Cock & Bull - Laura Barnard Page 0,43

now leave me alone.

‘Are you happy?’ I shout. ‘Will you leave me alone now?’

‘Yes. Thank you so much. I’m ready now.’

‘Well go towards the bloody light, please!’

Chapter Twenty-Three

I’m so relieved when I get back to the pub, my shoulders un-hunch the minute I walk through the door. I just want to sit down and let out a loud sigh. That or get a hug from Clooney, which I know is completely off the table.

I don’t know why I want his comfort specifically. Probably because I know that Ella is currently a mess. Something about him is just so strong and stable. I’ll have to just settle with Suki.

My God, it’s so nice only having my own voice circling round my head.

I look around to see Clooney sat down on a table surrounded by his friends. They’re playing cards. I study him for a moment, before he notices me. It’s weird seeing him relaxed in the company of his mates. His shoulders are loose, laughing as they share a joke. It’s nice to see the laughter lines around his eyes.

It makes me realise that I’ve not actually seen Clooney laugh properly before. He’s always smiling smugly or snorting a laugh, but this is pure unfiltered joy emanating from him. I want to sit down and soak it in, let some of it rub off on me. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.

‘Hey.’ He smiles, when he notices me. It’s like I blossom every time he looks me over; every muscle in my body springing alive at just the memory of his tongue on my skin.

‘Hi.’ I quickly snap myself out of it, hoping he didn’t catch me staring dreamily at him. I can’t help but want to try my hardest to earn that laughter from him.

‘All sorted?’ he asks, eyebrows raised.

God, he’s gorgeous; olive skin against a simple white t-shirt, those biceps covered in tattoos. He’s extremely lickable.

‘Yep,’ I nod, looking around for Ella. ‘Is she...?’

‘I put her to bed,’ he nods with a breath-taking smile. ‘She was pretty wasted.’

I smile back gratefully. I look down at the table they’re sat at and notice that there’s money on the table. Why can’t guys just put their stuff in their pockets? I suppose its these skinny jeans they all insist on wearing. Talk about try to steal our style.

Wait, are they using that money to bet? Is this a proper poker game? Are they gambling on my property?

‘Are you... gambling?’ I blurt, feeling stupid as soon as I’ve said it. Of course he’s not. He wouldn’t be so irresponsible. He knows the rules of a boozer.

Clooney looks back at me wide eyed. ‘Yeah, just a friendly game. Why?’

‘Why? Because you’re gambling on my property. That’s totally illegal.’

He scoffs a laugh. ‘As if. It’s only a harmless game.’

‘A harmless game that could totally lose me my licence.’ I can hear how hysterical I sound and it makes me cringe. His mates turn to stare at me. Maybe I do need to get a strait jacket.

He stands up and ushers me to one side. ‘Pheebs, chill,’ he says soothingly, hands up in defence.

‘Don’t Pheebs me! You don’t even know me. You don’t get to nickname my full name. And especially when you couldn’t give a shit about whether you lose my licence or not.’

Here I am working myself to death and he could ruin everything in one evening.

‘Err... we should go,’ one of his friends says, already on his feet, reaching for his jacket.

‘No, you’re fine,’ Clooney snaps back. ‘Sit down.’

His friend drops into his seat, looking between us with a loud swallow.

‘You’re not going to lose your licence over a stupid little game between friends. This is Ireland, not London. You’re not likely to be raided any minute. It’s not an episode of EastEnders.’

‘Oh, and you think you have the right to make that decision for me, do you? Right after we’ve told every guard in town that they get fifty percent off?’ His eyes flicker in realisation. ‘Yeah, I bet you forgot about that little fact, didn’t you?’

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘God, you’re dramatic.’

‘Dramatic?’ I repeat, stern-faced. ‘You have no idea what I’ve put into this business. I can’t just allow you to flush it down the toilet.’

Why am I taking my bad mood out on Clooney? I hate myself, but it’s like I can’t stop.

‘You’re doing a good job of that yourselves,’ he says under his breath.

‘Hey fuck you, Clooney.’ I spin on my