Twist Of Fate

Four

CHLOE

May has passed into June, with no discussion between myself and Katie about her liaison with Harry a few weeks ago at the back of the Flute and Fiddle. I have watched how they interact, for signs of some sort of secret relationship between them. She is discreetly eager to serve him and he is nonchalant to the point of disinterested, so after a couple of weeks of observation I have come to the conclusion that it was either a one-off; or if it has happened repeatedly, it is a casual arrangement.

I am still disgusted by what I saw that night; not because of what they were doing, but because of the circumstances under which it was happening. Is this really what people do - grant each other sexual favours on a whim, at the back of a pub where anyone could (and did) see? Maybe Chris is right - maybe I am a frigid bitch, but I just don't see the appeal of getting on my knees for a random stranger, without any form of trust or feeling. 

Yet somehow, despite my disgust at what I saw, I cannot dispel the memory of Harry leaning against the wall; his eyes closed and his head back, his mouth slightly open and small moans of pleasure falling from his lips. I feel dirty for having seen him in such an intimate moment without his knowledge, but those few seconds play over and over in my mind. More and more I find myself looking up at the bar door every time it opens with a crash, a knot of anticipation forming in my stomach, only to be released when it isn't Harry arriving. I don't know why I am suddenly longing for a glimpse of forest green, but on the couple of occasions our eyes meet I cannot control the jolt of excitement that spears my stomach, leaving butterflies in its wake.

It is a Sunday night in early June when Harry enters the pub with a clatter, causing several people to look up. My heart misses a beat as he strides towards the bar, coming directly for me.

"Has Chris been in?"

I stare stupidly back, momentarily thrown off guard by the question. Looking into his eyes is enough to make me forget my own name, never mind the schedule of the local parasite.

"Not this evening," Katie answers smoothly from beside me, looking coyly at Harry. "Are you looking for him?"

"I need a word with him."

"He's in most evenings," I mutter. "I'm sure tonight will be no different."

A faint smirk passes over Harry's lips. "Keeping tabs on him, are you?"

The insinuation isn't lost on me. I dread to think what Chris has said to Harry about me. If the way he speaks to me is anything to go by, he has probably boasted about how I am constantly wet for him, and would do anything to get on my knees for him. The thought makes me shudder. I have far better things to do than monitor that little scrote's whereabouts.

"Yeah, Chloe's got it bad for Chris," Katie teases, without breaking her gaze from Harry.

"Are you joking?" I splutter in disbelief. "Hell would freeze over before I would go anywhere near that weasel."

There is a moment of stunned silence, before Harry's smirk returns. "Not what I heard."

"Well, don't believe everything you hear," I mumble, my cheeks turning crimson at the thought of Harry and Chris talking about me; at what Chris might have said; at what Harry might be imagining now.

He chuckled softly. "I'll bear that in mind."

"You staying for a pint?" Katie asks, reaching down to pick up a glass before Harry has even confirmed.

His expression darkens, almost as though a shadow has passed over his face. "Yeah. I'll wait. See if he turns up."

Katie grins as she pours the drink. "Sounds ominous. What's he done?"