Broken Heart Syndrome, page 12
Tom huffed out a frustrated sigh. It was unlikely that he’d have to go through the bother of actually ending things with Cassie anyway. After he’d stared openly at Frankie at the bar slamming back shots (her technique, although ridiculous, was sexy as hell) Cassie had seemed to get the picture. If that wasn’t enough he had continued to stare at Frankie for the next hour, growing concerned as she got more and more drunk.
He had no doubt that in order for her friends to get her into that outfit she would have to have started the night out pretty steaming, but after those shots she was visibly swaying.
Frankie dancing was a new torture, and he knew that he wasn’t the only one feeling that particular burn. He’d noticed numerous male eyes locked on her. Unfortunately, Adrian making his approach snapped Tom’s already frayed control. As soon as he noticed him pushing towards Frankie he’d leapt up off his bar stool. Cassie had followed the direction of his gaze and sighed.
‘I know I’m fighting a losing battle Tom,’ she’d said, no anger in her voice, just resignation. ‘The stupid thing is I noticed the way you watched her even before we got together, but I thought I could break through.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tom had said, turning to Cassie and she had nodded with a sad smile. Her gaze then went back to Frankie and she’d frowned.
‘I think now would be a good time to make some sort of move though. She’s sweet and she definitely doesn’t deserve that.’
Tom’s face had snapped back to Frankie who was now struggling with Adrian, everyone else around them was drunk and oblivious. She looked tiny held against Adrian’s huge bulk and Tom’s vision hazed over in anger.
He had just wanted to get Adrian off her, and if the crazy bastard hadn’t called her a slut he would have left it at that, but he found that he couldn’t stand anyone talking about her that way, even if she wasn’t his to protect. That whole bar had been full of medics, so he had a huge audience to make an idiot of himself over her to.
It was just like when she had fainted and he’d carried her through the hospital, not even thinking twice about how it would look. Firstly he’d been out of his mind with worry about her, so fierce that it had felt close to panic. Secondly she was so light that he didn’t even really fully remember he was carrying her until they’d arrived at A&E and everyone’s shocked eyes turned to them. Even then he couldn’t bring himself to care. All his focus was on Frankie, and the sickening sound her head had made when it connected with the sink as she went down.
So that was twice now that he’d looked like a lovesick teenager over her publicly, and that didn’t even include all the staring he did whenever she came into view. He knew he was being obvious but it was bloody impossible to shift his eyes away from her. She probably pissed herself laughing at him every night with her cronies over his desperation.
He parked up outside her building, turned off the ignition and watched with fascination as Frankie swam up towards consciousness. Her hair was mussed after lying on the seat, and her eyes were at half-mast and bleary. As she looked over at him he saw her them widen in confusion.
‘Jeepers,’ she slurred, still obviously tipsy.
Christ, who the hell in the last fifty years said ‘jeepers’? Even steaming she still seemed incapable of swearing.
‘Thomas G. Longley,’ she continued, giggling into her hand. That was the second time she’d used his full name and he didn’t really get it. How did she even know he had a middle name? He’d seen her giggle with other people but rarely with him. Up close it was intoxicating.
‘I don’t like you,’ she stated something he already knew. ‘You are mean,’ she continued, punctuating her words by poking him in the chest, and giggling again as if the fact Tom was a prick was the height of entertainment.
‘That’s why I am stupid, stupid, stupid,’ she declared. Having already suffered through enough of her amusing but nonsensical rants, Tom decided that he was done and knifed out of the van. He swiftly rounded the hood to get to the passenger door, which he saw Frankie was trying to open but unable to find the handle. She would have fallen out if it wasn’t for her seatbelt when he opened the door and this started her off giggling again as she struggled to get it undone. Tom sighed and reached over her to release the buckle and her giggling stopped, her body stilling under his outstretched arm.
‘You smell amazing,’ she said, her voice aching with longing. Tom froze and looked up at her face.
‘What?’ he whispered.
‘But then I shouldn’t be surprised,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘Everything about you is lush, lush, lush.’
