Bang Gang(21)

I crossed Nanna on the stairs on my way out. My makeup was heavy and my  hair was slick and styled, my steps only slightly unsteady as they  adjusted to the killer heels.

"Oooh!" she said. "You look lovely, Jo! Really lovely!"

"Just popping out with Tonya," I said. "Is that ok?"

She waved me off with a smile. "You go on, love. Have a good time."

"It's just for a few hours," I said. "I'll be back long before morning."

"I'm sure I've still got my wits about me enough to tip some cereal in a  bowl, my girl." She gave me a wink. "Go, have fun. Meet yourself a nice  man."

If only she knew.

"Nanna!" I said. "You're a bad influence."

She waggled a finger at me. "I was quite a dish before your Pop Pop,  I'll have you know. Oh, to be young again. I've met many a nice man in  my time." She laughed to herself as she climbed the rest of the stairs.

At least now I knew where I got it from.

I was grinning as I eased the door closed behind me.



I should have brought wine. Why didn't I bring wine? Or even vodka. I should definitely have brought vodka.

It was too late for that now. My nerves were jangling as I skirted the  river towards the fish and chip shop. I prayed that for once Trent  wouldn't be smoking outside his front door. That spot would put him in  prime position to observe my less than sterling negotiation of the bumpy  path in stupid heels.

I should never have worn these heels.                       
       
           



       

I should have worn bloody flip flops or something instead. Anything  rather than risk jabbing a heel in a rut and toppling ass over tit.  There's nothing sexy about a twisted ankle, that's for sure.

Sexy. Oh my life.

I was going to have sex.

Real, proper open your legs sex.

I paused for a moment before Trent's place came into view. Was I ready? I smoothed my hair. As ready as I'd ever be.

My mouth was so bloody dry, my knees weak and pathetic as I walked the  final strait. I kept my eyes away from the steps up to his, making out I  was busy rooting in my bag, just to avoid any eye contact that might be  lurking if he was outside waiting for me.

As it turns out, he wasn't.

My heels clacked against the stone as I ascended the steps, and I noted  with interest that there wasn't a cigarette butt in sight, not a single  one. The bucket at the top was empty, too.

I'd never known it empty.

I breathed deeply outside the closed front door, leaning back against the railings and trying to reach my Zen state.

Yeah, right. Like my life was ever Zen-like.

I gave myself a pep talk, told myself this was no biggie. Just sex, just like we'd said. We'd done it enough times before.

I tapped the door like a little mouse, then chided myself, gave it a decent knock.

I aimed for bright and casual with my smile, but I'm not so sure it held  when he opened the door. An outsider would say Darren was dressed  casually at best, but I'm no outsider. His jeans were faded but clean,  and his t-shirt had an actual collar. We were hardly in tuxedo  territory, but there was no doubt about it  –  Darren Trent had made an  effort.

He stepped aside to let me pass, and he smelled shower fresh  –  that same cool blue stuff he'd been using forever.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I said.

He stepped into the kitchen and I followed, backing myself against the  sink to give him space enough to pull a bottle of wine from the fridge.  Thank fuck.

"I got this," he said. "Or I can put the kettle on? I'm not out to get you wasted."

I smiled. "It's alright, I could do with a glass." Or ten. "Thank you."

He made light work of the cork, pouring me a large one into a glass that  used to be ours. He grabbed a beer, and there we stood, smiling polite  smiles as though this wasn't awkward in the slightest.

It was really fucking awkward.

I had prickles on the back of my neck, burning up so hot that I'm sure I  was sweating. The room seemed airless and the wine didn't do shit for  my dry mouth.

"We should go through," he said, and my eyes widened. "To the living  room," he added. He pointed to my feet. "They can't be bloody  comfortable, Jo."

They weren't. They weren't at all.

Darren flopped into his usual seat at the far end of the sofa, and I  perched on the opposite side. I kicked off my heels and rubbed my feet,  not sure exactly what I should be doing. All my intentions of throwing  him against the wall and ripping his clothes off had well and truly been  demoted to fantasy.

