Page 34

GEORDIE

The first quiz night comes around way too quickly. I park the van in the scruffy open area behind the pub which passes for a parking lot. I really should do something about buying a car. At the moment I’m conspicuous wherever I go, the vehicle splattered with signwriting on all sides, although Sparky’s happy enough with the free advertising.

I’ve held off getting something of my own, not because money is a problem, but with a major purchase like a car, there’s this sense of permanence. These last two months I’ve flip-flopped between fearing and wanting to put down roots. Now the wanting seems to be winning, and it’s only because of Jenna. Yeah, I think it’s time to get a car.

She’s here, her BMW already parked. Now that’s conspicuous. A bright scarlet—San Francisco red, she says—it stands out amongst the rows of drab blues and greys. There’s no way you could mistake the sound of it either, the growl that becomes a roar as she screams up the road to my house and the explosive pops and crackles when she lifts off on the final bend before my driveway. Kyle says one old lady called the cops the first week Jenna arrived in town with that car, swearing she’d heard gunshots.

I trudge towards the rear entrance of the pub, like a man walking to the stocks. I’m not sure tonight isn’t going to be simply a more modern form of public humiliation. But when I think of the chance to spend another two hours with Jenna, it’s a no-brainer. I’d endure worse than this for even one of her smiles.

She’s done her best to make sure I’m not a total muppet, making me practice for this quiz every damn day for ten days straight. I’ll be at work and hear a chirp from my phone, only to check it and find a voice message with some random question I’m expected to answer. “No Googling,” she says, but I’ll admit to cheating. After all, looking it up has to be better than sending back a row of ‘????’ and have her think me completely ignorant.

A blast of heat, noise, and alcohol hits me in the face as I swing open the door. The place is packed. Obviously there’s a whole lot of people who consider this fun, and I suppose it is, compared to what else is on offer in Cluanie on a Tuesday evening—absolutely nothing.

I’m peering across the bar, trying to spot my team, when a hand grabs at my arm, and I turn to see Jenna behind me, loose dark hair tumbling across her shoulders, which are bare apart from two tiny straps of fabric holding up a skimpy red top. There’s a faint pink mark on her chest, just above where the top ends and her breasts begin. I smile to myself, recalling how my mouth claimed that very spot only hours ago. These afternoon meetups are the best tea breaks I’ve ever had in my life.

“Oh, good. You’re here in time,” she says. “Starts in five minutes. Still time to get a drink.” There’s a glass of wine in her hand .

“Thought you’d have lined up a beer for me,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

“No,” she quickly denies, biting her lip. “OK, maybe. I know you aren’t exactly keen.”

“More like scared shitless.” I give a choked laugh. “But you know I’d do anything for you.”

Her eyes meet mine, and that grateful look ignites a searing pain deep in my chest. I’d like to say it’s heartburn from scoffing two of Mum’s bridies for lunch, but it’s not. It rips at my heart when I see Jenna’s gratitude for something she deserves as of right, a guy who’d walk through fire for her. This here tonight is my bed of flaming hot coals and I’m going to show Jenna, and keep showing her, that I’m that guy.

I’m also the guy who’s heeding his sister’s advice. “Be patient,” Rachel whispered in my ear as she left my house ten days ago. So I am. I’m accepting Jenna on her terms until she’s ready to take the next step. And she will. I watch her walk away, knowing the day is coming when everyone in this room will know she’s mine.

I step up to the bar, ordering a beer from a smiling Skylar, who’s been promoted from waiting tables to pulling pints and appears to be loving every minute. She’s a good kid, hardworking and clever too, according to Jenna.

I angle my way through the crowd to where Jenna and the other members of ‘Quizzing In The Deep’ occupy a large booth. Daisy and Calvin sit on one side, Troy and Lexie on the other. I slide in next to Calvin, almost pleased I can’t sit next to Jenna. I don’t think I could stand two hours close to her without my hand roaming to her thigh, or wanting to press a kiss to her cheek .

Sitting opposite, our feet can discreetly bump under the table, and I have an unobstructed view of her spectacular cleavage. The tricky part will be not letting my gaze linger on her face. I can’t guarantee the others won’t notice the heat of wanting in our eyes or the silent conversation that flies between us whenever we’re together.

However, there’s no time to talk, with words or smouldering looks, as the quiz master steps up to the mic. It’s too late to escape. Within minutes, I relax, relieved to find the guy in charge, who thinks he’s a bit of a comedian, also reads the questions from the screen. The girls are literally fighting for the pen to record the answers. With a thankful slug of my nice cold pint of Tennent’s, I wash down my fear of exposure, realising I’m not about to be put on the spot with my disability showing for all to see.

