miranda.
It would serve me right, of course, if she did leave with one of the minor celebs. And if she does leave with one of the celebs, I’ll probably be arrested for breaking his nose. Drunk girls are easy quarry, and yes, while she’d been drinking that night—our night—she was in full possession of her faculties. At least until I was between her legs.
I tilt my head back against the headrest, indulging myself for a moment in one of a hundred snapshots of the evening that seem to lurk in my head, just waiting for the most inopportune moment to flood my memory, robbing me of my senses.
I was above her, my knees balanced either side of her thighs as she’d whimpered, the sound caught somewhere between desperation and need. I’d paused in the action of rolling on the condom, realising she was watching me from under her lashes, enjoying the sight of my cock balanced in my own hand. The feel of her fingertips trailing through the coarse hair of my thighs still makes the muscles twitch there today.
Reaching down, I adjust my stiffening cock against the confines of my pants when movement up ahead catches my attention. Miranda and the younger girl step out from the pub, alone thankfully. Arms linked until one of them reaches out, opening the door of a black cab. They climb in, and I watch as the cab’s lights grow smaller and smaller as it travels farther away. When the cab pauses at a traffic signal, I start my own ignition, the Vanquish’s engine springing to life with a throaty purr. But what I don’t expect is to see Miranda’s companion come running down the street, her movements hampered by her tight skirt.
I climb from the car, meeting her before she can reach the entrance to the pub.
‘What’s wrong?’ The girl’s gaze sweeps the street, her eyes as wide as saucers. ‘Heather, wasn’t it? I’m Harry, Beckett’s friend.’
Recognition lightens her expression immediately.
‘Oh, thank goodness. I didn’t want to go inside. Beckett’s already so cross with her, and she can’t lose her job.’ Her hand rubs her forehead, the other clasping a large backpack.
‘Miranda, you mean? I thought you both got a cab.’Why aren’t you on your way home? What happened?I want to add.
‘We did, we got in a cab. But at a red light, she just got out. Got out in the middle of the road!’ Heather flings out her arm in the direction the taxi travelled. ‘She said she wasn’t going home, that she wanted to go dancing and forget about all the shit that’s gone on tonight. I tried to pull her back in the car—really, I did—but she just hauled her arm out of my grasp and hailed another cab on the other side of the street.’ My hand rasps against the stubble on my chin as the young girl continues her verbal meltdown. ‘I can’t follow her; I don’t have my ID with me. They won’t let me in. And I can’t tell Olivia because Beckett is already in a strop. But she shouldn’t be by herself, not with the mood she’s in. I don’t know what the fuck to do!’
‘First of all, calm down.’ I take the girl’s shoulders in my hands as she tips her head with a sniff. Her eyes are glassy, and she’s clearly overwhelmed.
‘I’m calm. Iamcalm.’ She rubs the back of her hand under her nose. ‘But she’s just not herself tonight. Really, she’s not. If you knew her, you’d know she’s always calm and level-headed. She never does crazy shit—not ever.’
‘I believe you.’ If it’s crazy to have sex with a stranger, I’d better order a pair of padded white jackets, the ones with the lovely buckles at the back.‘I’m going to help you. First, we need to work out where she’s heading to.’
‘I know where she’s going,’ she answers simply. ‘She said she was sick of being in her own head, that she was going to go dance her cares away.’
‘Dance?’ I repeat a little sceptically.
‘Yeah. She’s gone to Tissu.’
* * *
After reassuring Heather I’d take care of Miranda, I hail her a cab and send her on her way before making my way to a club I’m familiar with. Though admittedly, I haven’t been there in a very long while.
I’m more likely to be found hanging out at somewhere staid likeWhitesthan this type of club these days.
I abandon the car nearby Smithfield market, throwing my suit jacket onto the back seat and folding up the sleeves of my white shirt. Ignoring the snaking line, I stride confidently to the front of the club. The key to getting away with most things in life is confidence, I’ve always found. A smile doesn’t hurt. It’s also quite fortunate that there’s a woman at the door this evening.
Heaven forbid I should lose these boyish good looks.
