The Polly Principle by Davina Stone

Chapter 13

Swiping the mascara wand over her lashes, Polly propped Alice against the mirror.

Or, to be more accurate, her phone, with Alice on FaceTime.

Alice’s face bobbed in and out of view.

“What are you doing?” Polly asked, then frowned as the screen went dark for a moment.

“Digging the veggie patch in Dad’s garden.”

There was a blur of a pink nose, whiskers and two wide staring yellow eyes and then the sound of Alice complaining in the background. “Get away, Beelzebub.”

Polly’s eyebrows flew up. “Beelzebub?”

“Dad’s cat. He’s a devil of a mouser, that’s how he got the name.”

“Could you tell him to scoot? Two’s company, three’s a crowd, kind of thing?” She’d never been much of a cat person; they always had this look like they knew best.

“Be gone, Beelzebub,” Alice ordered. The flash of a bushy tail, then some liberty-print gardening gloves took brief centre screen before Alice’s smile flashed back into view. “So, tell me everything about this guy.”

Polly poked the mascara wand in her eye and blinked madly. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Oh, come on, you’ve been as coy as a vestal virgin lately.”

“Me? Virginal?” Polly placed her mascara down and debated on her lipstick shade. Possibly Crimson Seduction was a little too obvious.

A backdrop of weeping willows and puffy clouds framed Alice’s head. “Beelzebub’s gone. I’m all ears.” Alice peered eagerly over her glasses.

Honestly, what harm would it do to tell Alice? For one thing, she was 12,000 miles away in Cambridge. And it wasn’t like Polly hadn’t dissected plenty of dates with her best friend in the past. Trouble was, this feeling like someone had shaken and then uncorked a bottle of champagne inside her wasn’t something she was used to. Nor was the way her breath hitched at the memory of those metallic eyes, as if they could strip her naked with a glance.

“Okay, he’s probably just over six foot, dark, good-looking in an unconventional way, seriously nice pecs…”

Alice’s face cracked a big grin. “So far so good.”

Oh god, she was actually blushing, she could feel it doing its slow creep. This was crazy. She did her best to firm up her voice, but the words still came out all breathy. “He’s not macho, not my usual hunk style at all, to be honest. More lean, mean muscle, I guess. Not big… urm, he’s actually quite big… in certain places.”

“I see!”

There was nothing for it but to fill Alice in on the night of Jake’s wedding, the shock of finding out Solo was her colleague. It took a few minutes to finish the story.

Alice’s glasses took up most of the screen. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I have a case of the screaming hots, if that’s what you mean.”

“I think it’s more than that.”

Polly held up two lipsticks to her phone “Which one, Munchkin?”

Alice stabbed a finger. “The one on the left, or is it your right and my left?”

“Helpful.”

“Go on.”

“He intrigues me, that’s all,” Polly said, unfurling the bright-red tip of the imaginatively named Rosebud Red. “There’s some mystery around why he left his job in Sydney.” Should she mention the photo? The strange text messages Carts had told her about? But there didn’t seem enough to build a substantial case on, and she didn’t want Alice to think she’d gone weird and romantic like one of the Brontë novels her friend adored.

“Oooh, tell me more.”

“Oh, look, there’s nothing really. He’s just been a bit evasive about why he’s over here, that’s all. Anyway, he’s a locum for three months, so I can have fun and then send him on his bike back to Sydney.”

“What if you’re still hot for him in three months?”

“You know I’ll be bored by then.”

So why did the idea of Solo getting on that big beast and riding off into the sunset suddenly make her stomach bottom out?

Alice chirped even more unhelpfully, “What if your biological clock suddenly starts ticking?”

“It can tickity-tock right along without me,” Polly clipped back. “I’m never going to be in the game for babies. Being an auntie will be enough, thank you.”

Alice sighed heavily, clearly defeated. “Anyway, you look beautiful, you’ll knock the poor guy’s socks off like you always do.”

Polly fluffed out her hair. “Should I straighten these babies out?”

“No, they’re who you are.”

A memory of Solo coiling one of her curls over his finger as they lay in bed together cemented the decision to leave her tongs in the cupboard. Polly grabbed her Diorissimo and sprayed liberally. “Everything okay in the city of golden spires?”

“That’s Oxford, I’m in Cambridge.”

“Almost the same, all the buildings look like Hogwarts. How’s Aaron?”

“Perfect, we’re pretty much blissed out as usual.” The phone wobbled and Polly got a view of Alice’s jeans-clad knees. Then a bunch of radishes appeared. “It’s like Peter Rabbit’s garden here. Want some?”

“No, I think I’ll pass.”

“From Mrs Tiggywinkle, loads of hugs. Have fun with Sigmund Freud.”

Polly ignored the last comment. “Love to Aaron. Bye.”

When she’d put down her phone, she got up from the dressing table and admired her reflection in the mirror. A figure-hugging 1950s-style black sateen dress she’d got for a song on eBay accentuated her curves. She’d gone to town on her outfit. But hell, she’d promised to show Solo a good time, and that meant pulling out all the stops. That was the only reason, she told herself firmly as she did a quick boob hitch. The only disappointment was that since Solo had turned up, her lemon diet had fizzled. There had been too many nights she’d needed chocolate these past two weeks. Which meant that while her butt hadn’t shrunk, her breasts were looking magnificent. Why could you never get the balance right? Small butt and your boobs sagged like a half-empty sack of potatoes. Big butt, and—boobalicious.