The first few rounds pass with minimal embarrassment. There’s a sports one, which me and the two other guys absolutely nail, although Jenna comes through on some obscure question about tennis that gives us a perfect score.

I feel a flush of pride when my ten years of roaming the globe pay off on a ‘World Cities’ round. I bet I’m the only person in the room who knows Bandar Seri Begawan is the capital of Brunei. With every answer I give, I see approval in Jenna’s eyes; but it’s more than that, it’s belief.

She believes in me more than I believe in myself. For the first time in my life, I have this sense I could do anything; nothing is beyond my reach. Except for one thing: Jenna as I really want her, not just in my bed, but as my everything. She’s fighting it, but sometimes, like tonight, I see the walls come down a little.

We banter like the other couples in our team, laugh together over little private jokes, steal bites of each other’s pizzas when they come—hers a Margherita, mine a Hawaiian with pineapple criminally slathered all over it. She even comes right out and declares she likes it to everyone. How hard would it be for her to do the same about me?

When we come to the music round, I see Daisy sit a little straighter; the pen poised in her hand, ready to shine. She and Lexie do well, racing through the first nine questions, including, as expected, one about Taylor Swift. Daisy’s bright smile falls as she repeats the tenth question from the screen.

“What does GBX stand for? What kind of music question is that?” She frowns, wrinkling her nose and chewing on the pen.

“George Bowie Experience,” Jenna and I both say at the same time. The others look at us blankly while we grin at each other like loons.

“If you say so,” Daisy says doubtfully, while writing it down. “Is he related to David Bowie? Some old seventies music?”

“Jesus,” I say, staring at them incredulously. “You can’t tell me you’ve never heard of George Bowie?”

“GBX Anthems?” Jenna chips in. “Radio Clyde?”

They shake their heads.

“Nah, man,” Troy says. “Never heard of him.”

“What rock have you all been living under?” Jenna says.

“Well, we can’t all be living the high life travelling the world.” Troy gives a good-natured snort. He makes no secret that he’s perfectly happy here, working at the family butchery and married to Lexie.

“God, Glasgow’s practically just down the road,” Jenna laughs.

“Been there a few times. Didn’t like it much,” Troy says, shaking his head as if he feels sorry for anyone who ever has to leave Cluanie, before rising from the table. “Right, time for another round of drinks, eh?”

As a woman comes to collect the answer sheet Lexie’s waving in the air, Jenna and I exchange amused glances, and I’m secretly pleased to find an obsession with GBX Anthems is something else only we share.

“Just going to nip to the bathroom.” Jenna gives me a knowing look and a discreet tip of her head.

A moment after she’s gone, I follow. No one seems to notice. Lexie and Daisy are already deep in an argument about whether the answer to number five really was Ariana Grande. Troy and Calvin are both in line at the bar.

I arrive in the passageway to see Jenna loitering opposite the bathrooms.

“Queue for the ladies, huh?” I say.

With a quick shake of her head, her mouth widening in a wicked grin, Jenna beckons me forward. As I approach, I realise she’s leaning against a large door. I’ve seen it before, obviously, but never paid it any attention. It’s painted the same bland cream colour as the walls, almost camouflaged.

She quickly scans the passageway, turns, wrenches the door open, and disappears inside. I follow, pulling the door behind me. The distinct smell of beer tells me exactly where we are. Inside the gloomy room, kegs are stacked neatly on one side, while on the other a network of tubing attaches to more kegs in a single row. The cool air in the beer cellar squeezed between the bar and the passageway causes goosebumps to rise on my skin.

Something else in my pants starts to rise too, as Jenna fists my shirt and pulls me in close, laying a deep, demanding kiss on my lips. I spin her around, backing her up roughly against the stone wall, my body hard with need for her.

I slide one hand under her skimpy top, gliding across bare stomach and upwards to one large breast, erect nipple straining against the flimsy web of lace that makes up what Jenna calls a bra.

She moans into my mouth as I work the peak between my thumb and forefinger, while sliding my other hand to ruck up that tiny skirt she’s wearing. It’s been driving me wild every time I admire her toned legs beneath it, and the way it moulds to her shapely arse, watching the sway of her hips as she goes to the bar. The tiny triangle of fabric between her legs is soaked.

