The Night Watch ✓

10 / in the flesh

As the evening turned to night, Bree took her last sip of her beer and set the empty glass down on the counter. Ten to nine on a Monday night seemed to be a popular time at Raven, groups of coworkers laughing in gaggles alongside couples who shared a drink in quiet company, and then there was Bree. She sat at the counter with a train of thought chugging through her mind as she finished the dregs of her pint, which she had been nursing for a couple of hours now, and she made easy conversation with Nick any time he was close enough. But it was busy, and she was often alone.

Bree had always enjoyed her own company. Whether that was a side effect of having a big family or growing up with an overbearing mother, she didn't know - she had never stopped to analyse her preferences - but sometimes all she wanted was to be left to her own devices. Sitting at the bar with her knees crossed in her uncomfortably tight work skirt, she had shrugged off the blazer she hated wearing and popped a button on the white shirt that showed off her bra through the thin material.

Petra hated that. But Bree hated Petra, so it didn't really matter, and she quite liked that her shirt gave away a hint of what she wore beneath: she didn't see the point of spending thirty pounds on a bra for it to be hidden beneath her clothes, and as she sat at the bar, she liked to free herself of her uniform's restraints. Glancing down at her chest, she undid another button for a glimpse of her cleavage. Her bra, deep red and decorated with the softest lace, was designed to push her breasts together and give her the kind of cleavage she had always envied.

It had taken years for teenage Bree to realise that it was normal for her breasts not to touch: she had been misled by what she had seen and read, and until the age of eighteen she had been self conscious about her lack of a cleavage when she stood naked. Now she bore her chest with pride, and she regretted the years for which she had despised her body.

Nick came over with a dishcloth over his shoulder and a smirk on his lips. He placed his hands flat on the counter in front of Bree and looked at her with his head tilted to the side, eyes dark in the low light.

"I thought you said you were going to ask out that guy," he said, and his eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. "Are you procrastinating, my dear?"

"I never said I would do it tonight. What would I do? Bang on his door and tell him to date me?" She tapped her nails on her empty glass before pushing it away from herself. Nick moved it to the side to be washed and he rested his elbows on the counter, taking advantage of a quiet moment.

"You really aren't good at this, are you?"

"Did I ever say I was?"

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I guess I kind of assumed you would be."

Bree stared at him for a moment, as though trying to figure out whether or not he was joking. Once she decided he wasn't, she said, "This may surprise you, but I have never asked anyone out before." She spread her hands out in front of herself. "This is all new to me."

Nick let out a low whistle. "Well," he said, unable to come up with anything else. "Good luck, I guess."

Bree gave him a tight-lipped smile and slid off the stool with a clip as her heels hit the floor. "Maybe I'll dream a way to do it," she said, folding her jacket over her arm. "I'm going to head home." Leaning over the counter, she gave him a one-armed hug and dug her car keys out of her handbag. Bree wasn't a handbag kind of woman, but her job required more of her than she could carry in the nook of her arm, and she had given in after a month of trying to manage without. It was the office chic look that she despised, looking prim and proper in a crisp skirt suit with a black bag over her shoulder, but every day that she was in the office, she gave in to its demands.