Valentine

It's the romance author's national holiday today! And in case you fancy a little bit of self-love and some time alone with a book boyfriend, let me reintroduce you to the Valentine's OGs.

I created Season of Love to front a few short stories to celebrate Valentine's Day. I've linked the pdfs here so you can remind yourself!

Season of Love Vol 1

From Volume 1, I got Stella and Niels and Wynne and Bren!

Season of Love Vol 2

From Volume 2, I got Art and Patricia and I'll also have Salina and Cael too.

All these stories started on this magical day and will continue to give me a place to start, to evolve, to do better than the boys on Love Island because that's what Hot Muse Hank demands.

No matter what, today you are super loved and appreciated and you're needed right here.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Happy Valentines Day!

You know Hot Muse Hank and I love this time of year. It appeals in every way to my romantic side. All sides of me are romantic I don't know why I pretend to be Miranda when I'm completely Charlotte (still a relevant reference...)

So Valentines Day led up to the wonder of Season of Love, and the three full length stories that have sprung from those mini anthologies:

First Love 

When love is brand new it seems never ending and as intense as the first time you are ever burned. Art and Patricia are surrounded by the pressures of family, friends and exams and yet find the quiet in the storm with each other: http://sobillysaysshesays.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/my-young-man.html

Surprise Love

The love that creeps up on you, grabs you by the passport and takes you to another country is one of the best! Bren sweeps Wynne into a parallel universe where she begins to realise that it was always meant to be the two of them: http://sobillysaysshesays.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/my-bonnie.html

Renewed Love

The love that sees you at your worst, in your sickness and in your poverty is a love that will surpass a decade, two children, two salons, two mothers in law and a divorce is a love that will see you though everything. Stella and Niels fail and try again to be everything they vowed to be: http://sobillysaysshesays.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/turn-back-time.html

I've got a few more within th volumes to come, they make for easy plotting but Hank needs more persuasion. In the meantime, indulge in the romance! ❤

Up & Up

We're inexplicably still in January. And this month still sucks donkey balls for rent money. -_-

I've decided we need a cheer up. A good old fashioned jolly. How do we do that? I give away, I say. Why not? I'm aiming for a Valentine's Day release for An Art To It, Patricia and Art's story, one of my full extended tales from Season of Love Vol 2. I figure, I should give away a few copies to some folks, and lift the mood.

Honestly, this story was not even a chore to write - I know me I get bored or distracted, but Hot Muse Hank and I were very focused, because despite the soul crushing stress of examinations, and the pressure of getting into university, I had the best of times, with the greatest of friends. (I mean, I had The Spice Girls, Millennium, The Fresh Prince and Bacardi Breezers on the cheap!)

The give away is going to be a two parter; answer on the blog in the comment section below, or send me an email to billylondonluv@gmail. Answer both to be in with a chance:

1. Who is my favourite teen across all my books? There aren't many so this should be well easy...
2. Who was your favourite artist as a teen?

Part one has a correct answer, but two is all your own. The give away will end on 31st January 2016 midnight GMT. We're gonna start February fresh and clean!

Let's get nostalgic! Lemme know! Good memories can only ever bring light to dark times.

Good Girl

I spy the end of a 50,000 word journey! And as I'm wrapping up this tale, I'm going to give you a little peek at what I've been working on for the last 24 days (and counting if it's not finished today!) Thank you for the support during. Sometimes it's hard to motivate yourself every day, but wanting to do the best for my readers is always a good prompt. That and the reward of Jessica Jones on the best binge I've done in a while (whole series, eighteen hours. Six of them sleeping).

Surprisingly easy to write, I've been focused on one of my Season of Love tales, the studious Patricia and her cheeky - because he's not quite bad - boy Art. Just to explain: Gwen is Art's mother. Mike is Patricia's uncle. Gwen and Mike had an affair and produced baby Brian, who Patricia was babysitting before Art got his hands on her. So... Step-cousins are go? I promise you, this is nothing stranger than some family dynamics I have witnessed...

Here's the link to the bit before: http://sobillysaysshesays.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/let-me-love-you.html


And here's your sneak peek:

Nothing about this could be good for her mental health. She had broken up with Bradley for a reason – obviously he proved her right by being an absolute knob – and she had more than enough on her plate with school and preparing for her interviews. And yet… Distraction had the intoxicating scent of Art, the softness of his lips and the persuasion of his feather-light tongue. The Chemical Brothers infiltrated the background. The song was somewhat inappropriate, but her focus was solely on the boy between her thighs. His arms felt rock hard beneath her palms, part holding him back and partly pulling him into her. For a breathless moment, he leaned up away from her and yanked his jumper over his head.

