Not My Brute (Angels of War Series #2)

Chapter Nine

I'm in the worst mood all evening. I've tried to seem happy for the kids, but Cameron has suffered the brunt of my anger. I snapped when he suggested spaghetti bolognaise for dinner and took myself up to our bedroom when he asked if I wanted to watch a film when the kids went to bed.

So, when my old pal Jenny asked me if I wanted to meet for a few drinks at the pub down the road, I jumped at the opportunity. I threw on my pink off the shoulder wrap over jumper and leather look jeans, leaving my hair as it still had a curl from this morning.

Cameron meets me in the hallway, holding a bowl of Kettle chips. "Where are you going?"

I grab my strappy, black high heels and sit on the second step of the stairs to put them on my feet. "Out with Jenny."

He crunches on a crisp. "Oh, right?"

"I don't know when I'll be back. You know, Jen," I respond, knowing he does. Jenny Newman puts the P in the party.

Cameron puts the crisps down on the side cupboard and pulls me into his arms when I stand up. "Yeah, she's a little crazy. Be safe, okay? And have fun."

I smile, and I notice that it's the first I've given him all day and by the relief in his eyes he notices too. "It's only the pub. Since when do you care where I am?"

I don't mean to be sharp with him, but I can't seem to help myself tonight.

He frowns. "Of course, I care."

"Yeah." I glance towards his slippered feet, pulling away from him. "Don't wait up."

Cameron steps towards the door, opening it for me to walk down the porch way steps. I know he's watching me leave and I don't react to it. I am in a funny mood. What's wrong with me?

"Diana!" Jenny's cheery voice comes out of the darkness on the street, her heels clipping on the pavement. "God, you look gorgeous. Loving the leather."

I laugh, catching sight of her pinwheel honey blonde curls bouncing in every direction. "Why, thank you. You're not looking too bad yourself."

We link arms when she reaches me. "Cameron's stood at the door. Should I wave?" she whispers.

"No," I respond.

Jenny oh's in my ear. "Is he in the doghouse? What's he done this time? And, go you for finally standing up to him. You know I still think he's a dick, right? So that you know, I'm on your side."

I let my eyes drift to the floor to watch my feet. "Strangely enough, he's done nothing wrong. I'm just not in the mood for him today."

The lights of the Rose and Crown pub flicker in the distance, Spanish music playing out from the Tapas bar across the road. I follow Jenny's lead when she sings the lyrics to 'Despacito', her hips moving from side to side, fingers in the air like castanets.

"I could fancy some Tapas. You already eaten?" she asks.

I nod. "Yeah, sorry. I don't mind sitting in with you if you want some food."

"Nah, it's cool. I'll get something to eat at the pub," she says, taking my hand to pull me across the road. "Come on, little lady. We're getting smashed tonight."

...

I didn't come intending to get drunk. No. It just happened. It's Jenny and her bottles of white wine and Vodka shots. Or were they Sambuca? It's taking too much effort to think about. All I know is, I'm having a blast.

"They don't have any chips, so they're doing us roast potatoes instead. I told them to put cheese on the top," Jenny says, plonking herself down on the seat next to me.

I lick my lips at the thought, feeling ravenous with some alcohol in me. "Oh, sounds good. You want another drink?"

"Is the pope Catholic?" she says, checking her glass for a drop more. "It's Friday, no work tomorrow," she sings the last bit.

Grabbing my credit card, I make my way to the crowded bar, slotting in between two guys. I rest a foot on the metal pole attached to the floor on the edge of the bar and use it as leverage to push myself up.

"Need a leg up?"

I turn to the right, recognising Bret's voice immediately. "Hey, you!"

Drunk Diana is loud, and far more confident than when she's sober.

Bret smiles, eyes relaxed. "What you drinking?"

"Wine." I turn to point at Jenny, who's tucking into the cheesy roast potatoes. "I'm with my friend. We're sharing a bottle."

Bret edges closer, and I notice how the black tee clings to his stomach. "You've only had one bottle?"

I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and it's almost making me dizzy. "Yeah—wait, no. I can't remember how much I've had to drink. A lot, I think."

"Do you go out a lot?" he says, gently frowning.

I shake my head and the shadow of his face follows me both ways. "Nope, I'm practically a housewife." I start to giggle. "I'm off my chain tonight."

There's a lot of truth in my words. I do feel stuck in a relationship with Cameron at times. Like the old me is missing. I often wonder what my life would be like now if I never got with him, and that's always followed by immense guilt for the children. I love those kids to the deepest of my bones, but it's not enough if I don't love their father in the same way.

Bret takes the two glasses of scotch the bar tender slides in front of him and downs them in one, asking for a bottle of Chardonnay for me.

"You're a natural with those kids. I watch you with them and it's clear to see that they adore you," he says, catching me off guard.

My heart picks up speed. "You watch me?"

"Sometimes," he murmurs, giving me those moody eyes again. "I can't help it."

"I thought you hated me," I respond.

Bret curls up his bottom lip, blinking about ten times after it. "How so?"

If this light doesn't make him look good enough to eat. I bow my head, feeling out of place. "You don't seem to want to talk. Even when I try too."

"I talk plenty."

I catch myself in a cackle, stopping when his lips tip up at the sides, seeming to find me amusing. "If you do, you don't aim your words at me."

The sound of the wine bottle clipping the granite on the bar catches my attention, my card pushed back into my hands by Bret. Our eyes catch for a moment, absorbing each other until my gaze falls on his mouth where he rolls his lips.

"I owe you from this morning," he clarifies, handing over a twenty-pound note.

"Oh, thanks." I don't know where to put my body when he gets even closer to me.

"As for me not liking you," he narrows his mouth, sighing so hard his chest expands. "I got a lot of shit in my life. Making someone like me isn't on my list of priorities."

I feel my feet aching from these damn high heels, my legs ready to call time on me. "I got your message loud and clear today. No need to explain."

"Yeah—" he's cut off when Jenny shouts to tell me the food is getting cold.

I grab the bottle of wine and throw him a small smile. "I best get back over there. Thanks for the wine."

Bret nods, gritting his jaw. "No problem."

I make my way back to the table where Jenny is and plonk the wine bottle down. "You best have left me some crispy ones," I say, referring to the potatoes.

Jenny ignores my question. "Who's that guy you were talking to back at the bar?"

I tilt my head and glance over to see Bret downing another scotch. I eat and mumble, "No one."

...

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