An Autumn Crush (18 page)

‘Here, what do you want?’ Juliet shoved the takeaway menu in Guy’s hand.

‘Let’s just get an Indian banquet,’ he replied. ‘Then we can mix and match.’

‘Good idea,’ said Juliet, preparing to prod her brother for information. ‘Ooh, Steve and Floz are getting on well, aren’t they?’ She leaned in close to Guy.
‘Do you think they fancy each other?’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Guy snapped. A vision of Steve and Floz snogging landed in his brain and he wrestled it out again.

‘I might go and have a nosy and see what they’re talking about.’

With anyone else, Guy would have told his sister to leave them alone, but he wanted her to go and split up Steve and Floz. He didn’t want his friend getting cosy with her. Not that he
would ever think that Steve would muscle in on a love-interest of his. He trusted him with his life. After all Steve had done for him in the past, he knew his mate was solid as a rock. Still . . .
he remembered what had happened with his sister’s husband and
her
best friend.

‘How’s it going?’ said Juliet, appearing in the kitchen doorway to find Floz emptying the dishwasher and Steve cleaning his trowel.

‘I’ve more or less finished. I’ll need to paint it when it’s dry,’ said Steve. ‘Alas, Guy forgot to put the paint in his car, the dumb-ass.’

‘And I promised you dinner for that!’ exclaimed Juliet. ‘It’s only taken you five minutes.’

‘That’s because I know what I’m doing, my girl,’ winked Steve. ‘Have you seen the hourly rates us plasterers charge? You’re getting off lightly,
honey.’

‘I’m not your girl. Or your honey,’ Juliet answered rather archly. ‘Hurry up and get out of your clothes anyway, I’m starving.’

‘Ooh, Juliet, and there’s me thinking you didn’t fancy me.’

‘In your dreams,’ Juliet threw behind her as she walked away. The very thought of having a liaison with Steve Feast was enough to bring up her dinner before she’d even eaten
it.

While Steve went to change out of his plastering gear, Floz popped into her bedroom to check on her emails, but nothing had arrived, except a brief from another card firm wanting copy written
around a series of funny parrot photographs. Juliet was opening up a bottle of Rioja when Floz went back into the dining area and Guy was ringing up the Taj Mahal.

Then Steve joined the table. He’d put on his jeans and a light blue sweater that was the same shade as his eyes. Even Juliet did a double-take when she saw him. She would never tell him
that he was good-looking though, even if she thought it. He was up himself enough as it was.

‘Oh here, before I forget.’ Steve fished in his pocket and brought out a couple of tickets. ‘For tomorrow night. Wrestling night in the Centennial Rooms. You are still both
coming, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, course,’ said Juliet, taking them and pinning them to the noticeboard on the wall behind her. ‘Thanks for those. Floz can’t wait, can you?’

‘Sorry – what?’ said Floz, hearing her name. She’d been thinking about Nick, trying to imagine what he was doing now. What it must be like to think, That was my last
fishing trip? She was dangerously close to tears again.

‘I said that you can’t wait for the wrestling tomorrow.’

‘Absolutely.’ Floz pinned a smile onto her lips.

‘Guy’s the good one tomorrow – Guido Goodguy – and I’ll be the Dark Angel,’ said Steve.

‘It’ll be great fun.’ Juliet smiled at him. ‘I hope Guy kicks the shit out of you.’

‘I’m down to win, so no he won’t,’ said Steve, thinking how deliciously snotty Juliet was. He would love to kiss her full on the mouth and shut her up.

‘It’ll be here in fifteen minutes,’ said Guy, putting down the phone.

‘I was just saying, you’re the good guy tomorrow and I’m the baddie.’

‘Yep,’ nodded Guy.

‘How come Kenny’s let you have all this time off?’ asked Juliet. ‘I thought you needed to be at least dead before he let you miss a shift.’

‘He’s keeping me sweet,’ said Guy. ‘But it’s really not worth me taking time off. You should see the mess that happens in my absence. In fact, I’m driving up
after I’ve had my curry to do a spot-check, which is why I’m not drinking.’ And he poured himself a glass of tonic water. ‘I’m expecting to find chaos.’

Then right on cue, Guy’s mobile rumbled in his pocket and he couldn’t hit the connect button fast enough for the naff ring-tone not to deafen them all. He had bought it second-hand
from eBay and been really pleased with it, except that it insisted on playing a selection of random tunes – and at full volume – from its memory, and all attempts to alter that
arrangement failed.

As Right Said Fred told everyone that they were too sexy for their car, Guy could have spontaneously combusted from embarrassment. Consequently, he barked a loud and clipped,
‘Hello!’ at the caller in an effort to retrieve some machismo.

