Forfeit (Original Edit)

Chapter Two

The next morning, attributing my nausea to an overwhelming sense of regret and not my hangover, I snuck out of Xander's bed while he still slept. Oh God, why hadn't I stuck to harmless flirting? Ludicrous amounts of Cava, vodka and several shots of tequila, that's why, you dozy mare. But this wasn't the time for self-recrimination - this was the time for escaping.

Dressed and on my knees, I was fishing a shoe from under the sofa when Xander came down. In jeans and bugger all else, he looked tired, hung-over and possibly sexier than yesterday. He was why I hadn't stuck to harmless flirting, not the booze.

'Running away?' he asked.

'Fast as I can in these shoes. As walks of shame go, this might be one of my shortest but it's definitely the most shameful.'

A few years ago, I'd have been tottering away with a very smug grin for pulling a piece of eye candy like Xander, but with pieces of my dead husband's car still being scavenged off a beach in California, this time I'd have eternal damnation snapping at my wedge heels.

'Are you feeling guilty?' He sat on the windowsill and yawned.

'I do guilty every day. This is off the scale.' I finally dared to look him in the eye. 'Xander, you won't-'

His mobile, abandoned on the floor, lit up.

'Kiss and tell?' He shook his head. 'I promise.'

From the phone, Paolo Nutini sang of his desire for As in the kitchen and As in the bedroom, but Xander ignored it.

'How old are you?' I asked.

'Twenty-two.'

'I thought so.'

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' He crossed his arms.

'Oh look, I didn't mean...' Please don't think I'm a completely patronising cow. 'You do, by the way.'

'Do what?' He scowled.

I nodded to the phone. 'Get ten out of ten.'

As a huge smile lit up his face, I shot him my cheekiest wink and left.

   

'Alexander Golding, really?' Clara asked as I arrived back at her little terraced cottage.

Linda from the village post office walked by with an eye-brow raised, lips pursed look of pure disapproval.

'Thanks, now the whole bloody village will find out.' I pushed past Clara, through the tiny lounge and into the kitchen. 'Tea?'

She nodded, leaning against the breakfast bar. 'I hear he's a bit of a playboy.'

'The perfect credentials for a one night stand.' I dropped teabags into a mug and a flask. 'Actually, he was nice. Do you know him?'

'Not really. His brother, Robbie, is an old school friend of Scott's. I've fancied him for years. He's the ten I promised. So did you?'

'No, we played Scrabble.'

'Oh, so that's Scrabble rash, is it?'

I slumped against the cooker. 'Of course, we did. I'm so going to hell.'

'Oh, stop being dramatic. It's just sex. And?'

She wasn't trying to make me feel better; she just wanted the sordid bloody details. Ignoring her, I changed into t-shirt and shorts from the unlikely-to-be ironed pile then laced up my hiking boots.

'Pretty please?'

'He was fun,' I said, packing my flask, cigarettes and iPod in a rucksack.

'Was it worth the guilt?'