I felt like a bloody virgin again.

His stare was on me, his eyes not letting up as he downed his beer. "Girls alright?"

"Girls are fine," I said. "Mia showed off a bit, wanted to Skype Daisy  all night long, you know what she's like. Ruby not so bad, think she was  tired to be honest, it's the only time she isn't full of backchat."

He smiled. "Yeah, she's full of it."

"Yeah, she is."

Cue another awkward polite smile-athon.

My heart lurched as he rested his beer can on the floor and moved a  little closer. "Look, Jodie, if this is weird for you, we don't have to  do this … "

"It's not weird," I bluffed. "Not at all."

Please don't stop this. Please don't. I felt the beginnings of panic, my heartrate kicking up a hefty notch.

"Don't feel …  pressured, like."

"I don't!" I said. "Christ, Darren, I'm totally down for this." I flicked my hair but it felt ridiculous. "I feel great."

He gestured to my white knuckles as they death-gripped my wine glass  stem. "You're gonna fucking break that if you squeeze any tighter." He  sniggered to himself. "Doubt I'll be moaning about that later, mind."                       
       
           



       

I seized the moment, mustering every scrap of bravado for an epic sex-kitten move.

I downed my wine and placed the glass at my feet, then  –  in the most  sexy way I knew how  –  I wiggled my way out of my tunic to reveal the  lacy brilliance of the babydoll underneath. I still had my jeans on, but  the babydoll showed enough  –  the swell of my tits in the push-up cups,  the pale of my tummy under the gauzy fabric.

My tummy. I was sitting down. Shit, did my belly look flabby? I looked down in panic, sucked my breath in.

When my eyes met his again all I registered there was shock. He stared at me, eyes wide, and didn't say a word.

I guessed my stripper act fell quite short. Seriously fucking short.

Embarrassment burned like a bitch.

"Wow," he said, but he was still gawping, still totally taken aback. "That's … "

Stupid. Ridiculous.

Totally non-sexy.

"That's … " he attempted again, but I was done.

This was a terrible idea poorly executed.

"Forget it," I said, grateful for the warmth of the wine in my belly. I  pulled on my top in a jiffy and yanked it down over my jeans. I reached  for my bag and shoved my feet back in those stupid heels. "I'll go." I  got to my feet. "This was silly. I'm silly." I headed for the door.  "Sorry, Darren, this was …  I was stupid …  as if I could ever be like  them."

"Wait," he said, but I carried on regardless.

I unlocked the catch and yanked the door open. "I'll drop you a text  tomorrow, about the girls …  I think Ruby wants to head over, I think she  wants to … "

I stopped dead as I felt the heat of him at my back. He reached an arm  over my head, pushed the door closed again. The click of the latch was  loud.

"Wait," he said, and his voice was low. The sound gave me shivers, made  my clit tingle. He brushed the hair from my neck. "You're not stupid,  Jo," he said. "You've never been fucking stupid."

"I'm … "

"Nervous," he finished. "Yeah, well, I guess I am too."

The thought seemed absurd. Darren doesn't do nervous.

His hands on my shoulders turned me slowly. I could hardly breathe as I came to face him. He was so close.

He didn't speak, didn't utter a sound as his hands came up and tangled  in my hair. I knew this move. Oh fuck, I knew it so well. His thumbs  moved to brush my cheeks and rested there. He held my face in the exact  same way he used to do, his palms rough against my skin. So familiar,  yet not. They were much rougher than they used to be.

I looked at him, truly looked at him for the first time in years, and  his eyes were older, his skin more rugged, more lined. Seven years had  aged him. Seven years had turned him from a lean youngster into a man. A  proper man.

Seven years really suited him.

My lips were already parted when his landed. My tongue ready for his as  he pushed his way inside. My hands gripped at his shoulders, and he was  broader, firmer. He backed me into the door, his kiss hot and heavy, so  deep that I felt consumed.