The distance helped me to water down some of the fucked-up feelings she evoked inside of me.
“Jesus, did she get taller over the summer?” Alec hissed in a reverent tone, biting down on his fist. “Oh, fuck. Her legs look longer than usual.”
“It’s the shoes,” Podge offered up. “The higher the heel, the longer the leg.”
“What?” I chuckled, turning to look at him. “Where’d ya hear that?”
“No, he’s right, I’ve heard that, too,” Alec offered. “I think I read it in a magazine.”
“At the clinic?” Podge added.
“That’s right,” Alec agreed, slapping his hands together. “That’s where I read it.”
“The clinic?” I shook my head. “What the fuck were you two up to over the summer?”
“Same as you, Lynchy, boy,” Alec shot back with a wolfish grin. “Scoring and whoring.”
Doubtful.
My gaze drifted back to Molloy, and like a hundred times before, I caught her staring back at me.
Instead of the usual comical banter, she offered me a small wave instead.
I winked in response and had to bury my smile when her cheeks turned bright pink. She wasn’t blushing, though. It was something else. It was almost like she was excited. To see me.
Fuck, she was something else to look at.
“I can’t believe she’s still with that tosser,” Alec groaned, gesturing to Ricey, who was planted on the chair beside her, and all but glued to the girl’s hip. “How long have they been together now, three years?”
“Three and a half,” I heard myself answer. “On and off.”
“Well shit.” Alec released a despondent sigh. “He’s definitely riding her by now, right? “
Christ, I hoped not.
CHRISTMAS WISHES AND JOYRIDES
DECEMBER 23RD 2003
AOIFE
“You know, you don’t have to buy me a present this year, babe,” Paul announced, as he sat across the table from me at The Dinniman, after the lunchtime rush on Tuesday. It was two days to Christmas, and we had been up the walls at work all morning. “All I want for Christmas is—“
“Don’t even go there,” I warned, reaching across the table to clamp a hand over his mouth. “Seriously, Paul, I have less than two minutes of my lunch break left until I have to get back out there. I have no intention of using them to fight with you.”
He threw his hands up. “Who’s fighting?”
“Us,” I shot back, setting my hand back down. “Or at least we will be, if you bring up the whole sex in lieu of a gift idea again.”
“Aoife.” He stared hard at me, brown eyes full of barely contained frustration. “Come on, babe. We’ve been going out forever.”
“Three years isn’t forever,” I replied, taking a sip from my coffee. “It’s a drop in the ocean in the grand scheme of things.”
“We will be together four years next February,” he argued back.
“Not when you add up all of the times during those four years when we’ve been off,” I reminded him. “Take that into account and it’s closer to two years than four.“
“Aoife!” he snapped, reaching over and snatching my hand up. “Come on. I’ve been patient. I’ve done the waiting.”
“You’ve also done the sexing, remember?” I shot back, reminding him of just how much he’d enjoyed our break back in third year.
“Why are you bringing that back up?” He blew out a frustrated breath. “That was two years ago. We were off at the time. You said it was okay. I didn’t cheat on you.”
“No, you didn’t cheat on me. You were careful to wait a couple of hours after we broke up before sticking your dick inside that black-haired bitch from Tommen,” I stuck the knife in by hissing. “What was her name again? Ella something?”
“Bella,” he muttered, having the good grace to drop his head. “Bella Wilkinson, and you know that she didn’t mean a thing to me. I was drunk and depressed. You had just ended it.”
”Last time I checked, needing breathing space because your boyfriend publicly labeled you a slut doesn’t constitute as a good enough reason to get drunk and stick your dick in the closest available female. But hey, what do I know about the workings of the male teenage mind.”
“I swear to you that it didn’t mean anything,” he bit out. “It wasn’t even that memorable, Aoif. Honestly. It was just sex.”
“That’s fine, Paul. I believe you,” I told him. “But just so we’re on the same wavelength, you should know that sex isn’t just sex to me.”
“No,” he bit out. “Because sex is just a mythical fucking word in the world of Aoife Molloy. Oral is perfectly acceptable, but God forbid you let a dick inside you!”
I rolled my eyes. “Your tantrum isn’t gaining any support for your cause, asshole.”
“What the hell is it going to take to pry your legs open?” he muttered under his breath, tone laced with resentful sarcasm. “A fucking ring?”
I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, when Garry, my boss, flagged me over with a tap of his watch.
“I need to get back to work, but consider this conversation over,” I said, rising from my seat, and re-pinning my apron to my waist. “I’m not discussing it again until I’m ready, but once I am, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Is it him?” Snatching my wrist, he pulled me back to him and asked, “Is it still about him?” He narrowed his eyes in disgust. “Because he doesn’t fucking want you, Aoife. He’s too busy sticking his dick in half the—“
“No, it’s about me, Paul. It’s about me not being ready,” I snapped, yanking my hand away. “I need to get back to work.”
“Whatever,” Paul grumbled, waving me off. “Enjoy being leered at.”
“Hey, Gar,” I said, ignoring the big sulking dope behind me, as I hurried behind the bar. “Sorry about that. I lost track of the time.”
“You’re grand, love,” the old man assured me. “The back lounge is after filling up again, so plenty of tables to serve – but only take the food orders and clear away glasses. Whatever you do, make sure you don’t take any drink orders, ya hear?” He cast a glance to where my boyfriend was sitting, and muttered, “We don’t need any little birdy running home to daddy with tales that his seventeen-year-old girlfriend was serving alcohol.”
“Don’t worry, Gar. I’m always discreet.” I patted him on the shoulder and winked. “And what the Gard’s son doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”
“That you are, Aoife,” he replied, with a relieved smile on his wrinkly face. “Right you are, so.”
With my notepad and pen in hand, I headed into the back lounge, and was immediately bombarded by a surge of both hungry and thirsty punters.
Smiling to myself, I straightened my shoulders, stuck out my chest, and walked towards to a table full of rowdy men. “Hello, gentlemen, what I can get for you today?”
Oh yeah, I was going to make a fortune in tips today.
SPECIAL_IMAGE-images/svgimg0003.svg-REPLACE_ME
I ended up staying on at work for a couple of extra hours to help out with the never-ending rush of punters out on the town celebrating Christmas. Instead of finishing at six like I had been scheduled to, it was after nine when I finally left the pub and made my way across town, with the hope of snagging a spin home off my dad.
When I reached the garage, it was in darkness.
“Shit,” I muttered, kicking the metal roller door. “This is just perfect.”
Groaning loudly, I let my forehead rest against the cool metal while I contemplated my options.
Walk home after an eleven-hour shift in four-inch heels?
Not happening.
Phone up my father, only to have him tell me drive myself?
Nope.
My fingers grazed the car key in my coat pocket, and I instantly rejected the notion, as a ripple of fear coursed through me.
I hated driving.
I literally detested the whole ordeal.
I detested and feared it so much that the rust-bucket of an Opal Corsa that my father had done up and given to me back in September for my seventeenth birthday remained parked at the garage.