What the hell? Was she playing some sort of sick joke with him? He put his hands to her waist and lifted her from the van, placing her on her feet in front of him. She staggered slightly, and his hands went to her shoulders to steady her, as hers settled on his chest.
‘Your chest is awesome,’ she murmured reverently, and then looked along to his forearms either side of her. ‘And you have the most amazing arms. Big and veiny. Proper man arms, you know?’ No, he didn’t know, and he was beginning to think that maybe this wasn’t a joke. ‘I used to dream about your arms for hours. Just your arms could inspire epic daydreams. How crazy is that?’
‘Frankie, what are you talking about?’ he asked cautiously.
‘Ha!’ she semi-shouted as she ignored him and looked back at his chest where her hands were resting. ‘You seriously need to update your wardrobe.’ There was no way Tom was going to be sidetracked onto another subject. Especially not one he had little interest in.
‘Frankie-’
‘You’ve worn this t-shirt for ten years. Yikes!’ Tom frowned down at her. How on earth could she know how long he’d had his t-shirt for? She didn’t even remember him from Uni. Didn’t she?
‘You sir, need to smarten up,’ she declared, slapping him on the chest. ‘I’m going to talk to the ward sister about you and then you can feel stupid, and scruffy, and small, and pathetic. Ha!’
Tom had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. She was still grinning but he had heard the hint of pain behind her words. He was beginning to come to the horrible realization that he might have been an unbelievable bastard.
Frankie must have noticed the look of shock on his face. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, quietly now. ‘People like you are often mean to people like me. It’s the way of the world.’ This was the second time Tom had heard her refer to herself as a certain kind of people, and he was beginning to find it vaguely disturbing.
‘Of course it hurts more if it’s from someone you love,’ she muttered distractedly, her eyes sliding to the side and Tom stiffened.
‘What?’ he whispered. She sighed and rested her forehead against his chest, giving a small shiver as a cool breeze blew over them. Tom moved his arms to engulf her and she melted against him.
‘You’re warm,’ she mumbled sleepily as her breathing started to even out and she leaned more heavily into him. ‘I’m always so cold.’ After a minute or so Tom realized that he was taking all her weight and that she had fallen asleep standing up.
Great.
So much for finding out what the hell she was talking about.
He had a feeling that Frankie would not be nearly so forthcoming when she sobered up. He bent and scooped her up easily, tucking her head into his neck and strode up the flight of stairs to her flat.
It was only when he was faced with the locked flat door that he fully comprehended his stupidity. He’d dragged her out of the bar without her bag, coat, and most importantly her keys. He was so distracted by getting her out of there and safe, that he’d totally overlooked anything practical.
‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’ he heard shrieked from behind him in a slightly slurred voice. He turned and saw Lou standing in the corridor, both hands on her hips. She was obviously trying to look intimidating but her disheveled hair and her smudged eye makeup were slightly ruining the effect.
‘Babes! For Christ’s sake can you just wait-’ Dylan came flying up behind Lou and stopped abruptly when he saw Tom and Frankie. ‘What the hell?’
They were both looking at Tom as if he was a Viking marauder who had raped and pillaged his way through a village, and was currently lugging home the spoils.
‘Ohmigod, you roofied her!’ Lou shouted, her eyes wide.
Tom looked at the ceiling, seeking patience. ‘I did not roofie her.’
‘Then why is she passed out?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Oh I don’t know Lou,’ Tom bit out. ‘Maybe it’s the alcohol you poured down her throat to get her into this outfit.’ He saw Lou’s body jerk which confirmed his theory. ‘Or maybe it’s the twenty or so shots you guys knocked back in the bar.’
‘Oh yes, well I guess there is that,’ Lou conceded.
‘And,’ Tom continued, ‘if I was going to drug Frankie in order to have my wicked way with her, why would I bring her back to her flat to do it?’
‘Fine,’ Lou snapped, but Tom wasn’t nearly finished.
‘If you’re both so protective over her, where were you when she was being mauled by Adrian bloody Fletcher?’ He watched with satisfaction as Lou’s face paled. He was only just remembering how angry he was with her and Dylan for not keeping an eye on Frankie.
