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On her birthday, Briony wore that floaty wee dress covered in daisies. Tonight, though, she’s in a fitted deep green dress that hugs her waist and shows off her legs. Her hair is down and pinned back at one side. There’s a shine on her lips. The cut on her chin has faded to a thin line, and the bruise on her cheek has been hidden by make-up.
“You look amazing,” I tell her.
She blushes. “Thank you. Do you mind coming in for a second? I’m nearly ready, I just need my shoes and my bag. Sorry. It’s been mental today. Wedding season.”
I step into the hall. It’s my first time inside her flat, though I’ve glimpsed her hall before of course, when I was handing over a certain parcel.
Nope. Don’t think about that, Ryan. It’s a no-sex date. Thinking about that wee rose vibrator she ordered is not helpful.
There are plants everywhere: dried flowers on a shelf, fresh ones on a small table. Family photographs line the wall. It’s very Briony.
She sits on a wooden trunk to put her heels on, and my eyes go where they’ve no business going. The line of her calf as she points her toe into the shoe, the shape of her thigh when she crosses her legs to put on the other one.
Naturally, my cock stirs with interest.
Pack it in, I tell it. Tonight doesn’t involve you, mate.
“Where’s the wee dug?” I ask, trying to get my mind off her legs.
“At my mum and dad’s for the night.” She fastens an ankle strap. “When I dropped her off, they fired questions at me for a good twenty minutes. Well, it was mainly my mum asking the questions, to be fair. She’s protective at the best of times, but after the other day…”
“Ah. So you told them?”
“I didn’t have much choice. I go to theirs for dinner every Friday, and it turns out make-up can’t work miracles. Mum spotted the bruise before I’d even got my jacket off.”
I nod at one of the photos on the wall. “That them?”
“Yep. That’s Mum, Dad, Innes, and me, on Bute about six years ago.”
They’re on a beach in cagoules. Innes is standing—must have been before his accident.
“You’re the image of your maw.” They really do look alike. Same curls, though her mum’s are starting to grey.
“So I’m told.” She stands and picks up her bag. “Right. Let’s go.”
We head downstairs and out to my car. I open the passenger door for her.
“Ryan,” she teases. “Such a gentleman.”
“I’m no used to being called that.”
She laughs. As she brushes past me and gets into the car, her scent takes me straight back to Wednesday. Straddling my lap. Legs spread. Both of us watching what I was doing to her.
Fuck.
I should really have had a quick wank before I got ready. Maybe then I’d have had a fighting chance of holding a conversation without thoughts like that creeping into my head.
I shut her door, walk round to my side, and get in. I start the ignition, and the engine catches with that low, ugly, expensive growl.
“Goodness.” Briony’s eyebrows go up. “That’s a noise.”
“Aye.”
As I pull away, she runs a hand over the leather beside her. “I’ve never been in a car this fancy before.”
“No? Thought a posh lassie like you would be used to this sort of thing.”
The second it’s out of my mouth, I hear how it sounds and regret it. Christ, four minutes in, and already I sound like I’ve got a chip on my shoulder.
