If You Don't Know Me By Now

Imogen looked at her own pint hesitantly, and he noticed. ‘You can drink yours, you know!’

‘Keith actually gave it to me out of habit and I was too embarrassed to turn it down. It’s nice to have a local, but you’re not allowed to change at all.’

‘Well, we know that feeling more than most. We connect through routine,’ he shrugged, turning his attention to her laptop screen. ‘So this is the hosting service you’re using?’

She pursed her lips and raised her shoulders slowly, before simply pushing the laptop towards him. He wasn’t sitting particularly close, but the warmth from his shoulder brushing against hers was making her shiver a little, and the scent of his cologne, manly and slightly spicy, was setting her aflutter. She felt like she was constantly waiting for something. It only seemed to cease when they were talking.

Declan focused on the laptop, frowning at the settings and making adjustments, mumbling to himself, and Imogen took the chance just to look at him. To notice how his nose slanted, slightly crooked, and his bottom lip rounded perfectly. How there was one patch on his cheek where hair didn’t seem to grow, and a pucker on his earlobe from where he’d once had an earring. His eyelashes were luscious, curving prettily, and she saw a thin silver chain around his neck, the pendant dipping down under his shirt. There was something rugged and strong about him, like he could throw her over his shoulder and carry her away. Like he could protect her. She hadn’t been joking when she’d guessed he was a UFC fighter. He looked solid, powerful, but light on his feet. Maybe it was just that he carried himself well.

He was also, as it turned out, a geek. Or at least that’s what she was assuming from the technical jargon he was spouting about her computer.

‘I have no idea what you just said,’ she laughed, taking a tentative sip of her cider.

His eyes flicked to hers, lips quirking. ‘Don’t worry about it. But you should look at this.’

He swivelled the laptop back to face her, then leant over her shoulder to point at the graph. ‘You’ve been running this blog for what, two weeks?’

Imogen nodded. ‘About that. I’ve been writing something almost every day, depending on how exhausted or rage-fuelled I am.’

‘Look at that number,’ he pointed. ‘That’s how many people have read your work in two weeks.’

Imogen blinked. ‘Wwenty-seven thousand? That can’t be right.’

‘Okay, well they may not have read it, but they definitely stopped to look.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Why aren’t you more excited? You have a readership! You’re a writer in London. You’ve done what you set out to do! Drink up!’

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