how much longer?’ I quickly ask, hoping to change the subject.
‘We’re actually here.’
He pulls into a small deserted parking lot. I look up at the sun bleached sign.
‘Paint balling? We’re going paint balling?’ I ask in disbelief.
Is he insane? What part of being belted with paint balls did he think I’d enjoy? I thought this was supposed to cheer me up?
He laughs and leans back in his seat. ‘We are indeed.’ He snorts. ‘Don’t look so terrified.’
I get out of the car, already regretting agreeing to this. See, this is why I hate surprises. They’re never good.
‘Sorry, but… you want to fire me with balls made of paint? Kind of hard not to be offended about that.’
He smirks. ‘There I was thinking that I annoy you so much you’d revel in getting to hammer me with them.’
He takes my hand and leads me through the gates. God, I love when he holds my hand. I have to stop myself from rubbing his fingers with my still deformed looking thumb.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I’ve thought about it,’ I admit with an easy laugh.
He chats to a guy, I’m assuming another friend of his, and introduces me as the new landlady of the Cock and Bull pub. Luckily the guy doesn’t balk or get out his pitch fork. Obviously hasn’t read the article yet. He has a quick look around for his manager before letting us in for free.
‘Do you know everyone in this town?’
Clooney grins, his eyes warm. ‘It’s a small place.’ He leads me into an area full of dark blue boiler suits. ‘Don’t panic though, it’s a slow day by the looks of things and we’re not going for the guns.’
‘We’re not?’ How the hell am I expected to shoot him without a gun?
‘No, we’ll just both get a bag of them and we chase each other round, smashing it into each other.’ He leans into my personal space, so close I can smell his cinnamon, mint and cigarette smoke scent, and waggles his eyebrows. ‘Far more up close and personal.’
Just smelling him has me wet. I need to get a damn grip.
We put our overalls on over our clothes. Thank god I wore a tank top underneath my jumper. I’d have sweated to death in my jumper.
His mate hands us both goggles and a sort of satchel full of what looks like little water balloons.
‘Okay, Poodles, try and catch me,’ he shouts, already running ahead.
I chase after him. ‘Do not call me poodles!’ I reach into my bag, grab a ball and throw it at him. I miss, dammit.
‘Ha ha! You’re a shit aim.’ He laughs, slowing down to gloat and point his finger.
I quickly get another one out, aim, throw and this time it hits him on his stomach. It explodes into red paint. Quite satisfying actually.
‘Ha! You cocky shit.’ I laugh. ‘Got you!’
‘Oh, you’re gonna be sorry,’ he warns with a grin, getting three balls out at once.
Oh crap. I run, as if running for my life. I hear him gaining on me. Three balls hit me; one in the leg, one on my lower back and one on my left arm. It doesn’t hurt that bad, but I still think I’ll bruise like a peach.
I take a ball out and turn round smashing it into his neck. His mouth pops open in shock. Ha ha, he didn’t expect that one. I run again. Except this time I don’t hear him running after me. I turn round but I can’t see him. It’s eerily quiet.
‘Clooney?’ I whisper, peering around bales of hay. Oh my god, I just know he’s going to jump out and attack me any moment. I can’t bear the suspense, my pulse going crazy at the base of my neck, almost nauseating.
That’s when I feel the splat on the top of my head. I screech as yellow paints drips down the side of my goggles.
I spin to find him doubled over wetting himself laughing.
‘My hair! You absolute bastard!’ I run after him, but he’s too quick, those athletic legs carrying him at twice the speed of mine. I see a short cut through the hay bales to where he’s running. Aha!
I run towards it, getting two balls out of my bag. I collide straight into him, taking us both down to the floor. I land on top of him, legs around his waist; he’s broken my fall.
‘Oops.’
He laughs. Proper throws his head back and does a belly laugh. It’s rare for him to