“Then you’ll be able to read that I still think you’re an immature fuckwit who runs about with a stick after a ball. You’re such a man-child.”
“Yeah, I run about with a stick teaching twelve-year olds discipline and teamwork, Lace. All skills they’ll need in life. I’m such a terrible person for giving a shit about kids who live in one of the most deprived parts of our city. That said, I’m still in an adult team because it’s fun. Do you remember what that is? You should try it sometime.”
He got up and walked over to Olivia. “I gotta dash, Liv. For what it’s worth, they’re all delish. My favourite is the lemon, but pick your favourite. It’s your wedding.”
Olivia beamed at him and gave him a big hug, raising her eyebrows at me over his shoulder. I shrugged. I was not explaining what had happened. I had every right not to be taken in by his crap. He’d devastated me before, and I wouldn’t be that person again, even if he did keep showing me the good parts of him were still there—the parts I fell in love with, and the parts I would probably always love.
Chapter 9
Twelve Years Earlier
Lacey
“THAT GUY THERE IS CHECKING you out,” Olivia said, leaning close to be heard over the music in the Queen Margaret Union of Glasgow University and pointing to the opposite end of the bar. We’d chosen to join this union because we were told it was trendier than the Glasgow University Union, and they were definitely our people.
I glanced over to where two guys stood, both looking in our general direction. They were cute but turned away when they saw us looking. One was black with short hair, red glasses, and a slim frame. The other one was white and more muscular. He had hair that was slightly too long and a cheeky grin as he peered over his pint glass.
“Which one was checking me out?” I asked.
“The white dude.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Deffo the one on the right.”
“I didn’t mean are you sure it wasn’t his pal checking me out, I meant are you sure he was checking me out?” I said, leaning back on my bar stool and having another look at the two guys.
“Oh yeah. He’s into you.”
I scoffed. “I have too many essays due to bother with boys right now.”
“You don’t think he’s cute? His pal is cute. I’d do him.”
I considered his friend, then shook my head. “He needs a belt. His jeans are only covering half his arse. I don’t need to know he wears batman boxers.”
“That’s what I find cute.”
“You lack standards.” I said as Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) by Beyoncé came on. “Come on, let’s dance.”
We got into our groove, dancing while trying not to spill our pints of snakebite—a half pint each of cider and lager. The two guys who had been checking us out inched nearer, dancing in a manner that suggested it was some form of mating ritual. I wanted to laugh, but I suspected they were quite drunk. In fact, I was getting a little drunk too.
When the one with suitably pulled-up jeans took my free hand and led me away from Olivia, I followed him, and the guy she fancied did the same thing. However, we were watching out for each other, and neither of us would be deserted for a guy.
“My pal fancies your pal,” said the cute guy.
“I thought he did.”
“Well we need to practice for the first dance at their wedding when we’re best man and bridesmaid.”
“Really?” That was the worst chat up line ever. “Pretty sure Single Ladies is not a good first dance choice.”
“Maybe I should put a ring on you and snap you up.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t chat up girls often, do you?”
He shrugged. “I’m shy.”
“Pleased to meet you, Shy. I’m Lacey.”
He laughed. “No. I’m Rory. I mean ...”
“I know what you meant. Relax. You’ll never get a pretty girl if you’re all nervous.”
“So you’re saying I don’t stand a chance with you because I’m nervous?”
Was he calling me pretty? I cocked my head to the side. “I ...”
He shook his head as if he was trying to restart. “I haven’t seen you in the QMU before.”
“I don’t come here often. I usually hang about Garscube campus.”
“A vet?”
“Not yet, but I hope so one day. And you?”
“Modern Languages. French and Italian.”
I nodded. “Tres bien.”
“God, your French accent is awful, but it’s sexy as hell.” He kept his voice low as he stepped closer to me. I inched away, but my back knocked against the high bar table, sandwiching me in.
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult,” I said as he lowered his head, his lips drawing closer.
“Compliment, definitely.”
Rory plucked the drink out of my hand and reached behind me, placing both our drinks on the table.
Straightening, he dropped his gaze to my lips then back to my eyes. Holding my gaze, he inched forward, closing the small gap between us to slant his lips over mine. I tensed, becoming rigid in his arms. What am I doing? I’m not the type of girl to have one dance then snog for the rest of the night. But he’s so sexy. A growl came from his throat as he pushed his tongue past my teeth into my mouth. I curled my fingers into his hair, and he tugged my hips closer to him, pressing his erection against me.
While my body was desperate to respond, my brain told me I wasn’t ready. I slowed the kiss then pulled my mouth away.
He lifted one hand and cupped my cheek, angling my face to look into my eyes. A slow smile crept across his lips. “I like you a lot. I think that’s obvious, but I’ll wait until you’re ready to go further than kissing on the dancefloor. I’ll give you my digits and leave the ball in your court.”
I bit my lip. He could tell. “Rory, you’re lovely, but you’ve obviously had loads of experience. I ...”
“Shh, I’ve had enough to know how to make you feel good at your pace, but I’m not a manwhore. Give me a chance. I’d like to see you again.”
I nodded. Something about him intrigued me and I enjoyed his kiss.
He pulled me in for another, tangling his fingers in my hair this time and pressing his other hand against my arse to hold me against the large rod in his jeans. I ran one hand down his back and over his tight arse.
We continued to kiss, and two or three songs changed before he pulled away, stroking my face with his knuckle. I peered over his shoulder to where Olivia and Rory’s friend were chatting and drinking.
“Give me your phone so I can put my number in it,” Rory said.
I took my phone out of my hip pocket and opened it to contacts, setting up a new one and typing in his name.
He typed in his number and I turned to pick up my drink.
“Woah!” He grabbed the drink from me. “We’ve not been watching it. You’ve no idea what’s in it.” He laid the drink back on the table. “I’ll get you a new one.”
“It’s fine. I need to go anyway. I’ll grab a drink at home.”