Jilted

But times had changed. Although he still loved his football, he wasn’t the carefree larrikin of a decade ago. Not frequently anyway. He was a long way from the Flynn who’d streaked across the oval. In the years since, the law had sent the smokers outside, and although he wasn’t one of them, there was something wrong about a pub without that smell. New owners had renovated and The Commercial Hotel had lost its rural character. Its beige walls with a chocolate feature and the leather-upholstered bar stools could have been transplanted from any city establishment. The people he’d loved had moved on or changed. At least the music still had the right vibe.

He barely had the chance to nod at Rats and Whitney or take in the others hanging around before Lauren had an arm round him and was practically licking his ear.

“My shout, Flynn. What are you having?”

“Just a Coke, thanks.” He extracted his limbs from hers and moved along the bar to Rats.

“Hey, mate.” Rats slapped Flynn on the back and grinned. “Good to see ya. S’pose you’ve heard?”

“Grapevine wouldn’t be working if I hadn’t.” Flynn looked straight ahead.

“Doubt she’ll be here for long,” continued Rats. “She’s only back to help Ms. T. Surely a broken ankle won’t take long to mend. Right?”

Flynn wanted to ask if anyone had seen her yet, but he didn’t want to look like he gave a damn. He didn’t give a damn. So instead he said, “Free country. She can go where she likes.”

“True, true.” Rats took a sip of beer and pulled Whitney into his side. “So, mate, we’ve been talking and you don’t have to say yes straightaway but...”

“There’s no one we’d rather want as our best man,” gushed Whitney, reaching past Rats to take Flynn’s hands. “Please, please say yes.”

Hell. Flynn supposed he should have seen this coming. His friends hadn’t planned a long engagement and Rats had been decked out in the best-man suit the day Ellie had left him standing at the altar of St. Pete’s. But today? Just the thought of setting foot inside a church made his skin crawl.

“Sure,” he managed. “It’d be an honor.”

“Yippee!” As Whitney shrieked, she leaned forward and kissed Flynn on the lips. It was only quick, and entirely platonic, but whoops went up around the pub.

“Did he say yes?” Lauren returned with a bottle of champers, four delicate glass flutes and no sign of a Coke. “This calls for a toast.” Behind her were Emma and Linda with another bottle and more glasses.

As glasses were filled, Rats edged close to Flynn. “I’ll get you that Coke, mate. You don’t have to drink to take part in the toast.” Rats was one of the few people who knew just how dependent he’d become on booze before his dad died.

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Flynn, suddenly feeling like a tiny shot of bubbles would work wonders for his tension-infused body. “I can handle a glass on a special occasion.”

“Fair enough.” Rats held up his palms in surrender, but Flynn couldn’t miss the worry in his friend’s eyes. “Just looking out for you.”

Flynn didn’t reply. He was tired of people looking out for him, like he was some sort of pathetic child. He took a glass and raised it along with everybody else’s.

“To Flynn,” Lauren said, staring at him as if he were the only person in the room, “for completing our fabulous bridal party.”

“To Flynn,” chorused his friends.

He took a gulp and only as the bubbles caressed his throat did he register Lauren’s words. Dinner was ordered soon after, and once the pub grub had been devoured the group broke up—some playing pool, others chatting near the dartboard. This was Flynn’s chance to escape, but just as he was about to make a sly departure, Lauren pulled up a stool next to him. She barely sat on it, however, and Flynn got the impression she was angling for a spot on his lap, instead.

“You know,” she drawled in an unmistakably seductive tone, “the best man gets first pick of the bridesmaids.”

“Is that so?” Flynn took another sip to stop himself from saying the first thing that came into his head.

“It’s tradition. And it just so happens I’m maid of honor.” Was she actually singing her words? “Care for a top-up?” she asked, swaying the half-full bottle in his face and pointing to his glass.

Rats and Whitney were now wrapped in each other’s arms, ignoring the rest of the pub. Emma was chatting up the new barman and Linda appeared to be kicking her brother’s butt at darts. Flynn looked again at the bottle and then back to Lauren.

“Just one more.”

