Pistol

Chapter Eight

The alarm sounded its happy screech to tell Steph to get out of bed. All fine and well if she was off to work, but she wasn't. The first of January being a public holiday, she'd forgotten to tell her phone's alarm to take Monday off.

Steph swiped at it from under her covers, and silenced the persistent noise. She nestled back into the comfort of her bed, and scowled into her sheets at the fresh memories of last night. What a fine performance she'd put on for half the darn city. Her brow bunched as she pushed the embarrassing thoughts from her head, and succumbed to sleep once more.

Four hours later, she woke with a start to the sound of several thumps on her front door. "Coming," she hollered, and yanked on a sweatshirt to cover her thin bed attire. Cold feet scuffed over the tiles, her limbs still sleep groggy. She swung the door open, and remembered that she should probably be a little more cautious for a while given who may, or may not decide to pay her a visit. Relief washed over her as Ivan stared back from the landing.

"You look terrible, babe."

"Hello sweetheart," she drawled, full of sarcasm. "Want a coffee on this fine morning?"

"Yeah, but I think I'll make it, huh? Don't want you to fall asleep over the jug."

She gave him a playful punch as he walked past her, and into the unit. "So how was your night?"

"Not as heavy as yours it seems." Ivan wandered into her tiny kitchen, his tall frame dwarfed the cramped space. "I tried to call you."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but I guessed you must have passed out already. So, I thought I'd come check on you this morning."

"Thanks." Steph slid into an armchair, and warmed a little at the thought someone cared so much for her well-being.

"But enough about you ..."

"Hear, hear."

Ivan grinned as he wandered over with a glass of water for her. "I wanted to see if you could guess who I met up with the other night."

"Do I know them?" She accepted the glass from him, and took a small sip.

"Of course." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not that cruel."

"Honestly, my head is a mess. You better just tell me."

"Verity."

The glass clattered the last millimetres to the table. "Excuse me?"

"I know, I know. " He held out his hands. "I was surprised too."

Steph had heard neither hide nor hair of Ivan's ex since the woman left him for another guy. "What did she want?"

"She wants to try again," he called out as he returned to the kitchen. "It seems legit, Stephy."

"I sure hope so."

"I knew you'd disapprove," Ivan said, and reappeared with his coffee. "People can change."

"Yeah." She nodded. "And sometimes they don't."

They continued the discussion for the next half hour while Ivan sipped his coffee, Steph her water. She listened, and offered advice where she could, but she held back what she honestly thought of the two-timing bitch for his benefit. Ivan seemed happy, and all she ever wanted was for her friends to be happy—which made her think of Cass. She'd screwed up her bestie's night—selfishly—and had some making up to do.

"Do I ask how your night was then?" Ivan tipped his head, and regarded her with that look which said he already knew the answer.

"Awful." Steph nursed the last of her water. "First I get hit on by some sleaze who can't take no for an answer, and then I have a full-on argument with Pete."