Читать книгу Jilted - Rachael Johns - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

AT THE HAMMERING on his front door, Flynn shook his head and stumbled from the couch. He’d been there for the past couple of hours, staring at a mark on the wall. His stomach groaned, alerting him to the fact it was probably way past lunch.

“Flynn, what are you doing in there?” Lucy’s high-pitched shout shot through his head. “You’d better be ready.”

“What are you talking about?” He opened the door and felt his body tighten at the sight of his little sister. Dressed in black tights, ridiculously high-heeled boots, a long-sleeved T-shirt that looked three sizes too small and a skirt he practically needed a magnifying glass to see, Lucy was doing a fabulous impersonation of a street-side hooker. He couldn’t imagine why his mom was letting her loose like that. Maybe she’d used up all her parenting energies dealing with him in his wayward years.

“Flynn!” She seethed angry air between her teeth and held up her chunky Hope Hurricanes purple-and-orange scarf, proceeding to wave it in his face. “You’re supposed to be driving me into town for the game.” She looked him up and down, her eyes widening as she took in his holey track pants and scruffy sweater. “And you’re supposed to be playing.”

“Damn.” The game had completely slipped his mind. He rubbed his forehead, which had been pulsing with nonstop pain since he’d heard about Ellie. Running up and down the oval, tackling sweaty blokes and kicking out his tension could be just what he needed, but the rest of it... Having to make small talk, knowing that everywhere he looked people would be talking about him, pitying him. He needed that about as much as a rhino in his top paddock.

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

“No,” he snapped, giving a quick nod to her outfit. “I was just thinking that I should get you an overcoat. You’ll freeze in that, not to mention give the boys a heart attack.”

“You’re not my father, Flynn. Even if you act as if you’re about ninety-five.” She lifted her chin, daring him to disagree.

“Thank the Lord,” he replied, beginning to soften. But Lucy’s words made him think. Did he really give off that impression? Was he turning into an old grump? Or was it just all the talk of Ellie that had put him off balance?

“Besides,” she continued, oblivious to the churnings of his mind. “This is what all the girls are wearing. You don’t want me to be an outcast, do you?”

Flynn had to hide a grin. She was such a drama queen, but her antics were distracting him from thoughts of his ex and lifting his mood. That had to be a good thing.

“Luce, you could never be an outcast. You’re gorgeous, intelligent and, most important, you’re my sister. That’s pretty much got you covered.”

“Hardy-ha,” she replied, but her full-blown smile told him she’d forgiven his grumpiness.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, turning toward his bedroom to throw on his gear. He’d play the game, let off some tension and make a quick retreat before anyone could corner him. Footy would help clear his head.

Five minutes later, Flynn turned the ute onto the main road into town. Lucy switched on the radio, grinning as Paul Kelly came blaring out. Paul was the one sound they both liked. The twelve years between them meant there weren’t many such bands.

Trying to relax, Flynn tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the music. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy shift in her seat to face him.

“You and Ellie could’ve been like this song.”

He cringed. As if the end of their relationship hadn’t been tragic enough. He’d never spoken about Ellie with Lucy, or about what happened after she’d left, and he didn’t plan on starting now. Lucy was now the age he and Ellie were when they started going out, but she wouldn’t understand. She had one hyped-up crush after another but never stayed with a boy long enough to fall in love.

When he didn’t reply, she elaborated. “I reckon Ellie did you a favor running off. I mean, I don’t really remember her and she may have been really nice, but Ms. Dawes, our sex-ed teacher, says teen marriages are twenty times more likely to end in divorce than other marriages.”

“Is that right?” Frankly, he would have liked the chance to have been in on the decision whatever the outcome of their would-be marriage.

“Uh-huh. Not that that old troll would know,” she giggled. “I don’t reckon anyone’s ever asked her to marry them.”

Flynn let out his breath, thinking Lucy had moved on to other thoughts. Just to make sure, he raised a new topic. “So, how’s school going? Mom said you’re doing well.”

“S’pose so. Doesn’t really matter. For the things I wanna do, I don’t need uni.”