‘Is she okay?’ Lou asked softly. She looked worried. Tom distractedly noticed that the worry in Lou’s eyes was slightly disproportional to the situation. Yes, Frankie had been approached rather aggressively in a bar, but that in itself didn’t justify a full blown panic.
‘She’s fine Lou, just drunk. I doubt she’ll even remember much about it.’ He saw Lou breath out a sigh of relief and Tom frowned at her in confusion.
‘She’s kind of…sensitive,’ Lou explained, moving around Tom to open the door.
‘She always struck me as an ice queen,’ he said.
‘Ice queen? Frankie?’ Lou’s eyebrows were in her hairline as she looked back at Tom. ‘We are talking about the same Frankie aren’t we? Shy, but sweet. Funny and kind once you get to know her?’
‘Shy?’ he asked, and as they moved through into the flat Tom noticed Lou’s unsuccessful attempt to shut the door in Dylan’s face.
‘Go back to your whorebag slappers,’ Lou told him, poking him in the chest as Tom lay Frankie down on the sofa.
‘Jesus babes, what’s crawled up your arse?’ Tom was no expert at reading women’s moods, but knew that that comment was poorly timed. This was confirmed when Lou kicked Dylan in the shin. ‘Ow! Bloody hell woman, what’s the matter with you?’
‘Get. Out.’ she clipped.
‘Babes,’ was his simple retort as he sat down in one of the armchairs and rubbed his shin. Tom didn’t think Dylan was going anywhere soon, if anything he looked more worse for wear than Lou.
‘Next time I’ll make sure to kick you where it really hurts,’ Lou said crossly as she moved to the kitchen area. Dylan and Tom both shuddered at the determination in her voice. Tom was tempted to cover his own crown jewels just in case. Why Dylan was poking this particular tiger he had no idea. He wasn’t sure that he’d hang around after that threat had been issued. He looked down at Frankie then back over at Lou.
‘She’s shy?’ he asked again, needing more information.
‘Well, no she’s a lot better most of the time but of course with you…’ Lou trailed off and looked away from him towards the kettle.
‘With me what?’ Tom stood, crossing his arms.
Dylan’s eyes darted nervously between them. ‘Look, babes. You’re steaming yeah. I don’t think Frankie would want-’
Tom’s gaze snapped to Dylan, ‘Want what?’ Dylan was starting to look slightly panicked which Tom thought was strange. Now that he was thinking about it, quite a few things Dylan had said in the past about Frankie were strange in light of this new information. His head tipped to the side as he regarded Dylan. ‘I think maybe you and me need to clarify some stuff Griffiths.’
Dylan’s face paled and he sat back in his chair, bloodshot eyes locked on Tom. Mid stare down they heard a groan from the sofa. All eyes swung to Frankie who had stirred and was gingerly sitting up. She pushed her thick hair out of her face, which now looked an alarming shade of green.
‘I don’t feel so-’ she began and then her hands shot to her mouth and she stumbled to her feet, nearly colliding with the coffee table. Tom shot forward and grabbed her elbow to steady her.
‘Bathroom,’ she choked out, and Lou signaled from the kitchen area where to go. After Tom half carried her to the bathroom she collapsed on her knees, gripped the toilet and began retching. As she emptied an alarming volume of stomach contents into the bowl, Tom knelt down next to her and pulled the hair gently our of her face, stroking her bare back.
Lou stood in the doorframe looking at them both on the floor of the bathroom. Tom was murmuring encouragement to Frankie, who looked like she was attempting to turn herself inside out, such was the force of her retching.
Bizarrely this turn of events made Lou smile.
Chapter 15
Badger mouth
My head was banging.
I cautiously cracked open one eye and winced. Not a surprise, but I had obviously been too wasted to close my curtains last night, and with my crummy luck there was rare winter sunshine for once pouring in my window right onto my face.