Wow, thought Floz. Guy Miller really was a grump. And that ring-tone spoke volumes too. Did he really think he was too sexy . . . too sexy for
Wuthering Heights
? Or Emily Brontë?

‘You. Are. Joking.’ Guy was growling like a werewolf with PMT. The colour was draining from his face as he spoke. He ended the call and said, ‘I’m sorry, I’ll have
to go. Varto’s nearly burned down the sodding kitchen.’

‘Oh no, that’s a shame,’ said Juliet.

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Floz with a sigh. Guy cast her a look and she knew he thought she was being sarcastic. He really was determined to see the worst in her.

‘I’ll get a taxi home later,’ said Steve. ‘See you tomorrow then, mate. Are you picking me up as usual?’

‘Yep. Juliet, I’ll drop that paint off in the morning. I’ve still got my key so I’ll just bob in and put it by the door for you.’

‘Okay, bro.’

Guy left the flat and headed towards the car. He was going to personally kill Varto when he got hold of him. More for wrecking his evening and his chance to put things on a right footing with
Floz than attempting to blow up his future investment. He could feel the fire building up in his brain, ready to shoot down his nose as if he were a murderous dragon.

Enough food arrived to feed the five thousand. The curries were a bit on the hot side, which led to much wine being quaffed. When Steve went to the fridge to get out another
bottle of white, Juliet leaned over to whisper to Floz.

‘Do you want me to leave you two alone?’ she said.

‘What on earth for?’ laughed Floz.

‘God knows what you might see in him, but—’

‘I’ll stop you right there.’ Floz held up her hand. ‘I don’t fancy Steve. And I’m damned sure he doesn’t fancy me.’

‘Sure?’ asked Juliet. ‘Aw.’

‘Absolutely,’ nodded Floz. ‘I could pass a
Jeremy Kyle
lie-detector on that question as well.’

‘Well, I can’t say I’m not slightly relieved.’ Juliet puffed out her cheeks.

‘I think Steve is a darling,’ said Floz, checking that he wasn’t coming back and could overhear.

‘He’s all right, I suppose,’ conceded Juliet. Then realized she must be half-drunk at least to have said that. An odd moment of clarity told her that she’d been
not-liking him for so long it was more habit than anything else.

Another half-glass of white and Floz had to call things a day. She said her goodnights and fell into bed without even checking her emails. She left Steve and Juliet sitting at the table,
nibbling poppadoms in a rare state of cordiality.

‘Fancy another glass?’ said Juliet. ‘I can’t believe I am saying this, but I’m actually quite enjoying your company, Steven.’

‘Likewise,’ returned Steve. ‘And yep, I’ll have another glass with you.’

‘Let’s see what’s on the box,’ said Juliet, weaving her way over to the TV and dropping onto the sofa. She flicked through the channels: a documentary about the Boston
Strangler, some whales shagging, loads of American teenagers crying in some sort of boot camp for delinquents. None of which would act as a suitably benign background buzz for the present mood.
Then she found an old early colour film with a famous actress whose name she would have remembered, had she been sober. She was walking down a sunlit street in New York singing about the end of
summer whilst a storm of rusty leaves whirled around her.

‘Here you go,’ said Steve, handing Juliet a glass of wine and crashing next to her on the big squashy sofa. He was well within her personal space, but she found she didn’t
actually mind. His leg felt quite nice next to hers – warm and big and muscular firm.

‘Floz is nice, isn’t she?’ said Steve.

‘She’s lovely,’ said Juliet. ‘Fancy her, do you?’

‘Floz?’ said Steve. ‘No, I don’t fancy her, but I like her.’ And he said it in such a considered way that Juliet knew immediately that his answer was a genuine
one.

‘I think she’s a bit down at the moment though. Tomorrow night will be just what she needs – a cheer-up,’ said Juliet, cracking into a poppadom.

‘I’m having a cheer-up soon,’ said Steve. ‘I’m going to buy myself a big fuck-off Jag. Or a Merc.’

‘You mean a penis extension,’ she said. ‘You probably need one.’

‘Oy, you. I’ve had no complaints!’

‘From your million conquests,’ scoffed Juliet.

‘I wouldn’t say there were quite that many,’ said Steve, feeling the temperature between them drop a few degrees and hating that it had.

‘Okay then, when was the last time you had sex? With someone else, I mean.’

‘I can’t remember,’ said Steve. ‘Ages ago. Too long.’

‘Get lost,’ Juliet laughed.

