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Chapter Four

We had only been at our table in The Lock for an hour or so when it dawned on me that the room was spinning. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe I was just a bit drunk.

"Where the hell is our food?" I yelled across the table, battling against the noise of a pub packed with seemingly every person from our university. Met with blank shrugs and drunken giggles from Charlotte and Kris, I pushed back the heavy wooden chair and stumbled over to the bar.

"Excuse me, we ordered food like an hour ago but it's not arrived yet," I informed the girl serving.

Fuelled maybe just slightly by the alcohol, her blank, unfazed look caused the knot of agitation in my stomach to grow.

"Look, I know it's not your fault," I continued, "But I could die if I don't eat soon. This is completely unanxemptable service, really," I slurred, waving my hand around in annoyance.

Stifling a laugh with the back of her hand, she continued to pour the drink she was currently serving another customer, without even so much as an acknowledgement of my complaint.

I was getting ready to go in for round two when a deep, emotionless voice cut through behind me.

"Wow, you told her there, health and safety."

Spinning around, I came face-to-face with old green eyes himself. Stunned by his ability to just appear out of nowhere, and still fuelled up by the gin gremlin inside me, I snapped back.

"Oh, surprise surprise it's the stalker," I groaned. "Why are you even here, bus boy? You're just rude."

Jabbing a finger against the material of his white T-shirt as I narrowed my eyes, it promptly bounced off the surprisingly muscular body underneath. Snatching my wrist away, he placed my hand carefully back on the bar behind me, leaning his body closer.

"And you're pissed," he whispered close to my ear, before stepping away to order his drink. "I'd offer you another one," he smirked, without even turning to face me, "But it looks like you've had enough already."

Stretching his torso across the bar to make his order heard to the barmaid, his shirt lifted just enough to reveal the bottom of a large, swirling pattern tattooed on his side. Funny how she's all ears now, I snorted to myself.

I was still staring at his exposed flesh when he turned around, a glass in his hand and his elbow resting on the bar.

"Sorry, are you waiting to accidentally assault me again?" he said, tilting his head with mock concern.

"No," I huffed, as the alcohol fanned the small flame of rage that had started to burn in my chest at his arrogance. "This time it's deliberate."

No sooner had the words left my mouth than my hand was flying up under his glass - the flat, outstretched palm making contact with the bottom. Almost in slow motion, I watched the contents of his drink come flying out of the glass, launch into the air, then come crashing back down. All the way down the front of my dress.

His white T-shirt bone dry, he simply stood staring at me with both eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted on his lips.

"Ah well," he said, suppressing his laughter, "At least it's only water. Some of us have got a gig to do tonight."

Raising a thumb to someone gesturing from across the room, he turned on his heel and headed over in their direction without so much as another word.

By the time I had staggered, dripping wet, back to our table, our overdue food order had already arrived, and my two friends could barely breathe from laughing.

While still reeling slightly from my public display of humiliation, Kris and Charlotte's infectious giggling soon became contagious.

"What the hell, Abi?" spat Kris as he shovelled a handful of cheesy fries into his mouth through bursts of laughter. "Did you just try to throw a drink over one of the band?"