Cock & Bull - Laura Barnard Page 0,27
playing the Irish rugby match. I’ve even taken a few phone calls from people enquiring.
Clooney’s cooked a few pizzas and laid them out on the bar with cocktail sausages and curly fries. We’ve managed to bring in a crowd of about fifteen extra people. I just hope to God they all plan on getting slaughtered drunk.
Clooney beckons me with his finger. I follow him into the kitchen, an excited tingle travelling up my spine whenever he asks for time alone with me.
‘What’s up?’ I ask. I press my lips together to stop myself smiling like a goon.
His eyes glint mischievously in the light. ’I have a plan.’
I frown, knowing instantly this spells trouble. ‘How worried should I be?’ I start biting my nails.
He grabs my hand and drags me out the back door. ‘Come on.’
Like a fool I follow him. I know he’s trouble, but I just can’t help but be taken in by him; if only for tonight. Something happens when he touches me, even just to hold my hand. He lights up some sort of girly giddiness inside me. I remember us both practically naked in bed, skin to skin. It makes me shiver just to think of it. The urge to feel his arms wrapped around me again is getting stronger by the day, as if he’s cast a spell over me.
He notices the shiver and frowns. ‘Shit, I forgot our coats. I keep forgetting you’re not used to this weather.’
I nod, rubbing my palms up and down my arms. Better to go with that over feeling turned on. It’s practically Baltic out. It doesn’t help that I’ve developed a slight runny nose since nearly catching hypothermia the other day.
He looks at his watch. ‘I don’t think we have time. Here.’ He takes off his flannel shirt and hands it to me, leaving him in just a light grey v neck t-shirt. A small bit of dark chest hair is visible. I stare down at the shirt like a dummy. He can be so sweet sometimes.
He grabs my hand again and pulls me into his car. By the time he’s got in his side I’ve put on his shirt. It’s warm and smells amazing. Smells of him.
‘Where are we going?’
He grins, his eyes glinting in the glow of the street lights. ‘You’ll see when we get there.’
I sigh. More damn surprises. ‘Are you taking me off to murder me?’
He smirks. ‘I have a feeling any killer worth his salt would answer no to that question.’
‘Whatever. Just tell me,’ I plead. ‘I hate surprises.’
He holds the steering wheel with one hand. ‘Jeysus, you need to chill out, Phoebe.’
Is there anything worse than being told to chill out? I don’t think so.
‘You need to stop being so damn stubborn and just tell me where you’re taking me.’
‘Jey-sus.’ The skin around his eyes bunches in annoyance. ‘I’m taking you to my dad’s pub. We’re gonna play a little prank on him. Payback for the whole rat in the kitchen thing.’
My mouth drops open. ‘I thought with him being your dad you wouldn’t want to get involved in our drama?’
His jaw tenses. ‘Phoebe, the man chucked me out. Believe me when I say there’s no love lost between us.’
Then why won’t he tell me the whole story?
I shrug, attempting to appear casual. ‘He’s still your dad though. My parents drive me mad, but I can never imagine hating them. Disliking them, maybe.’
His jaw tenses. ‘But I’m guessing your parents never chucked you out of your own room?’
‘True, I suppose.’ I nod, looking out of the window.
Little does he know we never had a house to be chucked out from. We spent our entire life being driven around in a minivan on our way to rallies or protests and being home-schooled by our hippy parents. Hardly the supportive environment most kids have growing up.
‘So what are we doing?’ I ask as we park up and get out at The Dog & Duck.
He grabs my hand again and pulls me behind him. ‘Be quiet.’
He’s so bossy, but damn, when this guy holds my hand and directs me with his Irish melodious voice, it tricks me into thinking he can be adorable. I know his type. I’ve dated his type. Charming and attentive, but ready to drop you the minute you sleep with them. Hell, I couldn’t even trust boring and reliable Garry.
We sneak up towards the back of the pub and through a gate I’ve not seen before. He turns the torch on