‘This friend, he wouldn’t happen to be male, would he?’
‘Maybe.’ Mia pushed open the door. ‘Well, it’s been good chatting, but I’ve got things I need to do.’ She’d not been lying about the website. She needed to crack on with it, especially now she knew how important expanding Luke’s business actually was.
‘The male friend of yours wouldn’t happen to own a bar,’ Stan continued, ignoring her. ‘And have a first name beginning with L?’
She glanced back at Stan, who looked at her all smug, like he’d unearthed a big, juicy secret. ‘Reckon you’ve got it all worked out, huh?’
‘It’s not hard, love. The pair of you have been … what was it you said before, dancing around each other like a couple of frisky peafowl?’ He chuckled delightedly at his own joke.
‘Ha ha. We’re mates, nothing more. We were gaming until the early hours so I crashed on his couch.’ Liar, you slept with his hot, hard erection nestled against your bum. And you loved it.
This time Stan’s chuckle turned into a loud guffaw. ‘You’re trying to tell me Luke Doyle had a woman stay overnight in his flat and didn’t get her into his bed?’
And bam, just like that, her sexy thoughts vanished, replaced by nastier ones; jealousy of those that had gone before her, shame that she’d fallen so easily for his charms, despite knowing better.
Yet the fact he hadn’t pushed, had seemed happy just to hold her, shouldn’t be forgotten. He was a player, but he was also a decent guy. It’s just he wasn’t one she’d ever be able to trust.
Stan looked expectantly at her, so she did what anyone would when backed into a corner. ‘Enough about me. How are things with you and Naomi? Have you summoned up the balls to ask her out yet?’
Yeah, that took the wind out of his sails. ‘Why would I do that?’
At his flustered expression, affection coiled through her. ‘Because you like her, you dolt. And she likes you.’
‘Happen we’re just friends.’ He gave her a sly glance. ‘Like you and Mr Doyle.’
She let out a bark of laughter. ‘Well played.’ Leaning against the doorframe, Mia gave Stan a sad smile. ‘What a pair we are, huh? Both too scared, for whatever reason, to grasp something that could potentially be so good.’
‘Aye. Could potentially explode in our faces too, mind.’
‘There is that.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘I know why I’m scared, but what’s stopping you?’
Stan glanced down his body, then looked back at Mia. ‘I’m a grumpy, overweight, boring old git.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says the last woman I asked out.’ He humphed. ‘She stuck with me for thirty-odd years, mind. Buggered off when I retired seven years ago.’ A cloud crossed his face. ‘Turns out she couldn’t carry on with her affairs when I was home all the time.’
‘Ouch, Stan. I’m sorry.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘If it helps, she was only right about the overweight part.’
He eyed her dubiously. ‘You reckon I’m not grumpy?’
‘Maybe a little. But I also reckon you know exactly how to charm a woman when you want to.’ She gave his middle a gentle nudge. ‘So why don’t we work on that overweight part and see what happens?’
‘I’ll have to give up the custard donuts.’
The despondency in his tone made her smile. ‘I’m sure we can find another reason for you to go to the café. She does a mean skinny latte, and an excellent granola bar.’ Horror crossed his face, and Mia fell about laughing. ‘God, Stan, you’re so easy to wind up. You don’t need to give up everything you enjoy. Climb the stairs instead of taking the lift, don’t put sugar in your tea, go for a power walk every day.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Save the bacon butties for a weekend treat. That way I won’t be tortured by the smell of sizzling bacon every damn day.’
He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘I’ll think about it. What about you and the Chipmunk?’
She groaned. ‘That is not a good nickname.’
‘Doesn’t answer my question.’
Mia sighed. ‘Truthfully? I don’t know. I like him.’ Understatement of the year. Gorgeous, funny, sexy, kind – her heart had melted when he’d told her about Bill. ‘But I’m wary, Stan. I’ve had too many crap relationships to want to start one that, even from the outset, looks destined for failure.’
Stan shuffled on his feet. ‘What I said about him sleeping with all the single women in the block. It’s likely stuff and nonsense. Daft people with nothing else better to do, making up gossip.’
‘Good try, but I know it’s not all nonsense.’
‘A bloke can change, given the right incentive.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ But realistically, was she, a blue-haired, sloppy-clothed computer geek, incentive enough?
For the rest of the day Mia found it hard to concentrate. By six in the evening she was still thinking of Luke. Mostly of why she shouldn’t be thinking of him, yet was unable to stop.
Out of habit, she once again stared into his flat.
And that’s when she saw Luke and a woman in his weight room. Not Immaculate Woman this time. Someone dressed more casually, in jeans, her hair flowing freely over her shoulders. She couldn’t see her face, she was standing too far back, but she could see her point to where Mia knew he kept the sheets of paper. And from her body language, Mia knew she was laughing.
As Mia continued to watch a cold feeling of unease settled in the pit of her stomach. Shameful as it sounded, if she’d owned a pair of binoculars, she’d have used them. Who was this person he seemed so at ease with? Were they laughing because the idea of messaging across the flats was quaint? Cute even? Or were they laughing at how ridiculous it was that this person he knew, this supposed friend, refused to give him her number, so he had to resort to communication by taping sheets of paper into a window?
It had been nearly a week since Luke had seen Mia. He knew she’d left his flat upset and annoyed, and he could hardly blame her. Having spent most of Saturday night coming on to her, having slept with her in his arms, in his bed, he’d then shamefully not told her exactly who the woman was who’d brazenly walked into his flat.
Figuring it was best to give Mia breathing space, he’d not asked her out this week, settling instead for putting up a few messages she wouldn’t have to reply to. That way he could convince himself she was still talking to him.
Monday he’d messaged:
On the PS4 2nite
* * *
Honing my skills
Tuesday he’d messaged:
Getting better…
Wednesday he’d messaged:
I’m badass now.
* * *
Be afraid…
By Thursday the ache in his chest whenever he thought of her had become so acute, before he’d gone to bed he’d posted:
I miss U.
Now it was Friday night, and he was trudging wearily home. The bar had been steady, which was something, but Friday and weekends always were. It was during the week he desperately needed things to pick up.