“You’re seventeen, Luce, you have no idea what you want to do.”

“Shut up, Flynn, there you are acting all ancient again. You’re so boring. No wonder Ellie left you.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.

Flynn’s whole body clenched. He’d never entertained the possibility that Ellie had thought him boring—he still didn’t—but the words hurt more than he cared to admit. She had chosen a showbiz career and life in the city over a partnership on the farm. Her dreams were bigger than rural Western Australia. And him.

“I’m sorry, Flynn. That was out of line.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“And it’s crap, too. No one thinks you’re boring. Jeez, my friends all idolize you and the women in town all drool over you. You could have anyone you want.”

He chuckled at the irony. “Perhaps the three women in my life are enough?”

“Three!” Lucy shrieked. “Who’s the... Ooh, me, Mom and Gran.” She looked disappointed. “I thought I was going to be the first to know something exciting.”

“Yep. You, Mom and Gran.” He reached out and rubbed her head affectionately.

“Hey, don’t mess the hair.” She lifted a hand for protection but smiled nevertheless.

For the rest of the journey, Lucy nattered on about the girls at school, the boy they all craved and their plans for Schoolies Week, which, thankfully, was still six months away. It may have been over a decade since Flynn had partied on Rottnest Island during Schoolies, but he knew things wouldn’t have changed too much. Seventeen-year-old boys had one thing on their mind and one thing only.

“Crap, we’re late,” Lucy said as Flynn pulled into the oval and searched for a place to park. Already the field was bordered with cars, people sitting on hoods, eating pies and drinking soft drinks, waving banners as they waited for the game to start. Stupidly, he scanned the crowds for Ellie—she’d been a faithful supporter of the Hurricanes and never missed a game when she lived here, but of course, things were different now. Even if she were in town, it was unlikely she’d make a game of country football a high priority.

Lucy practically jumped out the car before he’d put the hand brake on, and definitely before he’d taken the keys out of the ignition.

“Come straight back here after the game,” he yelled, pretty certain she didn’t hear him, or at least didn’t want to.

* * *

DURING THE MATCH, Flynn didn’t look at the crowd and tried not to make eye contact with his fellow players. He scored more goals than he had in a while but not enough to give the Hurricanes the victory they’d been missing lately. When it was over, he went to wait for Lucy. He knew his quick departure would provide more fodder for the gossips, but that didn’t make him any more inclined to stay around.

Lucy took her sweet time, though, eventually arriving with a giggling teenage friend on each side. Opening the passenger door, she leaned into the car. “I’m going to Kara’s,” she announced.

Flynn opened his mouth to object—no way was he hanging in town while she had fun with the girls—but she got in first.

“I’ve already called Mom and she’s fine with it. She said I can stay over and she’ll pick me up after church tomorrow.” She stepped back next to her friends.

“Fine.” Flynn’s hand was already poised on the gearstick when pale, delicate fingers—complete with red nails—reached out to hold open the passenger door.

“Hiya, Flynn.”

Flynn fought the urge to shuffle closer to the driver’s door as Lauren Simpson slipped into the passenger seat. It was hard not to ogle her ample cleavage, which was only further accentuated by her tight silver top. Not many got away with such outlandish fashion in Hope Junction, and most simply wore Hurricanes sweaters to the game, but Lauren was stunning and on her it worked. Still, he’d never found her kind of beauty attractive.

She rested one of her perfect hands on his thigh. He tensed, cursing himself for not changing out of his footy shorts.

“You’re not going home, are you, Flynn?” Her singsong voice grated on his nerves.

“Actually...” That’s exactly where he planned on heading. The last thing he wanted to do was socialize right now.

“I understand,” she began, in an annoyingly sympathetic tone, “that today would have been difficult for you. But it’s times like these you need to be around friends. People who care about you, people who understand you.” Her nails drifted a little higher up his thigh. “What do you say? Come to the pub with us?”

He looked past Lauren to see Lucy a few meters away. She was beaming like a loony and holding both thumbs up. Go on, she mouthed at him theatrically.

