I can’t hear what he says in return, it sounds more like a grumble.
I don’t know. I’m getting a weird feeling. He’s gone from relaxed as he was at the start of the night to tense and edgy. I don’t want to blame it on four Scotch ales but I don’t see what else it can be. I mean, I know he doesn’t like to be around people in particular, especially when there’s a bunch of them acting like idiots, so adding alcohol to the mix probably isn’t the best idea. If we could just go back home, we could settle down on the couch and watch TV or just find each other in the sheets of our bed.
Finally some girl with mangy blonde hair, orange skin and tits pushed up to her chin totters on over in her heels and drapes herself over Lachlan.
“You’re Lachlan McGregor!” she yells at him in a twangy English accent, her heavy, false eyelashes making it hard for her to keep her eyes open. “I have seen pictures of your cock.”
My eyes widen, my skin immediately growing hot. Did she just say what I think she said?
She looks at me briefly, enough to give me the up and down glare, then looks over at Thierry. “I’ve seen your cock too. Both very impressive. My name is Polly, by the way. You want to buy me a drink?”
I’m really waiting for someone to fill me in on this. I’m staring at Lachlan, open-mouthed, but he’s not looking at me. To be fair, he hasn’t even glanced her way either. He’s just staring at his half-drunk beer like he wants to smash the glass over someone’s head.
It’s John who explains to me. “They both did a nude rugby calendar a few years ago,” he says loudly. “I, of course, didn’t get the call. I think it’s because red pubes don’t photograph very well, even in black and white.”
So the nude rugby calendar really is a thing. When Neil, even Amara brought it up, I thought it was a joke. I guess not.
And with that, I calm down a little bit. If she’s seen his dick via a calendar then probably everyone has seen his dick and there’s not much I can do about that except be proud that the dick belongs to me.
And even though I don’t like this bitch touching my man, I’m not going to say or do anything. Don’t get me wrong, back in San Francisco I have no problems getting in someone’s face. I remember once having to step in when some chick was threatening to beat up Stephanie over some guy, I don’t even remember who. I had to get all crazy Asian chick in her face and luckily it didn’t come to anything more than that. But I have a feeling Scottish, or English chicks as this girl is, aren’t to be fucked with. I keep my mouth closed and ignore it.
Until it becomes impossible to ignore.
Because now the tawdry slut is standing behind Lachlan and running both her hands down his arms and whispering something in his ear.
“Um, excuse me, Polly was it?” I say, with my finger raised in the air. “I don’t think you want to do that.”
She gives me a glare with one closed eye. She looks like a drunken pirate hooker.
“Mind your own business,” she says, slurring.
I’m staring at Lachlan now, wondering why he’s not moving, not reacting. I don’t even know if he knows what’s going on at all, it’s like he’s in some sort of trance, which doesn’t help me at all.
Fine. I can take care of myself. I lean in closer and put my hand on her arm. It’s sticky and cold. “Polly, I’m not sure if you realize this but this man is my boyfriend which means he is my business. Now if you kindly remove your arms, there are plenty of available men in this bar that I’m sure would love a night with the likes of you.”
She sneers at me. “Oh fuck off, you slag.”