Page 28 of Washed Up

She was staring again. She knew she was staring but she couldn’t look away.

‘What?’ he said, after a moment.

‘Sorry. I was distracted, that’s all. It sounds incredible.’

His eyes dropped to her lips. Warmth spread through her body at the hint of suggestion in that look. The glimmer of something reckless, inviting.

‘Why does everyone keep looking over this way,’ she said, just for something to say. ‘Haven’t they got enough to worry about today?’

‘They can’t take their eyes off you,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Just like me.’

For a second, Frankie was speechless. The warmth grew to a dull ache deep in her belly.

‘I…’ she began, lost in the midnight of his eyes.

‘There you are,’ said a familiar voice. Sally was standing over their table, eyebrows to the heavens. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ said Frankie without breaking eye contact with Dylan. ‘There’s only here and you haven’t looked here yet.’

‘Well, I’ve found you now, anyway. Budge up.’

Looking away from those eyes was almost physically painful. Frankie edged a little closer to Dylan so Sally could squeeze onto the end of their bench around the tiny table. Dylan cleared his throat as their legs touched.

‘So,’ said Sally, eyes flashing. ‘What have you two been up to? And is your dad okay? I heard what happened.’

‘News travels fast,’ said Dylan.

‘You have no idea,’ said Sally with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

‘He’s fine,’ said Frankie. ‘Got a nasty bruise but we’ll get Dr Mac over tomorrow.’

‘Mmm-mmm,’ said Sally dreamily.

‘Dr Mac?’ said Dylan.

‘Oh, he’s about 105, don’t you worry,’ said Sally before Frankie could reply.

‘Why would I be worried?’ said Dylan, his face a picture of innocence.

‘Don’t want some handsome doctor stealing away our Frankie here, do you?’

Frankie spluttered. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she said, the words sticking in her throat.

Dylan looked amused. ‘Is he a hot 105-year-old, that’s the question?’ he said as he edged out of his seat. ‘You did make a mmm-mmm noise. Which is weird if he is genuinely a centenarian.’

Frankie guffawed.

‘What?’ he said, with a grin. ‘It’s a word. Want a drink, Sally?’

‘Sure, thanks,’ said Sally. ‘What she’s having, please.’

‘Same again?’ said Dylan, pointing to Frankie’s G&T.

‘Yes, please,’ said Frankie, the words catching in her throat. Just like me, he’d said. In a life achingly short of romance, she’d nearly keeled over at those words.

He nodded, gave her a little wink, then sauntered over to the bar, his lean body filling out his new chinos nicely, or at least, Frankie might have noticed that fact, had she been looking.

‘That man has no right to be that hot,’ said Sally with a low whistle.