“You’re all wet for me, baby?” I murmur against her mouth, plucking at the piece of string holding it up. I’ve learned to be more careful with Jenna’s pretty underwear, but damned if I just don’t want to rip it away and let my fingers plunge right in.

“Oh, yeah, so wet,” she whispers through her next breath.

When my hand finds its home, two fingers inside of her, my palm setting up the rhythm she likes against her clit, she moves with it. I’m so familiar with this body. I know I can make my girl come fast, or other times take it nice and slow, whichever I choose. Given we’re expected back at that quiz table in twenty minutes, now might be the time to give her what she’s begging for quickly.

Jenna’s breathing picks up speed in time to the friction of my hand, small whimpers springing from her as I use the other to tweak and tease first one nipple and then the next. She pants into my kisses, her tongue swirling, dancing with mine through urgent clashes of teeth and lips, warm and wet and delicious .

“Oh, God, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she’s pleading into my mouth when the door flings open, slamming into my back and pushing Jenna even harder against the stone wall.

Above the roar of chatter and loud music bursting in from the bar, there’s the flick of a switch and fluorescent light floods the space. Jenna and I freeze, not that we can do much else pinned behind the door. Her breasts are crushed against my chest, with my arm crammed in between us and I swear I not only feel but hear her heart thundering as hard as my own, and I don’t think it’s only from the orgasm she was barely two breaths away from.

We’re paralysed in place, one large solid wooden door away from discovery.

“Really?” The word comes out an exasperated sigh. “You gotta be kidding.” The voice is soft, feminine and familiar: Skylar. She gives another deep, annoyed exhale. The light disappears, and the door closes again with a slam.

We almost tumble back at the release of pressure, but I brace my feet to stop us falling. I gently remove my hand from beneath Jenna’s top, and the other from between her legs. She smooths down her clothing and in the dimness, as my vision returns, I attempt to tame the strands of hair sticking out in a wild halo around her face.

“You know she’s going to be back? Or someone else,” Jenna says.

“Yeah, they must need to change over a keg. I’m guessing someone thought she could do it. No way Skylar could wrestle one of those. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

I open the door and cast a look in each direction. Tonight, the gods have decided not to punish me for fucking my secret girlfriend in the pub cellar. It’s bloody ridiculous really that we should have to resort to this level of sneaking around like naughty teenagers just to be sure her father doesn’t catch us out. So what if the old bastard has threatened to kick players off the team for messing with Jenna? I’m prepared to test how committed he is to that viewpoint. Even if my toiling away on the pitch—scoring a decent number of points too in our first few games—isn’t enough to convince him that’s a stupid move, surely he can see how much happier she is lately. I’m not vain when I claim it’s due to me.

I scan the passageway one last time. There’s no one in sight. We step out into the light and try to stroll back into the bar casually, as if we just happened to run into each other outside the loos. One of the bar staff, Simon, a tall bloke, bustles past us, heading for the cellar door.

“How did you know it was there?” I ask, hoping she’s not going to say she’s used the cellar for the same purpose before. I hate to think of her with any other guy, especially some local who I’m guaranteed to have to face, knowing he’s once upon a time had his mouth or hands, or worse still his dick, all over what’s mine.

“I was friends with Lana MacFee, the publican’s daughter. She used to pinch Bacardi Breezers from the bar fridge and we’d drink them in there.”

That was brave of them, knowing what I’ve seen of Rory MacFee and his famous temper, fiery as his bright red hair.

“And here I thought you were a good girl, Jenna Sharpe,” I tease, as we join the queue at the bar.

“Oh, I’m a very good girl,” she says, leaning in so the words brush against my ear, the breathy hiss of her voice sending a shiver through me. “But I think you know that.”

“Guess I do,” I murmur, eyes straight ahead. If I look at Jenna this minute, I’ll want to grab her and press that pretty mouth to mine right here in the middle of the bar, and to hell with blowing our cover.

She speaks again, in such a low whisper; at first I’m not sure I even heard it. “And you owe me an orgasm.”

I feel the flush creep up my neck, her words catapulting me straight back to the heat and desire between us only minutes before. This time, I chance a look, so she can see the promise in my eyes.

“And that’s a debt I intend to pay. With interest.” It comes out almost a low growl, my throat thick with need and, damn it, an erection straining against my jeans. At least crowded in amongst the punters waiting to be served, with all their eyes on the bar staff, no one will notice what’s happening in my pants.

Jenna gives me a smug smile and steps into the gap that’s opened in front of her.

“A glass of the white, please Skylar,” she says as if nothing has happened.