One Night Stand

Chapter 1Before you start: Join my mailing list to get a FREE story, At First Sight, and be the first to find out about new releases, sales and giveaways! The meeting has left me exhausted and wired. Although it went well and I've landed the project, I don't feel too excited about it. The new customer is the sort of type whom you could give the equivalent of a perfect sunset and yet he'd be tweaking the colours until there would be no magic left in it. Ordinarily I don't entertain such people, my web design company had grown successful enough that I didn't need to accept that kind of drain on my energy levels. However, lately things have been tough, and the project is too big and prestigious to pass up. Fingers crossed, with Akhil's support I can pull it off; it would turn things around for me. Finding him to manage a team of freelancers in India had been a godsend on many previous occasions. I'm sure he will be equally valuable this time around. If I ever deserved a drink, now is the time. I need to shake this knotted feeling in my chest, before it drives me nuts. It'll turn out fine, as always... When I'm out by myself, rather than enjoying a fancy dinner, I usually opt for something simple, portable. A kebab or something from the chippy. The rest of the evening will be spent whiling the hours away in the first decent-looking pub I can find. And I've just found it. As soon as I've found my seat of choice in the dimly lit establishment, I notice him. Sitting on a bar stool nursing a full pint while his two friends stand around waiting for their refills. They clearly arrived as a group, but while I observe them it quickly becomes clear that they are not planning to just sit at the bar together. He's sporting a typical metalhead ponytail, longer than my own hair and it really suits him. Too many guys can't get past their old faithful long hairstyle, even when their mane starts to thin. His hair is thick and full though and the first thing I noticed. I have always had a thing for men with long hair. Chance brought me here tonight to the aptly named "Old Oak". Only a short walk from my hotel, its traditional wood panelled decor looks like the perfect environment to escape to. It's the sort of place which you can imagine to have been here forever. Probably has done for hundreds of years, largely looking the same but growing ever brighter and shinier. I had planned to just sit here, have a couple of drinks and watch the normal goings-on unfold around me. But my initial plan of staying largely out of sight is starting to look like a bad idea. From my corner by the window, in between sips of Baileys on ice, I keep eyeing him. Black jeans paired with sturdy biker boots and an untucked black shirt covering his broad frame on top. He looks like an imposing figure, even hunched over as he is at the bar. Like a giant. I wish he'd turn around. I also wish I had bought my drink from this bar counter rather than the other one, at least I could have had a better look at him before finding my seat. Like a reluctant predator, I'm just sitting here and staring at him from behind. If I hadn't chosen to sit in such a discreet location, it might have been the other way around. My phone distracts, a message from Akhil, asking about the meeting and if we can talk. It can wait. I came here to forget about the irritating client with the project I couldn't refuse, not to talk about it. Stuffing the phone back into my handbag, I resume my earlier observations. His friends are long gone by now, leaving an unoccupied stool beside him and my glass is getting empty quickly. Shall I? It feels so reassuring being unnoticed that I'm very reluctant to get up. I guess I'm just a coward when it comes down to making the first move, and my dark corner feels so safe. He takes a big last sip from his glass and I panic. What if he's going to call it a night? If he leaves now I'll forever wonder what could've been! Before I know it my feet carry me towards the bar, while I absent-mindedly smooth down my businesslike grey skirt and waistcoat combo. Despite the buzz of the drunken conversations that fills the space, the clicking of my heels on the wooden floorboards is almost as deafening as my heart pounding in my chest. He turns towards me as soon as I reach and I'm frozen in place. Concentrating on continuing to breathe, I tuck my black wavy hair behind my ear and glance in his direction. I take in his strong Nordic features, his full lips and steely blue eyes that stand in stark contrast against the dark brown of his hair and short beard. All I can manage is a shy smile before hurriedly looking away. My instincts served me well, if I had stayed in my seat, I would've regretted it. I feel tiny standing next to him, which causes me to feel an even stronger attraction. And his eyes on me, I can almost feel them stabbing and probing. His hands are huge as well, manly. I wonder how he'd touch me, if those hands could be gentle or if they only know how to be rough. There's no sign of a wedding ring: what a relief. It has been decided, I want him at any cost. "What can I get you, darling?" The bartender interrupts my thoughts. "Oh I'll have a Baileys, thanks." Taking a deep breath I turn towards my mark. "Would you like anything, while I'm buying already?" Surprised, it takes him a few seconds to respond. Or perhaps he's as distracted by our eye contact as I am. "Ice?" the bartender asks. I nod in response before resuming to look at the giant's face again. The short interruption appears to have helped him get his thoughts in line too. "Another Guinness," he tells the bartender. His deep voice matches his impressive stature and makes my heart jump a few beats. I put a tenner down on the bar, hoping that the goose bumps on my arms aren't too obvious. "Mind if I take this seat?" I say, "You're not holding it for anyone, are you?" "Sure, go ahead." While I get onto the stool, our drinks appear in front of us. "Cheers." I'm trying my best to sound a lot more confident than I feel. "Cheers." His voice elicits another wave of chills to wash over me. I desperately try to think of something to say. Apparently my brain thinks it's funny to only feed me utter clichés. I take another sip while trying to come up with something a bit less moronic than 'come here often?' "You're here on your own?" I finally ask. Still pretty stupid but I can't do any better right now. "Came with two mates of mine from work. They'll be around here somewhere, on the pull probably," he responds. "And you've stayed behind? How so, got a girlfriend?" I blurt out the question before I'm able to stop myself. Still, the information is pertinent. He blinks at me a few times, eyebrows pulled together possibly in surprise at my question. "No girlfriend. And I opted to stay here because frankly I can do without the inevitable rejection." "Understandable, I find it quite nerve-wracking to approach people myself." He seems off, I wonder if I'm making him uncomfortable. But if there ever was an appropriate time and place to ask strangers prying questions, it certainly would be here and now; Friday night in a busy London pub. He shakes his head slowly before lifting his pint to his lips. I follow suit but can't help wondering what he's thinking. "I don't see how you'd have that problem. I'm sure you get plenty of attention without even trying," he says finally, almost mumbling the words into his glass. I look him right in the eyes and helplessly give in to my urge to grin before answering. "Perhaps the attention I tend to get without trying isn't the one I want." We just stare at each other for what feels like ages. Neither of us seem in a hurry to look away. I leisurely let my mind wander, still curious what his hands might feel like against my skin. And those lips... Objectively speaking, he looks like the sort of guy you'd avoid messing with if you can help it. I'm certain that when he walks down the street, people will instinctively part to make way. At the same time his mannerisms, his way of speaking have me convinced that behind the imposing facade, he's a really sweet guy. I wonder what makes me so sure, I don't even know him... yet. "George, mate!" Two figures appear behind us, one giving him a supposedly jovial smack on his shoulder. The dark expression on his face tells me he's not overly pleased for the interruption. "Lads..." he says. "Made a friend, I see? What's your name, love?" The scrawny one who smacked George on the shoulder is leaning against him now and hungrily looking at me. It doesn't help that he's had quite a bit more to drink than me and it's showing. Meanwhile, the other one is trying to get the bartender's attention. "Lucy," I answer. My flight instinct becomes too strong to ignore. "Excuse me for a minute, guys." I steady myself against George's arm while slipping off the bar stool. The apologetic expression on his face is quite endearing. I let go of him and start walking towards the facilities. Hopefully by the time I'm done wasting some time checking my make-up, George will be by himself again. I suppose I can't blame him for staying at the bar while at least the creepy one of his so-called friends will make a t**t of himself in front of every woman in the pub.