* * *

WHEN THE BOTTLE was gone, Flynn ordered Lauren a glass of wine and a beer for himself. For a second he thought twice about the choice. Common sense almost won, but then he glanced around him at the scene of country people having good, clean fun—the music loud, the laughs many, the atmosphere charged and happy—and he wanted that. It’d been years since alcohol had owned him. He’d only have one more.

One became two, two became four and before he knew it, he’d dragged Lauren onto the makeshift dance floor and was partying like it was 1999. As the barman called for last drinks, Lauren sank her arms around Flynn’s neck and pressed her curves against the steely length of his body. Of course, he reacted. He wouldn’t be male if he didn’t.

“I’ve had a great night, Flynn.”

“Me, too.” His words slurred slightly.

“You can’t drive home like this. The cops will pick you up for sure.”

He leaned his cheek against her hair and breathed in her pungent berry scent. “I’ll sleep in the back of the ute.”

“Now, Flynn...” Lauren’s hands crawled down to cup his buttocks and pull him tightly against her. Her words slithered into his ear on hot, wanton breath. “I’ve got a much better idea.”

And then her lips were accosting his. Her tongue took liberties as it swept his mouth, probing for access. His hands floundered as he tried to grab out for balance, to latch on to reality before he did something he might regret, but he got hold of a breast instead, the soft, round orb sending short, sharp messages to his brain. His body took on a life of its own. He couldn’t remember the last time he was kissed—the farm had been his sole focus for quite some time—and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He was twenty-nine, for crying out loud. He should have a little fun while he could. Besides, since he’d been in Lauren’s company, he hadn’t thought about Ellie once.

So he kissed Lauren back. Snaked his hands up her spine and then her neck, sliding his fingers into her long, blond locks. He felt his blood pump south and pulled back slightly to look into her eager eyes. “Let’s get outta here.”

Rats gripped Flynn’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “You sure you want to do this, mate?” His eyes were trained on Lauren giggling at Flynn’s side. “You’ve had a fair bit to drink.”

Now Flynn knew how Lucy felt when he started with the preachy talk. It got old and boring fast.

“Thanks, but I can look after myself.”

Outside, Lauren pushed him against the ute, fishing her fingers into his pocket for his car keys. “I’m driving. I only had one drink.”

“Of course.” Grinning, he leaned back against the vehicle, his hands clasped behind his head as she took longer to dig than was strictly necessary.

“You like that, Flynn?” She plucked the keys from his jeans but, not at all coy, she continued her exploration of his crutch, rubbing her palm up and over the denim at his groin. His hips angled forward of their own accord and he grabbed Lauren’s wrist.

“Let’s go.”

“My feelings exactly.”

Lauren opened the passenger door and Flynn slumped inside, his boots kicking a collection of empty Coke cans at his feet. She slid into the driver’s side and took in the mess. “I thought you’d take better care of your vehicle, Flynn Quartermaine.”

He glanced at her. “Um...” Even his mom didn’t nag him about such things.

“Relax.” Lauren laughed. She started the ute and, after quickly backing out, laid her hand against Flynn’s taut thigh. “It’s not your housekeeping I’m interested in.”

Chuckling, he sucked in a breath as Lauren’s hand again ventured upward. She toyed with his belt buckle, skillfully undoing it without the car veering even slightly off the straight and narrow.

“You nurses are multiskilled,” he said, wondering if he should put his hand against her leg or cop a feel of one of her breasts. Both options had seemed appealing back in the parking lot, but now, in the confined space of the car, where his breathing felt constricted by the heady scent of her perfume, he wasn’t so sure.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she purred. His eyes almost left their sockets as she opened his zipper and slipped her hand inside his jeans—inside his jocks, in fact.

“You think we should pull over?” He only just managed the words. Her soft, skillful fingers curled around his erection and began to tickle his balls. His breathing intensified. His pulse thudded through his veins. Heat surged beneath her touch. But it was a surreal experience, as if he was hovering outside his body, looking in. He barely heard Lauren’s reply.

“It’s okay, Flynn, we’re almost at my place.” Within seconds she’d pulled into a rough gravel driveway. The car came to a stop and a giggling Lauren opened the passenger door.

“You just gonna sit there all night, staring at the real estate?” She wiggled her hips in rhythm to her words. He winced at the sound of her voice, a sharp jolt rushing through his head. The view of her skinny legs, held together by a denim skirt too short for the season, blurred in front of him. He blinked to clear his vision.