‘Honest,’ said Steve, wriggling on the sofa. ‘I’ll thank you not to remind me.’

‘Snap,’ said Juliet, and chinked her glass against his. ‘Who was it with? Little Derek’s daughter?’

‘Chianti Parkin? I wish,’ chuckled Steve.

‘I’m saving myself for Piers Winstanley-Black,’ slurred Juliet. ‘He’s all my dream hunks rolled into one.’

‘He’s a tosspot,’ said Steve, with more than a hint of jealousy. ‘In a couple of years he’ll have a head like a boiled egg. Anyway, those legal types get their
thrills from doing deals, not doing women.’

‘God, I miss sex,’ sighed Juliet and drained her glass.

‘So do I,’ sighed Steve and drained his glass.

Steve turned to look at Juliet, she turned to look at him. And they never did remember who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing ferociously and rolling around in a lot of crushed
poppadoms. Then Juliet was pulling him towards her bedroom, ripping off his shirt.

‘This would just be sex, obviously. Just a mutual satisfaction of our frustrations.’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ panted Steve. ‘We’re just scratching each other’s itch.’

They had undressed each other by the time they fell onto Juliet’s bed. Steve groaned as his hands smoothed over her soft, velvety skin. Juliet groaned as her hands smoothed over his
muscular chest. She wasn’t at all sure how she had ended up in a state of sexual desire for her worst enemy, but she wasn’t going to let reason butt in and stop what she was doing.

Steve was greedy for her. He’d never had a hard-on like this before. He felt like a bloody animal.

‘Not too rough, am I?’ he checked.

‘Not rough enough, big boy,’ she replied.

‘How’s this then?’

Juliet didn’t answer, not coherently anyway. Just a series of high-pitched vowels and small guttural noises, whilst she drove herself onto him.

In the morning Juliet rolled over to see the clock in the pink blush of early daylight pushing through the curtains. Crikey – she’d had two hours’ sleep.
Steve awoke with her movement. He sleepily pulled her into his chest. As soon as her skin met with his he was rigid.

‘This is just sex, remember,’ said Juliet.

‘Yep, I know,’ said Steve, and he slipped effortlessly inside her, doing wonderful things with his fingers at the same time.

Sweet Jesus, thought Juliet, thundering towards the quickest and most powerful orgasm she’d ever had. As far as ‘just sex’ went, this was divine.

Floz awoke from the best night’s sleep she’d had in a long time. She couldn’t remember dreaming at all about Nick and she didn’t stir in the middle of
the night and get up to check for emails. The wine had blotted out her pain for a little while and given her some respite.

There were no emails waiting for her when she switched on her monitor. She quickly dressed and went to make herself a cup of coffee, and gasped as she entered the kitchen because there was a man
in it – a huge man with platinum-blond hair, meaty legs and a pink satin frilly dressing-gown, and he was standing by the kettle waiting for it to boil. Had he slept on the sofa? If so, why
was he wearing Juliet’s robe – or trying to wear it. Commonsense told Floz that Steve and Juliet would
never
share a bed under any circumstances. So, what was going on?

‘Morning,’ said Floz.

Steve whizzed around, the satin gown parting enough for Floz to see that underneath the robe he was naked. She averted her eyes quickly and Steve fastened up the robe.

‘Sorry, Floz. I expect that’s put you off sausages for life.’

Despite the pocket of embarrassment, Floz laughed.

‘Suits you,’ she said, as he firmly knotted the belt around him.

‘It’s Juliet’s.’

‘No!’ said Floz with a grin.

Steve wiped off beads of sweat which had just formed at the back of his neck.

‘So . . . er . . . how come you’ve got it on?’ Floz persisted.

‘Can’t . . . er . . .’ began Steve. More sweat. ‘Can’t find my pants.’

‘Oh,’ smirked Floz.

‘She’s . . . er . . . sent me out to make a bacon sandwich and bring tea.’

‘Sent you out?’ gasped Floz. ‘You mean you
slept together
?’

‘Didn’t get much sleeping done.’ Steve clamped his hand over his mouth, realizing that was a tad indiscreet. ‘Kettle’s boiled. Cuppa?’

‘Coffee, please,’ said Floz.
Well, well, well
. Boy, she couldn’t wait to hear the details about this one.

So there they both were, standing in the kitchen in their dressing-gowns, drinking tea and coffee, Steve cooking bacon on the George Foreman griddle, when there was a crunch in the lock and in
walked Guy with the can of paint that he had promised to bob in and drop off. Except that his senses were alerted to the tinkly sound of Floz’s laughter mingling with Steve’s deep
tones.