Part 16 (1/2)

Mak blinked and stared at the little gla.s.ses, which responded by swirling around in her vision for a moment. She blinked again and they were still. The waitress was gone. Mak was sure that everyone was watching. Was this an actual drink that people ordered?

Ah, what the h.e.l.l.

She took the neon-green drink and poured it into her mouth. Straight cordial. Wham. Then the Baileys. She looked up and the waitress nodded at her from across the bar. Oh, yes, mustn't forget to shake. She grinned at her with her mouth full and made a show of shaking her head around. She tried desperately not to laugh, but choked on a giggle and dribbled some of it down her chin.

Gulp.

Oh, good G.o.d!

Her head did a three-sixty. Every muscle in her body went to putty.

Mak suddenly felt much less self-conscious.

She gave the girl a thumbs up, and then slunk down in her seat.

She must have stared at her lap for a long time, because when she looked up, she found that someone was sitting next to her.

”...all by yourself,” the stranger was saying. He was smiling at her and s.h.i.+fting closer. ”Lemme buy you a drink.”

Her mouth took forever to respond. Her tongue felt funny. ”No, thanks. No more.”

He was still speaking. She concentrated on the movements his mouth was making, but still couldn't make out the words. She leaned forward and squinted.

”...company. Come on, lemme getcha 'nother drink.”

Mak recoiled and said, ”No. Fuff off.”

She blinked slowly, finally comprehending how horrendously drunk she had become, and when she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

She had to get out of there. She wasn't just relaxed-she was off her face, and that was definitely not how she wanted to see Andy Flynn.

Somehow she made it to the exit. The sounds of football and top-forty music faded as she stepped out to the street and raised her hand for a cab. But there were none to be found.

Someone put a hand on her shoulder. She spun around, expecting the stranger with the confusing speech patterns who had approached her inside. Her head spun long after the one hundred and eighty degrees were up, and when her senses finally returned, she found herself nose to nose with Detective Andrew Flynn.

Her jaw fell slack and she stared. Her arm, which had come dangerously close to swatting him when she turned, still dangled high in the air.

No, it can't be Andy. Not now...

Her nervous system performed the inebriated version of snap-alert panic and simultaneously displaced the entire repertoire of her motor skills. She was struck speechless and inert.

”Makedde! I thought it was you,” declared the man who was either Andy, or the most convincing hallucination she had ever seen.

She stared.

”I thought I saw you in the corner, but I wasn't sure. I thought you didn't drink?” He paused when she didn't respond. She was frozen in embarra.s.sed horror. ”What? Have you joined the SS or something?” He gently brought her arm down to her side. ”Hey, are you okay?”

Mortified. Absolutely mortified.

So much for spotting him first. So much for being calm, cool and collected.

He was the same as she remembered, his scent, his presence. The same chiselled jaw and compellingly imperfect nose. The same little scar on his chin, the same dark, short-cropped hair. And his eyes. His gorgeous green eyes. She really wished she was sober.

”I think I need to sit down,” she managed to say. She felt ill. Andy stopped asking questions and mercifully led her away from the big gla.s.s windows of the Sports Bar.

Hours later, Makedde woke up on stiff hotel sheets. There was stucco on the ceiling above her, and the weak smell of old cigarettes and deodoriser.

She felt absolutely awful. Horrible. Her throat felt sore and her head felt like it was trapped in an airtight bubble. Instinctively, she opened her jaw as wide as she could so her ears would pop. She was depressingly sober, and plagued with a deep, gnawing, unnamed dread. There was something she was unhappy about, but she wasn't awake enough to remember what.

Where am I? What time is it?

An empty gla.s.s and the crust off a piece of toast sat on a room service platter on a nearby bench. She'd eaten a bit to make herself feel better after drinking way too much. Someone had suggested it. That someone had been the man she'd come to this hotel to see.

Andy. Oh no...

He was sitting on the lounge a few feet away. He flashed her a lazy smile when their eyes met. Her first instinct was to look down at herself. She was relieved to find she was still dressed. The feeling of dread decreased a fraction.

”How are you feeling now?” he asked her.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. This wasn't how I planned it.

”Um, how am I feeling? Been better,” she admitted, and laughed.

”Would you like some more toast? Some water?”

”No, really, I'm okay.”

The hotel room was quiet for a while. She looked around for the digital alarm clock. There was one on the far bedside table, declaring the late hour in neon-red.

Three am.

”It's late,” he said.

She nodded.

”Definitely late, and a school night.”

Was it too late for them? She couldn't decide whether he felt like a stranger, or like a man who had kept her company every night in her dreams for the past year. Dreams and nightmares, of course.

She studied his face in silence.

”May I come over?” he asked, and she responded by nodding.

He stood up from the lounge and walked over to sit on the corner of the bed where she was tucked in, fully dressed in her now wrinkled s.h.i.+rt and pants. She noticed her shoes and socks lying a few feet away. She imagined him pulling them off while she was in G.o.d knows what kind of state.

”It's good to see you. I was surprised,” Andy said.

”So was I. I was in the area and I thought...” She trailed off and then shook her head. ”No, that's c.r.a.p. I wanted to see how you were. You sounded a bit funny on the phone. All that business about needing to talk to me, and then I thought I'd drop in and say h.e.l.lo, you know, nothing major, just say hi and that kinda thing...”