Page 16 of Not So Happily Ever After (British Bad Boys)
It’s Monday night, and the urge to get out of my flat is buzzing under my skin like a swarm of wasps. The best thing about living in the heart of the city is it’s close to loads of major clubs. The nightlife rocks.
Hell, it was only the Saturday night ritual of getting hammered in a top London club, and the anonymous sex with girls who didn’t want anything serious, that got me through after the break-up with Jenna.
I scrub my hand through my hair and pace the hall, which is the length of the flat but not nearly long enough to ease the claustrophobia clawing through my body. I got over my ex a long time ago, but the clubbing became a habit. The only way I’ve survived the last few years stuck in an office is because I party hard at weekends. It’s my release valve.
Keeps me sane.
Not that I went out on Saturday night. Don’t know why it didn’t appeal. But I couldn’t get Mac out of my head.
Still can’t.
Another endless week stretches ahead until I have my monthly long weekend in Wales, and before I can stop, I punch her number on my phone.
What thefuckam I doing? Just because she agreed that she missed us being friends doesn’t mean she wants to see me again. Except her laugh’s been haunting me all day, and I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me in her garden yesterday. Reminded me of that Christmas when we danced together and forgot all the reasons why it was such a bad idea to cross that friendship line.
Won’t be making that mistake again.Even if I want to.
“Will?” She sounds as though she can’t believe I’ve just called her. “Everything okay?”
No. I just lost my mind because I wanted to hear your voice again.“Have there been any developments with Jake?” Mentally, I give myself a high five. How’s that for quick thinking?
“I would’ve called you if there were any problems.”
I smirk, even though she can’t see it. “No, you wouldn’t.”
She lets out a soft huff, and I can imagine her rolling her eyes. “Why did you really phone me?”
That’s Mac. Cuts straight through the bullshit. If she can, so can I.
“Do you want to go out for a drink?”
The silence is deafening. Why did I think this was a good idea? And then she speaks. “Why not? Where?”
I riffle through my memory for the name of one of her local pubs. It’s been a while since I’ve hung out at any in Notting Hill. “The Swan?”
Mac strolls into the pub about fifteen minutes after me. Even if I hadn’t been looking at the door, I would’ve known she’d arrived by the way all the guys’ heads turn in her direction.
She’s wearing black jeans and boots, and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. She catches sight of me, and her smile lights up her face.
I give a silent groan.This is Mac.Friends-only zone.Stop fucking staring.
There weren’t any tables free, so I’m propping up the end of the bar, and I back up, so she has room to squeeze in next to me. In her boots, she’s only a couple of inches shorter than me, and her long black lashes frame her blue eyes.
This is a mistake. You know that, right?
There’s no way I’m having a conversation with myself, least of all about my screwed logic in asking her out tonight in the first place. I catch the bartender’s attention and glance at Mac. “What’re you having?”
“Scotch.”
I give the order, aware that she hasn’t taken her gaze from me. “What?”
“You preempted me.”
“Iwhat?”
“I owe you one from Saturday, remember?”
“Thought you were joking.” Although I’d hoped she wasn’t, especially when she agreed she missed the way we used to hang out together.