“Who’s us?” asked Flynn. He didn’t want Lauren getting any ideas.

“Oh, you know, the usual crowd. Rats will be there.”

Rats, nicknamed so because he’d had a rat’s tail haircut since he was in kindergarten. That is, until a few weeks ago when he proposed to Whitney, who refused to accept unless he cut it off. Rats, who just happened to be the best mate Flynn had.

He still didn’t want to go. Pubs hadn’t been real appealing since his father’s accident, when he’d been forced to get his life back on track. But this wasn’t just about the pub. Maybe he should make an appearance and hold his head up high. Show everyone he didn’t need their sympathy, that ten years was a long time. Definitely long enough for him and Ellie to be in the same shire without him losing the plot. Again.

“Do you need a lift, then?” He forced a smile to his lips.

“Sure.” Lauren’s face lit up. She poked her head back out the car for a moment. “Meet you there, girls.”

“Shove over. We can fit,” said a voice from outside.

Flynn leaned forward to wave at Emma and another local chick, Linda.

“I don’t think so.” Lauren pulled the door shut before they could negotiate. “Drive on, Flynn. They’ll be fine.”

Ignoring Lauren, he pushed a button to wind down the passenger window. “If you ladies want, you can hop on the back.”

Giggles and shrieks ensued as Flynn hitched the girls up onto the tray. He took the opportunity to pull his jeans out of his bag and tug them on before getting back in. He barely had three hundred meters to drive, so there wasn’t much danger. Not on the road, anyway.

When Flynn opened the door at the top pub for Lauren and her friends, however, the hackles rose on the back of his neck. It wasn’t that he never came to the pub, but it was rare. Years ago this joint had been his first port of call whenever he’d wanted to drown his sorrows. The place they came whenever they lost a game of football—which hadn’t been nearly as often back then—and always where they came to celebrate a win. After Ellie had left he’d come even more. It had become his second home.

Back then, he’d step inside and smile. The aroma of cigarette smoke mixed with beer, sweat and cheap perfume always comforted. The run-down decor? Strangely alluring. The music? Exactly what he would have chosen. The people? Folks he’d grown up with, folks he’d die for. Folks he knew would do the same for him.

But times had changed. Although he still loved his football, he wasn’t the carefree larrikin of a decade ago. Not frequently anyway. He was a long way from the Flynn who’d streaked across the oval. In the years since, the law had sent the smokers outside, and although he wasn’t one of them, there was something wrong about a pub without that smell. New owners had renovated and The Commercial Hotel had lost its rural character. Its beige walls with a chocolate feature and the leather-upholstered bar stools could have been transplanted from any city establishment. The people he’d loved had moved on or changed. At least the music still had the right vibe.

He barely had the chance to nod at Rats and Whitney or take in the others hanging around before Lauren had an arm round him and was practically licking his ear.

“My shout, Flynn. What are you having?”

“Just a Coke, thanks.” He extracted his limbs from hers and moved along the bar to Rats.

“Hey, mate.” Rats slapped Flynn on the back and grinned. “Good to see ya. S’pose you’ve heard?”

“Grapevine wouldn’t be working if I hadn’t.” Flynn looked straight ahead.

“Doubt she’ll be here for long,” continued Rats. “She’s only back to help Ms. T. Surely a broken ankle won’t take long to mend. Right?”

Flynn wanted to ask if anyone had seen her yet, but he didn’t want to look like he gave a damn. He didn’t give a damn. So instead he said, “Free country. She can go where she likes.”

“True, true.” Rats took a sip of beer and pulled Whitney into his side. “So, mate, we’ve been talking and you don’t have to say yes straightaway but...”

“There’s no one we’d rather want as our best man,” gushed Whitney, reaching past Rats to take Flynn’s hands. “Please, please say yes.”

Hell. Flynn supposed he should have seen this coming. His friends hadn’t planned a long engagement and Rats had been decked out in the best-man suit the day Ellie had left him standing at the altar of St. Pete’s. But today? Just the thought of setting foot inside a church made his skin crawl.

