Hawk & the Lady - Elizabeth Stevens Page 0,4

any of the other men around, but the look in his eyes, every time they caught mine, hinted he wasn’t quite as refined as he looked. Around every other man in the room, I could easily keep my sarcastic cool. But this one made my stomach flutter in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.

His sandy blond hair was always swept back stylishly. His skin was unnecessarily flawless to the point I wondered if he wore makeup – not that any amount of makeup I’d ever applied to myself had ever had that much perfect coverage. From the closest distance we’d ever been to each other, I guessed his eyes were brown. They seemed darker rather than lighter. And, as the cherry on top, he was taller than me, which was no mean feat. Few desirable men I met managed it. It wasn’t a deal-breaker, but it was a personal preference.

Whenever I saw him – and his eyes weren’t on me – he was a dutiful companion to Mrs Fortescue. He didn’t smile overly much, but he was attentive. He talked with her and her societal friends easily, quite obviously charming each and every one of them. He danced flawlessly with her. And he made sure her glass was never empty.

“He’s definitely interested in you,” my sister continued. “And, if he’s the clingy type, he hides it masterfully well.”

“I’d say that fine speci-man falls under Type E,” I replied.

“And which one’s that then?”

“Gold digger, with a touch of cougar chaser.”

Anna laughed. “Cougar chaser?”

I knew what she meant. Mrs Fortescue was probably a little too old to be classified as a cougar. “I was being polite.”

“Maybe he’s Type F,” she mused.

“And that would be?”

“Escort.”

Now I snorted to the point I was concerned I was going to lose canapés down my nice gown. “Escort?” I looked at her as I unnecessarily brushed off my boobs in case anything had escaped.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“That would probably fall under Type B.”

“How is being an escort immature?”

“All right. Strike immature and rename it ‘not ready for a relationship’, under which such sub-types as ‘immature’ and ‘busy being an escort’ may reside.”

“Escorts deserve romance, too, Leah.”

Her tone was so serious I pulled my eyes off Mrs Fortescue’s companion and looked at her. But she couldn’t hold the deadpan look for long and we both broke into barely supressed smiles.

“They do, though,” Anna insisted and I nodded in agreement. I had no doubt they did, but I wasn’t the one to give it to them.

“I’m branding you immature,” I said.

“Takes one to know one,” she replied.

I hid a snigger. Immaturity in myself and my sister I could abide. But I was so done with emotionally stunted, barely developed, clinging to the ‘glory days’, immature man-children.

2

Patrick

“Ladies and gentleman, all he needs is one more goal and he’s won the tournament,” Rollie commentated on behalf of himself.

Our spectators were watching on in humoured silence.

“Are you going to take the shot or not?” I asked him.

Rollie stuck his tongue out at me – which earned him a tongue back in reply – and lined up. I rearranged my finger-goals and crouched behind them better.

“You’re going down, bird-brain,” Rollie warned, narrowing his eyes at me like the bad guy in my Dad’s old western movies.

“You ain’t got what it takes, roller-ball,” I replied.

He stretched his neck to each side and checked his position again. Leaning down so his eye was behind his missile, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He drew back and fired.

“He shoots, he… Piece of shit!” Rollie’s premature celebration died and his smile fell as I caught the Malteaser in my mouth easily.

As I crunched on it, I grinned. “Them’s the rules, buddy ol’ pal.”

For, they were indeed the rules; goals didn’t count if the keeper caught it with their mouth. And that stood whether we were playing with delicious edible missiles or not.

“Chaos, I owe you ten bucks,” our office manager Flo called towards his office with a wry grin.

“I told you so,” I heard my best mate call back, and there was humour evident in his tone.

Tank walked out, shaking his head and muttering something about how he was surprised no one had lost any teeth. Rollie and I shared a grin.

“How long until the boys can sit up on their own?” Rollie ask Flo with a cheeky grin.

She gave him a fondly exasperated smile. “Let’s wait until they’re on solids. Like real solids and not just mushy peas, yeah?”

“Archie’s on