“Are you getting naked?” she asked, pressing her fingertips to her swollen mouth. Art laughed, taking her hand away and placing it over his t-shirt covered chest.

“I’m not that mad,” he said, with a grin. “You must be hot.”

The suggestive words came with a languid stroke over her leggings covered calves. She hadn’t really dressed to be anything but warm. Layering in a long t-shirt, a jumper dress, leggings and woollen socks protected her from the sharp February weather. For Art putting his hands in places he really shouldn’t? Heat exhaustion beckoned...

Without waiting for her to say anything else, Art reached beneath the jumper dress and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her leggings. Her stomach fizzled at his grazing touch, her breath catching in fear and excitement. Topshop’s finest rolled down her legs, her bare legs, gathered with her socks and dumped on the rug. A sweet smile lifted his features, from devilish into almost loving, as he caught her by the ankle and pulled her down into the cushions.

Patricia didn’t recognise the sound that came from her throat, when Art’s weight pressed her deeper into the cushions, one hand reaching into the pit of her knee to pull her tight to his waist. It was better than any sex she’d had. Kissing like this, the way Art kissed her, as if she were delicious, and his favourite tasting thing in the world, would always be better than sex.

“Can we…” Art murmured into her cheek, and tugged impatiently at her jumper dress. “Do something about this?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” she agreed, lifting her bottom, allowing him to scoop the jumper from underneath her, over her shoulders and sending her plaits all over her face. Free of the wool, Art gently brushed the hair from her eyes.

“Better?”

She nodded, tilting her head back, to catch his mouth again. “Better.”

Like a bucket of ice water, the sound of the front door opening made them both spring to their feet. Patricia leapt for her clothing and placed them hurriedly in a pile next to the armchair, and she threw herself into the seat. Art sat back on the sofa, hooking his ankle onto his knee, only to look down at his crotch and grab a cushion instead. Patricia clapped a hand over her mouth and he warned her, “Don’t you dare!”

“Coo-eee!” Gwen called, stumbling into the living room. “How’s my baby! BABY!” she crowed when she caught sight of Art.

“Hello, Mother.”

She leaned down and cupped his cheeks, pressing kisses to his forehead. Art struggled to throw her off. “God, woman, how much have you had to drink?”

“A bit too much, Mikey Mike is parting,” she hiccuped, “parking, sorting out the car.”

Finally, Art got up and pushed his mother into the sofa. “Just sit down. I’ll make you some coffee. Actually, I’ll get you some water.”

Patricia leapt to her feet. “I’ll help you.” She grabbed the baby monitor and scarpered off after Art. He reached for a glass, and his t-shirt lifted, exposing some crazy definition over his hips.

“Mike’s clearly re-evaluating his life,” Art said ruefully, using the water dispenser to fill a glass for Gwen. “It doesn’t take that long to park a car.”

Patricia leaned against the fridge, catching the hem of his shirt and pleating it with her fingers. “Maybe we shouldn’t go out.”

He cradled her jaw with a warm palm, his lashes fanning over his cheeks, eyes focused on her mouth. “Why not?”

“Umm,” she began, distracted by the intensity of his focus on her.

“We were okay without an audience of the drunk.” When he’d moved so close, she couldn’t recall, but kissing him again was so easy, with the fridge keeping her partly up right.

Gwen bellowed from the living room. “Where’s my coffee?”

Art rested his head against Patricia’s, eyes closed, briefly. “Mind out.” He opened the fridge and squeezed a half lime into the water. He circled her, trailing a kiss over her cheek and she heard him say, “All right, Mike?”

Patricia jumped. Had he heard something? “I’ve been better,” her uncle replied, sounding severe. He stalked into the kitchen where Patricia hadn’t moved, gripping the monitor like a talisman.

He looked her up and down, somewhat more casually dressed than when he’d left. A t-shirt that just about reached her knees, and nothing else. No socks, no jumper, and had Mike and Gwen turned up a little later, probably no knickers either. “It’s warm in here. I couldn’t figure out how to turn the heating down.”

Mike stared at her as if she’d just said she didn’t realise she was a girl. “Really? That little white box I pointed to before we left?”

Patricia shrugged. “I was thinking about my interview.”