“Sure,” he managed. “It’d be an honor.”

“Yippee!” As Whitney shrieked, she leaned forward and kissed Flynn on the lips. It was only quick, and entirely platonic, but whoops went up around the pub.

“Did he say yes?” Lauren returned with a bottle of champers, four delicate glass flutes and no sign of a Coke. “This calls for a toast.” Behind her were Emma and Linda with another bottle and more glasses.

As glasses were filled, Rats edged close to Flynn. “I’ll get you that Coke, mate. You don’t have to drink to take part in the toast.” Rats was one of the few people who knew just how dependent he’d become on booze before his dad died.

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Flynn, suddenly feeling like a tiny shot of bubbles would work wonders for his tension-infused body. “I can handle a glass on a special occasion.”

“Fair enough.” Rats held up his palms in surrender, but Flynn couldn’t miss the worry in his friend’s eyes. “Just looking out for you.”

Flynn didn’t reply. He was tired of people looking out for him, like he was some sort of pathetic child. He took a glass and raised it along with everybody else’s.

“To Flynn,” Lauren said, staring at him as if he were the only person in the room, “for completing our fabulous bridal party.”

“To Flynn,” chorused his friends.

He took a gulp and only as the bubbles caressed his throat did he register Lauren’s words. Dinner was ordered soon after, and once the pub grub had been devoured the group broke up—some playing pool, others chatting near the dartboard. This was Flynn’s chance to escape, but just as he was about to make a sly departure, Lauren pulled up a stool next to him. She barely sat on it, however, and Flynn got the impression she was angling for a spot on his lap, instead.

“You know,” she drawled in an unmistakably seductive tone, “the best man gets first pick of the bridesmaids.”

“Is that so?” Flynn took another sip to stop himself from saying the first thing that came into his head.

“It’s tradition. And it just so happens I’m maid of honor.” Was she actually singing her words? “Care for a top-up?” she asked, swaying the half-full bottle in his face and pointing to his glass.

Rats and Whitney were now wrapped in each other’s arms, ignoring the rest of the pub. Emma was chatting up the new barman and Linda appeared to be kicking her brother’s butt at darts. Flynn looked again at the bottle and then back to Lauren.

“Just one more.”

* * *

WHEN THE BOTTLE was gone, Flynn ordered Lauren a glass of wine and a beer for himself. For a second he thought twice about the choice. Common sense almost won, but then he glanced around him at the scene of country people having good, clean fun—the music loud, the laughs many, the atmosphere charged and happy—and he wanted that. It’d been years since alcohol had owned him. He’d only have one more.

One became two, two became four and before he knew it, he’d dragged Lauren onto the makeshift dance floor and was partying like it was 1999. As the barman called for last drinks, Lauren sank her arms around Flynn’s neck and pressed her curves against the steely length of his body. Of course, he reacted. He wouldn’t be male if he didn’t.

“I’ve had a great night, Flynn.”

“Me, too.” His words slurred slightly.

“You can’t drive home like this. The cops will pick you up for sure.”

He leaned his cheek against her hair and breathed in her pungent berry scent. “I’ll sleep in the back of the ute.”

“Now, Flynn...” Lauren’s hands crawled down to cup his buttocks and pull him tightly against her. Her words slithered into his ear on hot, wanton breath. “I’ve got a much better idea.”

And then her lips were accosting his. Her tongue took liberties as it swept his mouth, probing for access. His hands floundered as he tried to grab out for balance, to latch on to reality before he did something he might regret, but he got hold of a breast instead, the soft, round orb sending short, sharp messages to his brain. His body took on a life of its own. He couldn’t remember the last time he was kissed—the farm had been his sole focus for quite some time—and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He was twenty-nine, for crying out loud. He should have a little fun while he could. Besides, since he’d been in Lauren’s company, he hadn’t thought about Ellie once.

So he kissed Lauren back. Snaked his hands up her spine and then her neck, sliding his fingers into her long, blond locks. He felt his blood pump south and pulled back slightly to look into her eager eyes. “Let’s get outta here.”