If it was good enough for the Kardashians, it was good enough for her!

Another quick slick of Rosebud Red, a brush of blusher high on her cheekbones and she would have to do.

She was about to toe on her red stilettos when the doorbell rang.

She stilled.

It came again, more urgently. Barefoot, she tiptoed along the hallway and put her eye up to the peephole in the front door.

There stood Judith, her nose huge in a distortedly tiny head.

What the heck? From Judith’s usual description of a weekend, on a Saturday night she and Mark would be chomping on Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut and binge-watching Stan.

As Polly flung open the front door, Judith catapulted over the threshold and promptly burst into tears. Concern mixed with a dull thunk in the pit of Polly’s stomach as her night with Solo receded like the Starship Enterprise on a mission to another galaxy.

“Jude, what’s happened?” Her arms came around and hugged her friend. They didn’t normally have that much of a touchy-feely friendship, but this was clearly way out of the ordinary. Jude was not the kind of person who fell apart; she was always on an even keel.

“Mark’s… dum—ped… me.”

Polly’s eyes widened in disbelief. Mark of the terminal incapacity to do anything that didn’t comply with routine. How on earth had he gone so far out of his comfort zone as to dump the kindest, most giving woman in the world?

“Come in here.” She locked her arm around a sobbing Judith and marched her—gently—into the kitchen, sat her down at the kitchen table and drew up a chair.

Leaning forward, Polly probed gently, “Tell me what happened.”

Judith peered out from between her fingers. “Have you got a—a tissue?”

“Of course.” Polly jumped up and found the tissue box on top of the fridge. She couldn’t help a surreptitious glance at the clock. 7.45. There was no way she would make Fremantle by eight, even without Judith’s arrival.

She could wave goodbye to her night of rampant sex.

A gaping hole threatened to open up inside her but she stepped right over it.

“What happened?” She handed over the box and Judith ripped out a bunch of tissues, stuffed them against her eyes and then blew her nose noisily.

“We were planning next year’s holiday—correction, I was—Mark never does a thing towards holidays. I’ve been trying to discuss if for weeks, and Mark just keeps being evasive. So tonight I had the two websites up and I said, ‘okay, it’s either Scotland or Greece’. And you know what he said?”

Polly shook her head.

“He said ‘neither’.” Judith’s voice escalated, finishing on a wail as her eyes squeezed tight and tears shot out in all directions.

“Oh hon, maybe that just meant he didn’t like the options.”

“I asked him that, obviously,” Judith came back almost vehemently as she swiped at her eyes. Probably best to back off and let her just get it off her chest,Polly decided. “I said, ‘Mark sweetheart, if you don’t like my choices, then I’m happy for you to choose a destination, but you know you haven’t exactly shown a whole heap of enthusiasm.’ He wouldn’t look me in the eye, but his face went this kind of grey colour and I got this horrible sense of dread in my stomach.”

Polly sat very still.

“I had to dig it out of him.” Judith hiccupped. “I asked, ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’ about a thousand times. He just sat there like he’d lost his voice. And then finally he said… he said… ‘I just don’t want us to go on holiday’. So, you know, I said, ‘Okay, we won’t go.’ And then he said, ‘Full stop.’ He even said full stop, like who even says that?”

“Does he want to go away on his own, maybe?”

Judith balled the tissues in her hands. “I asked that too. I said, ‘okay then, we can take separate holidays for a change’, and after ages he said, ‘no, I don’t want to take a holiday on my own. I want to live on my own. I don’t want to be with you, Judith’. I mean, he never calls me Judith, I’m always Smidge.”

Polly tried not to look aghast. Smidge did not work on Judith.

They stayed silent for a long moment, while Polly digested and Judith snuffled.

“Is there anyone else?” It had to be asked.

Judith shook her head. “That’s the problem. I almost wish there was, but I don’t think so.”

Admittedly, the idea of socially challenged Mark having someone on the side didn’t add up. Unless it was one of his nerdy online gaming mates. Falling in love online. That happened all the time, though how you could start something without touching and tasting first was hard for Polly to fathom.

Judith glanced up out of puffy eyes. “We had a talk a little while ago, about… about … you know…”

Polly gave an encouraging eyebrow waggle. “Sex?”

“Yep. After you asked me—you know—in the pub, I realised maybe it wasn’t that good between us any more, so I went home and asked, and he—“ she let out a strangled little cough— “he said, like, it’s not that high on his agenda. He’s too stressed or something, though what he’d be stressed about, god knows. Must be trying to win at those stupid computer games.”

Polly found herself lost for words. How could a guy prefer gaming to spending time with Judith?

“He said he needs space to find himself, develop his own interests.”

Polly’s eyes sprang wide. “He actually said that?”

“Uh-huh.” By now Judith had turned the clump of tissues into a papier mâché sculpture.