He didn’t look convinced, but changed the subject anyway. “Brian okay?”

Patricia waved the monitor at him, the screen glowing in black and white where Brian snored away in content. “He’s been perfect.”

“I’ll go look in on him, then I can drive you home.”

The protest came thick and fast. “Oh, no don’t worry about that. Um, Arthur said he’d give me a lift, and besides, Gwen is toasted. You can’t leave Brian with her in that state. Yes, he’s sleeping, but what if he wakes up?”

Mike made a huff of irritation and lowered his voice. “That boy has a world full of problems, Patricia. Don’t let him get back at his mother through you.”

Thinking Out Loud

So it seems my attempt at a poll on Facebook has failed - because I don't seem to understand how to obtain my results, and like a cat in a sun spot, I feel unmoved to start over or to change it. I can see from the number of views on this blog as to the more popular stories from the Season of Love of 2015, and I will take those hints (broadly made and definitively made) and write until I can writes no mores!

With that in mind, I've compiled a soundtrack to keep you all distracted until I can get some wordage down. Each story has it's own track and I think it all fits together perfectly...

Playlist for Season of Love Vol. 2

1. Camera's Gaze You're the One that I Want by Lo-Fang
2. The Non Rebound Hours by FKA Twigs
3. Good Girl Trying Out Bad First Love by The Maccabees
4. Dance To Date Start Over by Kimberly Anne
5. Warming Up Make You Feel My Love by Adele
6. Skye's Sabotage I Can't Give You Anything But Love by Smokey Robinson
7. Something Old, Something New Pray For Love by Kwabs
8. La Vita Loca Love by Dan Hyde
9. Blessing In Plain Sight On Into The Night by Paul Thomas Saunders
10. Treasured Treasure by Bruno Mars
11. Chocolate Offers Grow by Rae Morris
12. The Tease Every Little Word by MNEK
13. Come Back To Me Come Back by Us The Duo
14. Stars and Moon (I Can't Help) Falling In Love With You by UB40

Loving Words...

The Season of Love has come to an end, but you can enjoy the stories all in one neat little package. Just head to Weyward Thoughts here: Season of Love Vol. 2 and download your free copy.

Can't Help Falling In Love...

And here we are! Happy Valentine's Day! It's been a bit of a tall order to link all these fourteen stories, but t'has been done! Everyone knows someone who knows someone else and they are all heading for a crazy, beautiful and exciting ride. I'll be posting a link for the collection, packaged together and available to you for reading any time of the year. Romance isn't just for Valentine's Day, it's for all those other tricky days of the year as well!!

Stars and Moon © Billy London

Kamryn accepted the flower delivery with a gracious smile. If only they were for her. Linc was so thoughtful. Making sure Tallie knew she was loved before he even turned up. With a sigh, she put the flowers to the side in the kitchen, hid the key for Linc and decided to make herself some cheese on toast.

Tallie bounded down the stairs. “Afternoon!”

“Same to you,” Kamryn gave her an affectionate hug. “How are you doing today?”

Tallie gave a shrug that Kamryn knew hid a multitude of sadness. She missed the man she loved. “Not too bad. I’m going to take myself off to the bar for the longest shift in the world. Money’s money though, right?” She caught sight of the flowers. “Who are those for?”

“Me,” Kamryn answered swiftly.

“From who?” Tallie squealed.

“None of your beeswax,” Kamryn admonished. “Listen, don’t worry about today. If anything, come back here and we’ll have a meal together, and then maybe go see something happy and silly at the cinema.”

Tallie hugged her again, this time more tightly. “You’re gorgeous. I’ll see you later okay?”

Once Tallie left, Kamryn thought of food again. Once she’d eaten, she really should take herself off to the gym. Before she even turned on the grill, her phone rang. “Yellop?”

“Hi, Kamryn.”

Omg. Him. He called. He had actually called. Kamryn was the good time girl. Never the girlfriend. Certainly not the wife. This was a shock to her that HE called her. The man who knew what he was doing with his body to her own. In the billiards room of a supper party last month (probably the most pretentious she’d ever attended) Iver did something to her. It turned her legs to rubber, her bones to water and her mind to mashed potatoes. One of his friends walked in just as they were getting dressed and Kamryn shifted it. She didn’t hang around for an awkward breakfast, just got the first available cab to the train station. Most likely, he got her number from their mutual friend. 

“Hi.”

“Are you busy?”

