Page 37 of Midnight Wishes

For the second time that day, Sarah found herself grateful for an interruption that startled her out of making a mistake.

Chapter 20

SARAH

Delicate | Taylor Swift

Sarah: Were you planning on inviting me over at some point?

She hated herselffor being the one to text him. Afterhe’dasked to seeher, she hadn’t heard from him all day. And normally she’d have enough self-respect to write anyone off for doing as much—as little, really—but apparently her body had accepted that simple question as foreplay, because she’d been on edgeall day. And frankly, if he’d forgotten or lost interest, she was ready to wash her day’s makeup off and crawl into bed with her vibrator and her favourite audio erotica creator.

Alex: I’m sorry.

Alex: Got a last-minute invite to birthday drinks for acolleague, and I can’t escape yet.

Alex: Join me and we’ll go to mine after?

The prospect was appealing, and as soon as she had that thought, she was reminded why she shouldn’t do it. They weren’t friends. They didn’t need to understand each other outside the bedroom.

Sarah: I’ll pass, thanks.

His reply took so long, she thought he’d accepted her dismissal.

Alex: You’d make this slightly more bearable.

Oh, how he knew how to flatter her.

Alex: Save me, and I’ll let you call in a favour.

Now that was intriguing. So when he sent her a pin, she freshened up her lipstick, shouted a goodbye to Abby and Erik through their closed door, and headed out into the evening.

It was easyto find Alex’s colleagues when she arrived at the bar. The smattering of quarter zips and gilets stood out among a sea of jeans. Their boisterous chatter was audible over the poor kid performing in the corner. And she spotted no less than three young women in skimpy dresses being crowded against bar stools by tall men with leering faces.

And at a table against the wall, nursing his usual double whiskey, Alex drew her eyes almost instantly. His small group was laughing loudly, while Alex smiled just enough to appear engaged. But his eyes were slightly unfocused. His body wasangled away from the activity, probably under the pretence of needing space to stretch out his excessively tall body, but in reality giving him a shield as he checked his phone twice in the thirty seconds she spent watching him.

Then chance or fate or whatever this connection between them was had him looking up and straight at her. And there was that smile again. Not quite as open as he’d gifted her with in her bedroom, but wider than the ones she’d mostly seen him share in public. And still utterly captivating.

Before she’d taken more than a few steps, Alex’s long legs had eaten up the distance between them.

‘Evening, Princess. What can I get you?’ he asked, ushering her towards two seats at the end of the bar.

‘I can order my own drinks. And get my own chair.’ She scowled as he pulled her bar stool out and signalled to the bartender. And because that was the way the world worked when you were a six-foot-something, firmly muscled Thor lookalike, they were served immediately. Which, unfairness at getting to jump the queue aside, was a novelty Sarah could get used to. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be sitting with your friends?’

‘Co-workers, not friends,’ he corrected. ‘And they’ll forgive me for ignoring them as long as I’m talking to a gorgeous woman. Two drinks, then we can go.’

‘Your commitment to getting each other laid is very sweet.’

Alex laughed, low and genuine, like that night in his office. She wanted to bottle it. Become intoxicated on the sound of him being a real person, rather than another one of the corporate fuckboys surrounding them.

It disarmed her enough that she forgot she was pissed at him for ignoring her all day, instead leaning in to the desire for him that had brought her there in the first place. He lookedgood, tattoos and gold skin spilling from his cream rib-knit polo—she’d been relieved by the absence of Patagonia in his wardrobe—and his jeans… Well. Obscene was the norm there.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Sarah chancing looks at his forearm each time it flexed with the motion of lifting his glass.

‘Why all the Norse tattoos?’ she asked eventually.

Alex looked at the ink swirling across his skin, then back at her. ‘Larsson didn’t enlighten you to my heritage?’

‘Sure. But my dad is Welsh. I don’t have a dragon tattooed on my ass.’

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