Chapter Seven

Meg dithered for as long as she could. Clothes littered her bed. She had decided to lay off the tracksuit pants in favor of something more fetching. Standing in front of the mirror, she checked her arse in the skintight jeans. Not so bad, if you ignored the overflow at the waist. She had to lie on the bed to do them up, but they fit, sort of. She grabbed a loose fitting black shirt from the closet and pulled it over her head. Perfect. Long enough to cover the blubber hanging over her waistband but short enough to reveal some shapely arse.

She tousled her hair with gel. No amount of product would help; it was spaghetti straight come rain, hail, sleet, or sun. Happy she had done the best she could with her appearance she took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen.

The closer she got, the slower her steps. How should she approach this? Not by ripping his clothes off. The humiliation of what she decided to name, ‘the towel incident’, made her cheeks flame again. If she was going to get through coffee with him and move on the best way to deal with the situation was to pretend last night, and this morning, hadn’t happened. Or she could avoid the meeting altogether.

Sneaking through the lounge, she grabbed her purse off the chair and headed out the front. Once he heard the door slam he would be on to her. But if she left the damn thing open, Mrs. Pomphrey’s tomcat would get inside and scent-spray everything. It took months to get rid of the smell the last time the little bugger had snuck indoors. She blamed Sam for feeding him. With a gentle tug, she pulled the door shut and made a run for her car.

The front lawn had seemed much smaller the last time she’d strolled across it, but now the curb seemed miles away. Panting, she slammed into the side door and rummaged in her purse for her keys. By the time Sam arrived on the semi-dead, brown, grass the engine of her compact Korean car was spluttering to life and, without so much as a backward glance, she sped off.

Now what? It was all well and good to run away but where the fuck was she supposed to go? The mall? Nope, with no breakfast inside her the Krispy Krème doughnut kiosk would be too much of a temptation, and she needed to lose weight. Wherever her destination she better get there fast. On reflection the jeans didn’t really fit, she had a wedgie from hell. The seam was digging in places still sensitive from last night.

Oh hell, last night, what had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking, instead she had let her pussy lead her up the garden path, again. Although the journey had been thrilling, beyond anything she could ever have imagined, the aftermath was a fucking disaster.

If she turned up at her parents’ house without an invitation, her mother would assume the worst. She would endure a grilling about whether she was pregnant, dying, or even worse, be forced into a heart to heart discussion about the advantages of moving back home. Her older sister, Sian, would be sleeping the day away, and anything short of World War Three would never be an adequate excuse for waking her up. That left Laura. She flicked on her indicator and took a right at the lights. She just hoped Laura hadn’t got lucky last night, she couldn’t handle seeing any more naked, buff, male bodies without a full dose of caffeine first.

The houses thinned out, square patches of dead grass gave way to tree lined streets and manicured lawns surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges and herbaceous borders. Welcome to where the other half lived. Amongst the palatial family mansions the common man still managed a toehold here and there. Laura had snagged a two bedroom flat in a converted house.

A spotless black hatchback with spoiler and sports kit sat on the driveway, announcing to the world Laura was home. As it stood alone, Meg hoped that meant she hadn’t got lucky at the nightclub she frequented on Friday nights.

Laura finally answered Meg’s frantic pounding on the front door. Sleep tousled, yawning, and wearing a black teddy that was barely there, Laura glared at her.

“Where are the firemen?”

“What?”

“You turn up on my door at this ungodly hour, there must be a fire, and you better have brought some hunky firemen with you.”

“Sorry. No fire, or men.” She pulled what she hoped was her best pathetic face. “Can I come in?”

With a sigh, Laura moved back. After stepping inside, Meg shut the door and followed Laura to the kitchen.

“You want coffee?”

Meg tossed her purse on the counter. “I’ll make it. It’s the least I can do after waking you up at,” She glanced at the wall clock. “Fuck, seven thirty eight. I am sorry. I had no idea it was so early.”

Laura slid onto a stool in front of the counter, stifling another yawn before resting her chin on her hand. “Since when did you start getting up early?”

Good question, now what was a good answer? I woke up in Sam’s bed after an evening of orgasmic sex, accidentally ripped his towel off on my way to the bathroom, and watched him get erect before freaking right out and running away? Nope. Not going to mention the sex, or the naked penis, not to Laura. No way would she escape without giving a blow-by-blow account of Sam’s every move, with in-depth descriptions of his body parts along the way. She wasn’t ready to admit she had given in to him, never mind replay the whole night in slow motion.

Meg switched on the kettle and rescued two clean cups from the drainer. “I just wanted to get a jump start on the day. I thought I might go shopping for some new clothes.”

“Good idea. Those jeans must be at least two sizes too small for you. How can you breathe or sit down in them?”

Meg added instant coffee and sugar to the cups. “Why are you so grumpy anyway? Didn’t you get any last night?” She bit her tongue before she blurted out, because this fat momma did, boo yah, banging the night away with the man of your panty-soaking dreams.

“I wasn’t looking for any. Don’t you remember? Dean’s coming home on shore leave for the week?”

That particular piece of information had slipped her mind. She wished it had slipped Laura’s as well. No matter what Navy boy said, no one had the names of their parents tattooed on their bodies. Okay, maybe ‘Barbara’ in a love heart on his excessively over the top bicep might be believable, but ‘Maurice’ tattooed on his arse wasn’t. She didn’t buy his bullshit, not even when he said he chose his arse because he didn’t get along with his dad. If you hate your father, you don’t have his name on your body. Either the boy had a wife, and Maurice was his kid, or he swung both ways. No matter which, Laura would be devastated, and Meg would be cleaning up the mess…again.

“Oh yeah, Dean. So what are you going to do with Gerard?”

“I told him I was busy this week. You can borrow him if you like. He’s an animal between the sheets.”

Trust Laura to think she couldn’t get a man of her own. Apparently she could, for at least one night anyway. Meg ignored the comment. Adding another man to her suddenly overflowing sex life was not an option. She filled the cups with boiling water, put them on the counter, and fetched the milk from the fridge. Eyeing a stool, she decided against sitting. Her bits were still tingling from the drive over. One more false move and she might spontaneously orgasm, black shirt or not, she didn’t intend to spend the day stinking of cheap coffee.

Laura sipped her drink and stared at her. “You explained why you’re up so early but not what you’re doing at my place. The mall is in the opposite direction, and the stores don’t open until nine, so I’m not buying it. What’s the real reason you’re here?”