Page 53 of Wedding Crasher

He couldn’t help himself.

He looked down.

He had to hand it to her; she jiggled in all the right places. She dipped her head for a second, her hair tumbling over her face, and with the benefit of a few too many beers she might have been Marla. When she threw her head back and grinned, a ridiculous shiver of disappointment ran through him.

The girl was wrong. She couldn’t make him feel better. In fact, with one flick of her red curls she’d managed to make him feel a hundred times worse.

‘I’m not a cowboy,’ he muttered.

‘That’s alright, darlin’. You can be anything you like in here.’

‘I’m an undertaker.’

To her credit, she faltered for only the briefest of nano-seconds before she was right back on her game.

‘Kinky.’ She swung a leg over him and straddled his thighs. ‘Then I’ll be Buffy the Vampire Slayer.’ She flashed her eyes and leaned close to whisper in his ear. ‘Here, or somewhere a little more private?’

Out of the corner of his eye Gabe spied Dan as he sauntered back across the bar.Thank God.‘I’ll pass, thanks.’

‘Come on, goth boy …’ The girl started gyrating to the music.

‘Get off me. Now.’

She could obviously tell from his tone that he meant business, because she stood up and tipped his drink into his lap.

‘Get a life, weirdo. You’re in a strip joint, remember?’

‘Nice taste, man,’ Dan murmured as he slid into the booth, swivelling his head to check out the redhead’s bum as she strutted away.

‘Did you just put her up to that?’

‘Fuck off. You must have given her the glad eye yourself.’

Gabe brushed the beer from his crotch and Dan’s face creased up with laughter. ‘For fuck’s sake, Gabriel, I did you a favour. That girl was smokin’.’

‘I don’t need fixing up.’

Dan shook his head without malice. ‘I hate to say it, Gabe, but from where I’m standing, it kind of looks like you do.’

As they grabbed their jackets, neither of them noticed the floppy-haired guy alone in the corner, phone in hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘I need to make another appointment with the midwife for three weeks’ time please,’ Emily said to the doctor’s receptionist.

She was distracted as she rooted around in the bottom of her handbag for her mobile. The damn thing was ringing, and her handbag had unhelpfully chosen this moment to do its best Tardis impression.

Half-eaten KitKat? Check. Hairbrush? Check. TV licence fee she should have posted three days ago? Check. She shoved the licence fee envelope into the front pocket in a vain attempt to remind her to post it, but still she couldn’t find the phone.

It didn’t help that Tom had pulled his favourite trick; changing her ringtone to some entirely inappropriate bump and grind porn theme for his own amusement.

Yeah, okay everyone, you can all stop staring at the pregnant lady with the slutty ringtone now. Show’s over.

Her cheeks flamed as disapproving mothers gathered their children onto their knees, and the receptionist tutted and waved a little cream card in her face.

‘Your next appointment.’ She handed it over with a haughty glance over the top of her crescent moon glasses.

Stuck-up cow.

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