“Had a bit too much to drink, Flynn-y boy?” She reached in and took his hand, trying to pull him out of the car. “Never mind. Nurse Lauren has the perfect medicine. Come on.”

Stumbling a little, he trekked up the porch steps, fighting the urge to sit down while Lauren unlocked the door. She switched on lights, which almost blinded him, and offered him a drink.

“No, thanks,” he managed, although a voice inside told him a long glass of icy water might be a good idea.

“Hope you don’t mind if I do.” Grabbing his shoulders, she ushered him into the living room and pushed him down on the couch. “You just wait there. I’ll be right back.”

He flopped his head against the back of the leather sofa and took a few moments just to sit. Fancy antique vases and massive, gold-framed paintings of famous Aussie landscapes swam around the room—this was her parents’ house, but they were overseas at the moment, on one of the travel tours they ran. His gut churned. He was contemplating a dash to the bathroom when Lauren skipped into the room.

“Hey, mister, you’re looking a little worse for wear.” She straddled his hips, her skirt riding up as she maneuvered on top of him. He realized his fly was still undone. Her warmth seeped onto his groin and he swayed a little, feeling woozy.

“Have you lost your knickers?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“You noticed.” She wiggled her hips more and pressed down. There was only the cotton of his jocks between them now. She placed a champagne flute on the side table and palmed her hands against his cheeks. “You want me, don’t you, Flynn?”

CHAPTER FOUR

ELLIE’S SIDES WERE aching from laughing so hard. Matilda had always been like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. But as much as she would love to have stayed up later, listening to stories of what Mat had been up to since they were last together in Sydney, she’d be blind not to notice that her godmother was wilting. She’d counted at least ten yawns in the past three minutes, and the bags under Matilda’s eyes were hanging even heavier than before. Her weight loss couldn’t be intentional—Matilda didn’t believe in fads like dieting. Ellie would never say so, but Mat seemed a lot older than the six months it had been since they’d seen each other. And it worried her.

She feigned a yawn herself. “I’m sorry, Mat, but I’m going to have to call it a night.”

“You’re not jet-lagged?” Matilda snorted. “First sign of old age, they tell me.”

“Like you’d know,” teased Ellie, stretching up out of the beanbag she was sitting in at Matilda’s feet. “You could do with some rest, too. I don’t want Lauren on my back for not looking after you.”

“You know I hate this.” Matilda sighed, gripping Ellie’s shoulder as she got out of the old floral armchair. Matilda had always been so independent—bloody-minded, many would have called it. She’d never married—Ellie guessed she didn’t want to be anyone’s unpaid housekeeper—and frequently traveled to exotic places not populated by your average tourist.

“I know,” Ellie replied. They started slowly toward the bathroom, Ellie trying not to smother her friend but terrified of her taking another fall. “And if you do as you’re told, you’ll be back to your wicked ways in no time. But I’m here until you are.”

Ellie heard Matilda sniff, but she covered it quickly. “You are a true friend. Thank you.”

“What? For cooking baked beans on stale crackers and almost killing you with rotten eggs?”

To call dinner a disaster would have been kind. Forgetting that country shops weren’t open on Saturday afternoons, Ellie had made do with what she could find: baked beans and eleven eggs from the chicken coop. Matilda assured her that some would have been fresh that morning. But Ellie had been a city girl too long and had forgotten how to test which were fresh and which weren’t.

Matilda pressed a hand against her chest and laughed. “I’ve had a lot worse in my time.”

After promising to make it up with a feeding frenzy tomorrow, Ellie stood by while Matilda washed her face and brushed her teeth. She helped her hobble over to the toilet and left the room to give her some privacy. Then she came back to help her up and usher her into her room.

“There. Are you sure you’re comfortable?” she asked, sitting down gently on the edge of Mat’s bed.

“As comfy as I can be sharing a bed with this.” Matilda gestured again to the chunky plaster that went from her toes halfway up her calf.