I licked my dry lips, confirming the fact that I had a raging case of morning-after-badger-mouth. I felt heat at my back and something hot and heavy over my waist. This didn’t alarm me particularly. It wouldn’t be the first time Lou and I had shared a bed after a night out. It’s just that it was normally me making sure that she wasn’t choking on her own vomit, not the other way around.
I looked up at my side table and breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Lou had had the foresight to set me up with a pint of water before we went to sleep. I reached for the water, shifting slightly and I felt Lou’s arm tighten on my waist.
‘Jeepers, Louey,’ I croaked. ‘I had the weirdest drunken dream last night, you won’t believe-’ I let out a small scream and dropped the pint glass, water spilling all over the carpet. I was looking down at Lou’s arm at my waist. Only it wasn’t Lou’s arm. That was unless her arm had suddenly sprouted copious amounts of hair and doubled in size. I swallowed and slowly looked up into a pair of clear blue eyes.
‘Holy moly,’ I breathed, my eyes so wide it felt like they might bug out of my head.
‘Hi,’ Tom rumbled in a sexy morning voice. ‘You feeling better?’
I’d never heard Tom’s morning voice and I’d certainly never seen his bare chest, which was very much on display at that moment. My eyes dropped down of their own accord: just enough chest hair, broad, hard planes. Perfect. I belatedly realized that I was staring and forced my eyes back to his face; he was grinning.
Gah!
He’d noticed my perving.
His hair looked much the same as it did when he arrived to work in the morning. Not a surprise as he had never struck me as the kind if man to waste time on hair styling. I knew he was the type to have a five a clock shadow, mainly because I had frequently witnessed this lush occurrence whilst working for him. His stubble this morning was much thicker. Looking at it I could practically feel my ovaries give a little jolt, as if they were acknowledging the potent specimen of manhood in front of them, and begging me to procreate while I had the chance. Tom squeezed my waist to get my attention.
‘Frankie? Have you stroked out or something?’
‘Maybe,’ I croaked and he chuckled (this also being low and rumbly and one of the sexiest sounds I had ever heard). ‘Um…’ I cleared my throat nervously, ‘what are you doing here?’
His brows drew together, ‘You don’t remember?’
I racked my brains. Mr Fletcher groping me was the last thing I could remember. After a minute or two, I sucked in a breath as some other images flashed through my hung-over brain. Tom punching Mr Fletcher, half carrying me out of the bar, getting into his van, and I think I might have told him about my ferret/sperm plan.
Gah!
I couldn’t remember anything after the van.
‘I remember getting into the van but then everything’s a bit, um… fuzzy,’ I slid my eyes away and made another attempt to get up. This was met by more pressure from his arm across my waist. What on earth was going on? I made the mistake of looking back into his eyes and slid straight into a Tom induced stupor.
‘You don’t remember anything after the van?’ he asked. As I was in a waking Tom coma, I couldn’t reply. ‘Frankie?’ he called, giving my waist another squeeze. ‘Do you remember what you said?’
I snapped to attention at that. ‘What did I say?’ I asked urgently and this time it was his turn to slide his eyes from mine, a small smile forming on his lips.
‘Nothing much,’ he replied dismissively, but I noticed that he wouldn’t meet my eyes. ‘You did throw up though,’ he informed me, looking back up. ‘A lot,’ he clarified. ‘Actually I was a bit shocked you could produce that volume of vomit. You must have puked at least twice your body weight. Medical miracle.’
I made a small sound of distress as the embarrassment washed over me, and closed my eyes.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered, mortified.
‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘I didn’t mind. You were sweet.’ I opened my eyes and regarded him incredulously. I’m not sure if anyone could describe spewing double their body weight as sweet. He smiled, ‘Okay so maybe when you were practically turned inside out you weren’t that cute but after you’d finished you were definitely sweet.’
I decided that I did not want to know what he meant by that. In fact I had decided the best thing was to get out of bed so that I could start pretending this whole thing had never happened. If I stayed this close to him for much longer, hung-over or not, I would do something monumentally stupid and embarrassing, like giving in to my ovaries and pouncing on him.