“No... I mean I have plans later...” Fuck. Way to make herself unavailable. 

“Would you mind breaking them?”

For potentially passing out from too many orgasms? Er... Yes! “Why?”

“I want to make up for our miscommunication.”

“And what was that?”

“I let you think I only wanted something temporary. That’s not at all true.”

“Well, what do you want?” She could barely talk her heart was in her mouth. 

“You. Alone. For good. Can you meet me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I can.”

“That’s good. That’s really good to hear. Grab your passport.”

Hold on a minute. “Why...”

“You need one when you cross other countries' borders.”

Her stomach imploded in a combination of fear and excitement. “Do I get to know where I’m going?”

“Of course. As soon as you get your ticket.”

“What am I packing?” 

“Light clothes. But something to cover up in the evening, as it gets a bit chilly. Enough for five nights. Don’t worry I’ve spoken to your boss. She’s more than happy for you to have a break.” He paused a beat before saying. “I’ll make this worth your time. I promise.”

What could she say to that? “I guess I’ll see you.”

They ended the call and Kamryn squealed to herself spinning in a circle, like a puppy chasing its tail. Five nights. Right, let’s go. She picked out her biggest suitcase and threw in her best underwear, silky kaftans she’d bought during sales for holidays she hadn’t taken in years, maxi dresses and strapless bandage ones. Chiffon shirts and broderie shorts went in with sandals and wedges. Her doorbell rang just as she found her passport and tucked it between her teeth. Still in her pyjamas, Kamryn answered the door. 

“Good afternoon Ms Lenox. I’m here to take you to Gatwick.” He looked her up and down. “I can give you about twenty minutes but I don’t want you to miss your gate.”

“Of course.” She closed the door and had the fastest shower, throwing essentials into a handbag while she tugged on leggings and a jumper dress. Iver was insane. He had to be. More money than sense, which is what her parents always said about him, but since this was all for her to court her she couldn’t really complain. When she opened the door again the driver helped her with her case. The town car gave her the smoothest ride she’d ever taken to an airport. The driver took her case to British Airways Business Class travellers, where her ticket awaited. The assistant handed her an envelope. “Mr. D’Araines has included your hotel details as well.”

“Thank you,” Kamryn gushed. Opening the envelope, she found a credit card inside, stuck to a letter informing her that it had a ten thousand pound limit. And the ticket read, LGW to KGS. Kos. Greek island. Oh. Okay. Hold on. Hold on. Greek Island. Warm. Warner than London in any case. A boat ride from Turkey. A short distance to Istanbul thereafter. The man had GAME!

Armed with a PIN number Kamryn bought other essentials and a ginger beer to settle her nervous stomach. Sense told her to let someone know where she was being whisked to. She sent her mother a long involved text message. Deleted it and sent her an email instead. She sent the same email to her flat mate and to her sister. Bases all covered and a few bottles of Jo Malone in beautifully wrapped packages, Kamryn took another call from Iver. “I’ll see you in about three hours. Okay?”

“I am overwhelmed.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said softly. “It’s nothing more than you deserve. Have a safe flight.”

On board she was treated to glasses of champagne, dinner on china with heavy cutlery. She tried distracting herself with her iPad and failed miserably. What was she doing? It was three hours and a flight too late for anyone else to talk sense into her. Fairy tales didn’t happen to her. Of course she’d doubt every single bit of it.

“Sorry,” she halted the air hostess. “Can I have another drink, please? Gin and tonic? Double?”

By the time the flight landed, she was a little bit tipsy and full to the brim with Dutch courage. When she collected her suitcase, she saw text messages from her mother and sister. None from her flat mate who was probably in the midst of her long-arse shift. Or doing her boyfriend. One of the two. Tallie’d certainly tell her to shut up and enjoy herself. Kamryn followed the other passengers to the arrivals lounge and saw Iver waiting for her, her name written on a large card.

“You are crazy,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into an embrace that spoke volumes.

“A little,” he admitted. Without another word he beckoned for her case, and he took it from her hand, and caught her other in his own. He led her to another glossy looking town car, and tucked her carefully inside, while the driver put the case in the boot.

The car gently rolled off, the tinted windows shielding the beautiful scenery from her view. She gazed at him, her fingers warmly tangled with his. “You know a phone call would have worked just as well.”

He smiled, looking somewhere over her head. “Yes well. This way neither of us have a ream of excuses.”

“So what’s the plan?”