Rats gripped Flynn’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “You sure you want to do this, mate?” His eyes were trained on Lauren giggling at Flynn’s side. “You’ve had a fair bit to drink.”

Now Flynn knew how Lucy felt when he started with the preachy talk. It got old and boring fast.

“Thanks, but I can look after myself.”

Outside, Lauren pushed him against the ute, fishing her fingers into his pocket for his car keys. “I’m driving. I only had one drink.”

“Of course.” Grinning, he leaned back against the vehicle, his hands clasped behind his head as she took longer to dig than was strictly necessary.

“You like that, Flynn?” She plucked the keys from his jeans but, not at all coy, she continued her exploration of his crutch, rubbing her palm up and over the denim at his groin. His hips angled forward of their own accord and he grabbed Lauren’s wrist.

“Let’s go.”

“My feelings exactly.”

Lauren opened the passenger door and Flynn slumped inside, his boots kicking a collection of empty Coke cans at his feet. She slid into the driver’s side and took in the mess. “I thought you’d take better care of your vehicle, Flynn Quartermaine.”

He glanced at her. “Um...” Even his mom didn’t nag him about such things.

“Relax.” Lauren laughed. She started the ute and, after quickly backing out, laid her hand against Flynn’s taut thigh. “It’s not your housekeeping I’m interested in.”

Chuckling, he sucked in a breath as Lauren’s hand again ventured upward. She toyed with his belt buckle, skillfully undoing it without the car veering even slightly off the straight and narrow.

“You nurses are multiskilled,” he said, wondering if he should put his hand against her leg or cop a feel of one of her breasts. Both options had seemed appealing back in the parking lot, but now, in the confined space of the car, where his breathing felt constricted by the heady scent of her perfume, he wasn’t so sure.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she purred. His eyes almost left their sockets as she opened his zipper and slipped her hand inside his jeans—inside his jocks, in fact.

“You think we should pull over?” He only just managed the words. Her soft, skillful fingers curled around his erection and began to tickle his balls. His breathing intensified. His pulse thudded through his veins. Heat surged beneath her touch. But it was a surreal experience, as if he was hovering outside his body, looking in. He barely heard Lauren’s reply.

“It’s okay, Flynn, we’re almost at my place.” Within seconds she’d pulled into a rough gravel driveway. The car came to a stop and a giggling Lauren opened the passenger door.

“You just gonna sit there all night, staring at the real estate?” She wiggled her hips in rhythm to her words. He winced at the sound of her voice, a sharp jolt rushing through his head. The view of her skinny legs, held together by a denim skirt too short for the season, blurred in front of him. He blinked to clear his vision.

“Had a bit too much to drink, Flynn-y boy?” She reached in and took his hand, trying to pull him out of the car. “Never mind. Nurse Lauren has the perfect medicine. Come on.”

Stumbling a little, he trekked up the porch steps, fighting the urge to sit down while Lauren unlocked the door. She switched on lights, which almost blinded him, and offered him a drink.

“No, thanks,” he managed, although a voice inside told him a long glass of icy water might be a good idea.

“Hope you don’t mind if I do.” Grabbing his shoulders, she ushered him into the living room and pushed him down on the couch. “You just wait there. I’ll be right back.”

He flopped his head against the back of the leather sofa and took a few moments just to sit. Fancy antique vases and massive, gold-framed paintings of famous Aussie landscapes swam around the room—this was her parents’ house, but they were overseas at the moment, on one of the travel tours they ran. His gut churned. He was contemplating a dash to the bathroom when Lauren skipped into the room.

“Hey, mister, you’re looking a little worse for wear.” She straddled his hips, her skirt riding up as she maneuvered on top of him. He realized his fly was still undone. Her warmth seeped onto his groin and he swayed a little, feeling woozy.

“Have you lost your knickers?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“You noticed.” She wiggled her hips more and pressed down. There was only the cotton of his jocks between them now. She placed a champagne flute on the side table and palmed her hands against his cheeks. “You want me, don’t you, Flynn?”