Page 15 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

CHAPTER TEN

Monty

‘Where the fuck is Tim?’ London frowned at Monty.

His coach tried to encourage the squad to come up with ‘punchy and wordy alternatives’ to swear words and now Monty was down by a pound already.

But it was a genuine concern. Monty had lost all control of his commonsense.

He’d vowed to be a good captain and watch the his teammate’s every move, then swiftly forgotten about it.

‘He went to the gents over ten minutes ago. I hope he’s not–’

Monty had already filled in the blanks and was on his feet, pacing around the bathtub.

His coach looked askance at him. The cocktails had loosened up the tight-lipped London and they’d been knee-deep in conversation about the probable England contract, but this couldn’t wait.

Especially since Lola hadn’t come back with any new drinks orders.

Meanwhile, the older waitress had been in and out like a yo-yo, looking thoroughly stressed.

Monty didn’t want to make things any harder for Lola but he couldn’t trust Tim.

He’d pretend he had to take a call and happen to make a quick detour to the bar en route.

Hopefully Lola would be busy waiting the ‘tables’ and Tim would have magically sobered up enough to take himself home for an early night.

Monty still had no idea how he could get Lola alone.

He guessed he’d have to come back another time.

He could hardly wait until she clocked off tonight. That would be stalker behaviour.

‘Hold that thought. I’ll be right back,’ he tried his best to reassure London, waving his phone about as if his dilemma was self-evident and rushing to the door.

Lola was busy alright when Monty’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the crazily-decorated main bar.

So busy that his blood boiled. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Tim dancing questionably towards a terrified Lola, who’d apparently had a career change to mixologist and was standing behind the bar, edging slowly backwards, the lime halves in her hands her only defence.

What in the hell was he playing at? And where were the rest of the staff?

In a moment of split-second madness, Monty pelted towards the bar and leapt over its top, sending cocktail shakers and fruit flying and eliciting gasps from the customers who hadn’t factored an action movie into their night out.

All of which happened as a hailstorm of ice cubes rained down on the scene.

Tim retreated to the far corner, cowering pathetically and mewling for help.

Monty would deal with him later. At which point, Tim had better pray he’d calmed down.

Because at this precise moment in time, he would have throttled him.

Monty’s eyes met with a startled Lola’s instead in a reimagining of Friday, before he skidded embarrassingly across the floor, slamming onto his knees as the lights flickered ominously.

Once, twice. Then The Bubble Bath was plunged into darkness.

‘Shit!’

‘Fuck!’

‘Bollocks!’

Three confused figures struggled to regain their coordinates behind the bar, but Monty only cared about two of them.

Just as he had that thought, a soft, warm hand began to feel its way around his back, reaching down to his armpit, grabbing him by the bicep to haul him up off the floor, zapping electricity through his veins.

‘Careful I don’t take you with me, it’s a bit slippery down here,’ he croaked, frowning at the painful knock his knees had taken.

He couldn’t make out what Lola said in response, but he managed to twist himself onto his haunches with her help.

Which was a small miracle because the ice cubes had scattered everywhere and the panic and nervous laughter from the disoriented customers was so overwhelming, he wouldn’t be surprised if half of them had fallen into the bathtubs.

Thankfully the background music had come to a stop.

Just as well, Monty liked Dua Lipa but he really didn’t need the Dance the Night song from the Barbie movie serenading him right now.

He already felt like the world’s dippiest Ken.

That bar vault had been as disastrous as Ryan Gosling’s attempt at shredding the plastic waves.

With one final, gentle tug, he was on his feet, but his heel crunched on another cube, sending him sliding again so that he was now pressed right up against Lola; the pair of them backed into the corner.

No, but yes, but no! This was not meant to be happening.

He wanted it to happen badly (of course) but in a genuine situation where he wasn’t (literally) thrusting himself upon her.

He waited for Lola to wriggle out of the predicament.

It wasn’t a very gentlemanly thing to do but he was petrified of stepping on yet more ice and making a bigger idiot of himself.

For some reason, though– probably because nobody in the bar had their bearings yet, despite the faint illumination of emergency exit signs and mobile phones dotted around the bathtubs– Lola didn’t budge.

And the two of them remained deliciously melded to one another.

It wasn’t an embrace and Monty didn’t dare put his hands on her body, his arms glued, against their wishes, to his side.

Yet, slowly the realisation that there was barely a gap of air between Monty and Lola dawned on them.

Eyes searching eyes, breath mingling (God, she smelt good) and lips agonizingly, tentatively brushing.

First as a question; a test, a taste… and then for a fleeting but soul-stirring kiss.

Monty wasn’t sure who made the first move but he wasn’t going to take more than Lola was willing to offer.

But then a bartender appeared from nowhere, breaking the spell with a flashlight, its beam slicing through the darkness. Monty and Lola quickly sprang apart and it was as if nothing had ever happened.

‘Don’t panic, everyone!’ cried the male staff member. ‘The back-up generator will be activated shortly!’

‘Thank goodness for that!’

A stream of swear words were ready to fly out of Monty’s mouth but he was done with cursing for one weekend and wanted to set a better impression in front of the woman he had– completely and utterly inappropriately– kissed.

Which basically meant that he’d probably cost her this job, especially now that he and Lola were on view for all to see.

Two days ago, he’d have called that payback, but now he knew different.

There was something bigger than the two of them in charge.

If he’d had a 1% chance of forgetting about her before tonight, Monty’s odds had now been reduced to minus numbers.

It was the biggest cliché but that kiss held the power of a thunderstorm.