He leaned across her to lower her window. “Do you see that, in the distance?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Turkey. We can stay here a few nights, and stay over there a few nights as well. We’ll take a boat, eat lots of seafood, I know that’s your thing. And smash plates, if you really want to.”

Kamryn had to take a breath. Was this really happening?

He seemed to sense her hesitation and offered. “You can book a flight back whenever you want. And you have your own room.” 

In the sharp sunlight, and the heat that stilled the air between them, Kamryn tightened her hold on his hand. “That’s very thoughtful, but am I going to need it?”

Iver lifted her knuckles to his lips. “I really hope not.”

You Can't Hurry Love

I thought I'd squeeze in a little military romance on the penultimate day of this Season of Love. It's always good when someone comes back. And comes back in one piece...

Come Back To Me © Billy London

“Out!” Tallie commanded, pointing the way to the exit. Harris and Jimi guiltily lifted their hands from the other, as if Tallie held a gun. 

“We weren’t doing anything,” Jimi lied. 

“He’s still dressed.”

Tallie raised her eyebrows. “His jeans are around his poor ankles, God only knows how they support the rest of him. Now out!”

“You can’t chuck us out, Tallie!” Harris wailed. “It means I have to go home and deal with my children.”

“No sympathy here. Go. Home. And. Bang.”

With both hands, she hustled them out. She didn’t care who they knew or what they’d done in helping redesign the pub for her boss, they needed to not be having sex in the ladies room. It wasn’t too much to ask. She’d already thrown out three couples for trying to get naked. If they were willing to shag someone in a public toilet, they should wait to go home. Avoid the potential dysentery. 

Part of it was jealousy. Her part time boyfriend, was serving overseas and God only knew when he’d come back. She let it go, because she’d been a military brat herself. Still it’d be nice to have one day with him that didn’t rest on a time limit. Everyone told her she couldn’t run a part time relationship. She said it wasn’t much different for coppers, firefighters or prisoners. There’d be an end to it. Eventually. One way or the other, it had to stop. She loved him, but it wasn’t the life she wanted to live. A life she couldn’t live again.

Making her way back downstairs, she sent one of the glass collectors a smile and took a mental note to get the cabaret singer her preferred bottle of ginger beer. She came to a grinding halt when she saw Linc sitting at the bar in his uniform, a hand around a pint of bitter, the other rested on a huge bunch of flowers. 

He saw her gripping onto the bannister and smiled at her, mouthing. “Come here.”

How? What? The hell? Shaking visibly, she walked over to him and found herself wrapped in the safest and strongest arms in the world. 

“Evening,” he murmured against her skin. “Silly mare, don’t cry!”

She couldn’t help herself. All those thoughts of dumping him. Of ending it and finding someone who knew how to stay in one place and not make themselves a target for sniper practice. Pulling back she examined his face, looking for something to give her a reason, an excuse because God knew she couldn’t take such heartbreak. Not again.

He lifted an eyebrow. “See something you don’t like?”

“When did you get back?”

“Just now,” he said on a laugh. “I ordered these ahead. I just picked them up from your flat mate and here I am.”

She had nothing she could say. Only that Kamryn was a sneaky cow who lied to her and said the flowers were for her! 

“Don’t kill her,” Linc warned, picking up a handful of her hair and drawing his fingers through it. “She kept it quiet because I asked her to.” He braced his hands at the small of her back. “What’s going on? I can see the wheels turning.”

She didn’t know how to phrase it. “Are you going back?”

“Do you mean am I going to get a nice job with a desk and a landline? The short answer is no. The longer answer is, I’m going to find something to do. Where I can keep an eye on you. And other people can shut the fuck up about me.”

Tallie winced uncomfortably. Oh dear. What had given that away? She tried to steer the conversation. “As in a job here?”

That laugh of his tickled an echoing smile on her lips. “As in London? We’ll see. I’ve got friends who need to start paying up. They owe me.”

“Who?”

“One of whom should be thanking me in a speech tomorrow.” His smile grew. “I like how you didn’t even deny that I was right.”

She groaned, resting her head on his shoulder. “We’ve been doing this for so long. I just want you here. Available here.”

He stroked her head. “Done. I promise, Tallie. It’s just you and me now. For good.”

Could she handle it though? Him around all the time? Silly question. She was fed up of missing him. It was exhausting worrying about him. At every moment he haunted her mind. Relief flooded through her and she lifted her head. He was home. And he was still beautifully whole. Clearing her throat, she wiped her eyes. “Let me call, Kamryn. I hope she doesn’t mind you being at home with me.”