Ellie knew Matilda’s jokes were her way of coping, of lightening the mood. She desperately wanted to snuggle up to Mat like they’d done when Ellie first arrived all those years ago. When she was a lonely, lost, washed-up teen, feeling totally abandoned by the one person who was supposed to love her. But tonight she thought Matilda might take her cuddles the wrong way, as sympathy for her injuries. And if there was one thing Mat hated, it was sympathy. So instead, Ellie patted her hand, kissed her on the cheek and stood.

“Shall I take my old room?”

Matilda cursed and a look of horror flashed across her face. “Oh, I’m a silly old fool.” She tried to hoist herself up.

“Sit,” Ellie ordered.

“I’ve been jabbering on all afternoon and you haven’t even had a chance to unpack or freshen up. About your room...” Matilda’s voice trailed off.

Ellie rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Matilda. She couldn’t resist another proper hug. “You are a silly old fool. I’m here to look after you and don’t you forget it.”

In the end, she lay on the bed until Matilda had fallen asleep, which wasn’t long at all. The house then seemed quiet without Mat’s endless chatter, and Ellie’s thoughts returned quickly to the one thing she’d been trying not to think about. While Lauren had launched right into the subject of Flynn Quartermaine, Matilda hadn’t mentioned him at all. Ellie thought the taboo might have been lifted now she was back in Hope Junction, but it seemed her godmother was leaving that conversation for her to start. And she would. Soon.

Thoughts of just how soon were interrupted as she pushed open the door of her old bedroom. Expecting Mat to have turned the room to other uses, she gasped aloud at the sight in front of her. The room was exactly how she’d left it. Exactly. Goose bumps erupted across her flesh.

Matilda had cleaned and dusted, but aside from that, everything was just as Ellie had left it on that fateful morning. Teenage posters, her collection of troll dolls with rainbow hair, scented candles, lots of photos, a pair of bright purple Dr. Martens and...

Forcing breath through her lungs and one foot in front of the other, Ellie stepped into the room and toward the single bed. Her eyes had already been drawn, like magnets, to the simple white wedding dress that lay draped across the mattress. She stared for a second, mesmerized, before scooping it up and sighing at the feel of soft silk between her fingers. She clutched the A-line gown to her chest as if it were a long-lost teddy bear. Her thoughts immediately traveled back a decade, to a day in Perth when she’d felt like the poster child for happiness.

Marrying Flynn was any girl’s fantasy, and she’d wanted to be his fantasy when he watched her walk down the aisle. Silly, really, but she’d spent hours daydreaming about the expression on his face when he’d see her. She’d loved him so much. So much it made her chest ache if she thought about losing him. Her insides whirled like a roller coaster whenever she even thought about kissing him. And so, when she’d walked past that boutique and seen the most elegant wedding dress with a 50 percent off tag, she’d thought it was fate.

And she’d been euphoric.

The shop had been about to close but she’d dragged in Tegan, her then best friend, and Matilda, and sweet-talked the assistant into letting her try on the dress. When she did, she never wanted to take it off again. It was simply perfect. No need for alterations at all. With Ellie protesting that she’d pay for it, Matilda had handed over her American Express card and someone managed to convince Ellie to take the dress off so the assistant could box it.

A tear dribbled down Ellie’s cheek at the memory. At the thought that she’d once been so sky-high happy.

Thinking she was probably crazy but unable to help herself, Ellie laid her fantasy gown back on the bed and stripped to her mismatched underwear. She wondered if the dress would still fit but, if anything, it was a little on the large side. With great effort she wrangled the tiny pearl buttons at her back and managed to do up every last one of them. She twisted to look in the mirror.

What a sight. Her face was stained red with tears and her hair flat from the cap that had trapped it all day long. She didn’t look like a bride any groom would get choked up over. She looked scary. But despite her appearance, Ellie didn’t look away or remove the dress. She shuddered at the idea of becoming Miss Havisham, but even that miserable vision didn’t spur her to remove it. After a while of standing like this, her eyes caught on something reflected in the mirror. Photo frames littered the old wooden tallboy behind her—most of them sickly sweet heart shapes containing pictures of her and Flynn.

She turned and snatched up a photo. A chill raced up her spine. She sank onto the bed, clutching Flynn’s image tightly in her hands. He was gorgeous. A heartthrob, sex on legs, a devil in denim and dangerously, deliciously beautiful. His all-Australian country-boy grin lit up his whole face, and the gleam in his sea-green eyes spoke volumes about the kind of fun-loving, hardworking bloke he always was.