“She left the key for me to get in, so I don’t think she’s home.”

With a frown, Tallie retrieved her phone and called. “Babe, listen to that. That’s international isn’t it?”

Linc gave a nod. “Someone’s been keeping secrets.” 

Tallie’s frown deepened. “I didn’t know she was even seeing anyone.”

Her boyfriend looked thoroughly impatient. “I haven’t seen you in eight months. Eight. Months. Can we talk about your flat mate another time?”

Tallie grinned. “Of course.” She hugged him again and over his shoulder she sent Kamryn a text. Where the devil are you?

Linc pulled her back and pointed to her eyes then his own. “Eight months. Bring it back here.”

“Absolutely. You are going to have to wait though. I’ve got another three hours on this shift.”

“I’ll wait,” he said, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to her lips. She stroked her hands over his face. So he should. She’d waited long enough for him. Three hours was nothing…

Love That Burns

I love a couple that are far too comfortable with each other to waste time with frivolities and niceties. Harris and her husband Jimi know how to get right to the nitty gritty. If that isn't love and romance, I don't know what is... 

The Tease © Billy London

Harris rapped her fork over her husband’s tattooed knuckles. “Stop staring you gimp!” She commanded even as he howled in outrage. “Oh did that hurt?”

He glared at her. “You know that hurts!”

“More than the tattoos?” She barely held back her derision. “Baby.”

Rubbing his hand, he muttered, “Abuser…”

“Then keep your eyes in your head!” Harris visibly bristled with irritation. That poor girl had been sitting at her table alone on a trumped up day. She didn’t want to make it any worse for her.

“I was just checking to see if her date’s turned up.”

She shook her head at him. “Why are you such an arse?”

Jimi sent her a humourless grin. “I get it from you. Don’t you feel bad? Stuffing your cake hole when she’s hungry and abandoned?”

Harris curled her top lip. “I doubt food’s the last thing on her mind.” She casually looked in the girl’s direction and poked her husband with the fork when Brogan sat down opposite her.

“I swear, woman. If I’m not going to ejaculate at the end of this, you need to stop with the pain play.”

Ignoring him, she watched in fascination as Brogan offered the girl a drink and food arrived at their table. Seriously? Smooth. Harris could have applauded. How could she not give him credit for abusing his position to get himself laid? A girl would have a hard time not swooning infinitely at such a knight in shining armour type gesture.

“Oi,” her husband laid a thick finger on her jaw and brought her attention back to his face. Craggy bastard.

“Yes?”

“Right here, or else why did we leave the house and why are we paying for someone to watch our progeny?”

She leaned back in her chair and exhaled. “Because everyone looks at us and sees perfection. A union birthed in the stars. We want people to feel jealous of our love.”

“You haven’t tugged my love in a while,” he mused.

“Jimi, don’t lie,” Harris fumed. “Just think back to the last time we had sex, and I remember when that was because we had to get up and change the sheets…”

“You’re welcome…” he offered, tilting his head.

“And it was me who convinced you. I tugged your love, my friend. I tugged, sucked and fucked that thing until it was limp. Last night, when I reached around you were all… Don’t touch it, I’m tired. I’ve got stamina. Those children, our business, our house and I still fancy it when you don’t.”

He framed his fingers over his mouth, his gaze thoughtful. “I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

“Because you only fancy it after I’ve already suggested that you put your underwear in your mouth and bend over. You’re all I smell really weird today. Smell me. I smell weird. Do you know what that does to my balls? Shrivels them.”

Harris pouted. “I’m sorry that my delicate biological balance puts me off. In the same vein, you should be grateful.”

“That I get to throw my sausage down your Blackwall tunnel?”

She burst out laughing, and flipped her finger at him. “Fuck you, this thing is still tighter than a virgin’s. I just accommodate better after three natural births.”

Jimi raised his glass to her. “Maybe you’re right. And probably I shouldn’t have fisted you that one time…”

“You need to stop telling that story. It wasn’t a fist. It was three and a half fingers.”

An elderly man tapped Jimi on his bulky shoulder. “Excuse me, would you mind toning down your language?”

Jimi lowered his voice to say, “My wife and I are having serious talks about our sex life. If we don’t set boundaries now, it’s going to be really difficult later on when she pulls out the strap-on.” Harris stifled a squeal of laughter. “We’ll try to keep it quiet, but we both should be pretty clear. That way, no one gets hurt.”

The old man, flamed in the face, turned back to his dinner. Harris groaned, “He’s going to complain to Brogan.”

“Brogan’ll do fuck all,” Jimi dismissed. “We designed this place, top to fucking bottom, and it’s not his restaurant, it’s Greg’s. And as Greg prays for our lost souls, so we can do what the fuck we like.”

Harris scratched her ear. “Are all those fucks to make up for last night?”

He blinked very slowly and Harris squirmed in her seat. She liked winding him up. They’d been irritating each other into bed for over a decade. It worked for her. “Listen, yeah?”

“I’m all ears.”

“You want something, you ask me.”

Fair enough. “Husband? Are we going to bang tonight?”

His eyes darkened and he folded his arms on the table. Given the size of the man, she was rather glad they’d selected heavy, oak tables. “I will do you in this restaurant.”

“You wouldn’t,” she retorted immediately.

“I would, I made sure those toilets are big enough.”

“I know you wouldn’t. That’s why we don’t do orgies. We both get performance anxiety and I’m not wearing any underwear.”

His mouth parted in shock. “Pardon?”

“True.”

“You’re lying.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Goodness sake! Why would I lie about having my gonads bared to the elements?”

Eyes narrowed with suspicion, he caught her chair and pulled it forward. Reaching underneath the table, he tapped her on the knee, ordering, “Open.”

She did as she was told and let his fingers drift over her, enjoying the sudden glow to his cheeks. Briefly, she closed her legs, trapping his hand.

“Changing your mind?” he said, his tone low and rough.

Harris slid down in her chair, sending his hand more firmly against her. “Performance anxiety,” she reminded him. “But if we go to that pub across the road. What’s it called?”

“The Bee’s Knees.”

She gently stroked his inner wrist. “Dark. Candlelight. Those martinis that are like Viagra to you… No one’s going to look.”

“Brogan!” he yelled. “Bill, now, thank you.”

Brogan tore his gaze away from the girl opposite him to snap, “Will you two just do one?”

“Such a lack of customer service,” Jimi tutted, and gently removed his hand. “And before you say, no you don’t smell weird. Try and put me off for no reason.”

Harris grinned. “Not today.”

He paused briefly, then counted out the cash for the meal. “Get up, let’s go.”

Easy victory. Honestly, the minute he gave up coffee for green tea…

Love Story

Sometimes disappointment is inevitable on Valentine's Day. And it takes a special kind of person to make that evaporate in the heat of possibility. Brogan is just that person.. 

Chocolate Offers © Billy London

Brogan’s gaze kept flicking between the booking system and the girl sitting tensely alone at her table for two. That table needed to be turned for their nine pm and God help him if his boss walked in and saw someone who hadn’t had a single meal taking up what should be a hundred quid cover. 

Tina passed him, a tray of empty glasses and followed his gaze. “Greg is going to go spare.”

Brogan sent her a dismissive look. “Greg’s not coming in. He swore.”

“Greg swears about a lot of things. It’s what makes him a fixture,” Tina deposited the glasses in the back and started making some more of the complimentary Valentine’s Day cocktails. “That girl’s been here an hour. She’s been stood up.”

He looked over again. The girl seemed hunched over, her bottom lip bitten to hell and her eyes reddened. This fucking day. Utterly designed to make people feel like shit, build up their expectations and drop them from a fantastic height, all to remind them of how no one loves them at any other time of the year, let alone on this one, commercialised, bullshit day.

The phone rang and Brogan answered it, distractedly. “Lounge Restaurant, Brogan speaking, how may I help you?”

“Bro, it’s Greg. Just a heads up so you can arrange yourself appropriately. The missus and I are popping in.”

“Jesus,” Brogan rolled his eyes. “The place is still standing you know?”

“I’m a concerned owner. We’ll be there in about half an hour or so.”

With a growl, Brogan slammed down the phone. Tina singsoned, “I told you so!”

One of the waitresses approached the lonely girl’s table and said, “Sorry, we do need your table...”

Brogan swiped a glass of the lurid pink cocktail and placed it in front of the girl. “No, we don’t.” He edged the waitress away and sat down opposite the girl. She stared at him, a mix of horror and embarrassment in her dark eyes.

“I’m really...”

“Whoever he is, he’s a dick. But you’re not leaving here until you’ve eaten something.”