She’d tried to forget. In the name of self-preservation, she’d not taken even one tiny wallet photo when she left. She’d not allowed herself to think about the life they would have started together—the perfect house they were planning to build on Black Stump, the babies they’d dreamed of having... But now she realized how monumentally she’d failed. She may have repressed the memories but she hadn’t erased them. Looking at him now, tracing his eyes, his nose, his lips with her quaking fingers brought it all rushing back. The intensity of first love, first passion. How he had loved her so completely and stood up for her at every turn. Romeo and Juliet had nothing on Flynn and Ellie. Hope Junction had been up in arms when their golden boy—son of third-generation landowners—had started going out with her. Not only did she not come from farming stock, but her mother had dumped her and her father hadn’t even stuck around long enough to see her born. Thankfully, the teenage Flynn had already developed both backbone and morals. He didn’t give a damn what the town thought. He saw past her situation to the real Ellie, and before long his dedication won over his parents and the rest of the town, too. Pretty soon Ellie was loved and accepted as if she were a fourth-generation local as well, and that was no easy feat. When Flynn had asked her to marry him, everyone was genuinely ecstatic. The only comments about them being too young came from girls Ellie’s age and she wrote off their gibes as simple jealousy.

“Oh, Flynn.” Sniffing, she looked down at the photo and tried to push away the millions of what-ifs that floated into her mind. What if things had been different? What if her mother had never asked to meet her in Perth? What if, for once, she’d put her own needs first and said no? What if Flynn had come with her to Perth as he’d said he would? What if she’d stayed and married him anyway? Would they be happy now? Would they have kids? Some would say her life in Sydney as an actress and celebrity was a charmed one, but her whole body ached with the thought of just how magical it could have been if she’d been living it with Flynn.

* * *

SUNDAY MORNING, FLYNN WOKE. His head throbbed and a heavy naked weight lay sprawled across his equally naked chest. This realization roused him like no bucket of cold water ever could.

Glancing round the lamp-lit room at his surroundings and then taking a closer look at the woman in his arms, he froze. Scenes of the previous night flashed one after the other. Cringeworthy and stupid didn’t even begin to describe what he saw and how he felt. He wanted more than anything to extricate himself from beneath Lauren.

Lauren? Had the drink stolen every ounce of his common sense? Again? He wanted to collect his clothes from wherever they’d landed, flee home, crawl under the bedcovers and stay there all day. He wanted to forget this nightmare had ever happened. But he saw one immediate problem with that tempting scenario. Lauren.

He’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to have noticed the mammoth crush she’d harbored for him since primary school. But he’d been fastidious in avoiding her advances—at least until now. Because although she was fun and pretty—if you liked her kind of style—she was also a local. Flings had been few and far between in recent years, but any that Flynn did have, he kept far outside the boundaries of Hope Junction. Local girls were a no-go zone. It was safer and easier that way.

Lauren, on the other hand, was very local. And she was like most single women approaching their thirtieth year. Stars in her eyes when it came to weddings, babies and happily-ever-afters. But after all Flynn had been through with Ellie, he didn’t have a marrying bone left in his body.

He cursed himself and his lack of restraint, not so much for not resisting Lauren, but for getting so absolutely hammered that he thought hooking up with her was a good idea in the first place. He’d been dry for eight years now, and although his addiction was always in the back of his mind, he’d forgotten how much of a tool he became, and the kind of stupid choices he made, when he got drunk. It wasn’t pretty, nor something he was proud of.

Lauren shifted on his chest. She made a tiny noise like a mewling cat and opened her eyes. Their faces were so close he could do nothing but look straight into her eyes. She smiled like a Cheshire; he gulped like a minnow facing a great white.

“Feeling better this morning, Flynn?”

He couldn’t exactly give her the truth—that her face was the last thing he wanted to see first thing in the morning.

“Last night was something else,” she went on, crawling her nails up his chest and bringing the pads of her fingers to rest on his lips. He tried not to flinch. “But next time, let’s make sure we finish it off, hey?”

His heart skipped a hopeful beat at her words. Could it be possible they hadn’t actually had sex? He had to know.