The girl looked down at her body. “Plenty of people who say I’ve eaten enough.”

“And those people can go fuck themselves. I’d recommend the baba ganoush to start, with the homemade pitta, we do all our own baking here. Then have the grilled chicken, it comes with a crisp salad, and have some halloumi on the side. And to finish, we have chocolate fondue for two.”

The girl looked awkward. “I can’t eat that all by myself.”

“You’re not going to, I’m going to have something as well.”

He turned and smiled at Tina who quickly composed herself to approach their table. “And sir will be having...?”

He gave the order and asked for some still water. Eating to piss Greg off or not, he wasn’t going to compound a threat of sacking by drinking as well. Turning back to the table, he rested his arms on the wood, closing the gap between himself and the girl.

“Since we’re having dinner together, I should at least introduce myself. I’m Brogan. Shortly, you’ll see a big, ginger bloke storm in and try to rip my head off. That would be my boss. Tina is the one who took our order and the girl who was trying to kick you off your table is Sandra.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Elodie. Nice to meet you.”

Tina placed the basket of pitta in front of them and the large bowl of baba ganoush, drizzled with olive oil and studded with pomegranate seeds. “Enjoy. Twenty five minutes to doomsday.”

“Go away,” Brogan ordered. He nudged the bread towards his date. “Bon appetit.”

He dug in, enjoying the perks of the job of having traditional Lebanese food available to him. “Was it a first date?”

Elodie twisted her mouth in thought. “Second actually. I thought he liked me. I really did...” She showed him her phone. “I mean look at all these messages from him. And tonight? Poof. Gone.”

You’re the type of girl I want to be with... You’re so beautiful, I feel lucky you’ve given me a chance... I’d be so proud to call myself your boyfriend... 
“The fuck is this shit?” Brogan demanded.

She shrugged. “I think he was trying to get me to sleep with him. This must be the punishment for saying can we wait?”

“You’ve got good instincts, clearly.”

Elodie sighed. “Only when someone’s going overboard with the compliments. Don’t give me that look, I know I’m a good looking girl. And I know I’m a good looking girl with a few pounds on. But this... Humiliation is unnecessary.”

“Good for you,” he said, admiration in his tone. Without a second thought, he dialled the number of the dickstain. Elodie’s mouth fell open and she reached for it.

“Don’t you dare!”

Surprisingly, the idiot answered. “Er... Elodie. Hi.”

“It’s not Elodie, you piece of shit.”

She sucked her lips into her mouth, her eyebrows hovering at the stratosphere and her hands on her cheeks.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the man who’s going to make Elodie feel good, all night long. And if you ever contact her again with your bullshit, I’ll rip your tiny little dick off and fuck you in the arse with it.”

The man hastily dropped the call and Brogan handed it over. She took it from him warily. “You’re not right.”

He stretched. “It’s been a trying day. He just got the brunt of it.” He picked up his glass of water and touched it to her cocktail glass. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

A smile hovered over her face, making her eyes sparkle. “There’s a couple to your right, my left who keep looking over at us.”

Brogan followed her direction and made a face. “I know them. Nosy parkers. They’re scrambling for something to talk about after nine years together.”

“Nine years is a nice goal.”

He closed one eye and examined her carefully. He envisioned kissing her, undressing her, embracing her response to him as he buried himself inside her. He thought about sharing living space, how she’d insist on his inordinate amount of trainers go to the attic, and he would chuck out all her expensive and unnecessary beauty products. He saw them eloping, running off to Sandals resort and returning to train their two pit bull pups.

“Doable.” He said. “With the right person.”

She looked sceptical, eyes narrowed. “No such thing. No one person is right, you have to make the situation... better.”

A huge hand slapped on his shoulder. “What are you doing sitting down?”

Brogan picked up his boss’s hand and removed it from his person. “Having my first break in a thirteen hour shift.”

Greg’s eyes moved to Elodie and widened in appreciation. Of course he would. He liked a bit of curve on a bird, hence the Reverend March. “Don’t let him make out that I’m a slave driver.”

“You are.” Brogan made a face to say, Will you do one? Showing more foresight than he usually did,

Greg straightened. “I’ll leave you to it. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you,” Elodie said with a delighted beam. She looked much happier. And he was glad to have done that for her.

“Elodie,” he said softly, and she met his gaze full on, such light in her face it made him smile. “How’s your situation?”

Elodie grinned at him over her glass. “Better. A lot better.”