“He’s only got two interests. Television and gaming.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem. Maybe he feels I’ve stunted his growth. That I’ve smothered him.”

“Nonsense. You’ve given him so much space he practically lives in a parallel universe.” Polly took Judith gently by the shoulder. “Look at me, Jude. You deserve so much more. You deserve to have someone worship the ground you walk on, to want to have crazy passionate sex with you every day and make oodles of babies with you.”

Judith gave a grimace. “I don’t know if I think that’s possible.”

“It is.” Funny how powerful her belief in love was. For everyone except herself.

“I’m sure, in the end, it’ll be for the best, it’s just there’s this great big hole that Mark has always filled. It may have been full of dry dirt but at least it was filled.” Judith started to weep again. Quiet, copious tears that splashed down her cheeks and into her cupped hands.

Polly ripped out some more tissues from the box and handed them to her.

“Nothing grows in dry dirt, hon. You have to have rich soil, and it has to be well-watered.” Judith gave a trembly smile at that. “And lots of sunshine, and bees to cross-pollinate… Okay, maybe I’m getting a bit carried away, but you get the gist. You can’t spend your evenings crocheting while Mark sits on his computer and slams asteroids into virtual galaxies for hours on end with his hobbity mates.”

Now Judith really laughed. “That’s rather a mixed metaphor.” Her nose was shiny and her eyes still swimming in water; she looked like she’d been attacked by a hailstorm, but at least she’d been able to share.

This, thought Polly, was so overdue that the recovery would likely be swift once they sorted out all the practical shit. “You don’t have a dog, do you?”

Judith looked surprised. “No, why?”

“Custody can be a nightmare.”

“Only a goldfish.” Judith sighed. “And he’s on his last fins.”

“I think you’ll navigate that problem okay.”

Somewhere, from the depths of her room, Polly’s mobile pinged an incoming message. She stiffened.

Judith looked at her properly for the first time, her eyes narrowing as she panned down Polly’s black dress. “Oh my god, you were about to go out, weren’t you?”

Shrugging away the arrows of disappointment, Polly said airily, “Nothing major.” The lie hit her in the stomach like a wrecking ball. “I’ll just go and let them know I can’t make it.”

As she rose, Judith reached out and touched her arm. “Seriously, I’ll go home. It won’t make any difference. He’ll be on his computer, or in front of telly, and I’ll go to my craft room and—”

Her lower lip wobbled and Polly’s resolve hardened. She had to support her friend. She couldn’t even imagine how it would feel to have twelve years of togetherness collapse in a heap, even if it was totally sub-standard togetherness.

“You’re not going home. I’m going to get you a drink.”

“A cup of tea would be nice,” Judith said wistfully.

“I’ve got chamomile, peppermint or English breakfast. And you’re going to stay over.” Polly’s smile was plastered on; the itch to go find her phone intensified. “You can start to sort out how you deal with all this in the cool light of day.”

As Judith opened her mouth, Polly put her finger to her lips. “Hush. I wasn’t even interested in going out tonight anyway.”

With that she turned and went to find her phone. Her head might be held high, but the truth was, her body felt heavier with every step she took towards what she was sure was Solo’s text asking where she was.

Hell, it was for the best, wasn’t it? Imagining those long fingers and that wicked mouth exploring her body had required her to put her vibrator back on charge way too often this past week.

Best to let the batteries run down on this one before the damn guy burrowed into other places he had no right to be.

Like her heart.

* * *

Solo inhaled.The nicotine hit his lungs and he dragged out the familiar hit for longer than normal, then pursed his lips and exhaled, the smoke spiralling up in the light from the streetlamp.

Heaviness cloaked him. It felt like someone had promised him a shiny cut diamond and instead delivered a bucket of dull pebbles.

When he’d messaged her earlier, he’d expected her to reply, “on my way,” not the abrupt, “can’t make it. Something’s come up”. It had made his gut contract with a slug of something more than annoyance, more than disappointment even.

Feeling completely deflated, he’d got on his bike and rode home, then paced around his room for half an hour, maybe longer. Tried to work out a suitable reply that looked like he couldn’t give a fuck. Dialled down the overpowering urge to call her and demand to know what the hell was more important than their night out, more important than both of them ending up hot and sweaty, down and dirty between the sheets.

Oh, Christ, who was he kidding? He wasn’t a down-and-dirty type of guy.

Except he had been, with her. He’d been spontaneous and testosterone-driven and full of beating-his-chest machismo.

But however much he tried to fool himself that it was only her sexy butt wiggle and the wicked light in those emerald eyes, if he was honest, their connection had got under his skin. He saw the shadow of past hurts peeping out from behind her bravado, sensed the pain behind her swagger.

Polly Fletcher could say all she liked, but she was running scared.

Yes, they damn well had a connection. No-one could tell him otherwise—he’d known it from the moment she swung around and their eyes had fused at that old outback hotel.

He almost wanted to punch the wall, which was way over the top. Stupidly, he’d dropped his guard, let himself feel happy, elated even, for the first time in months. He couldn’t recall when he’d last felt this good, not even when he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask Emma out on a date.

He’d loved Emma, adored her for years.

But he’d never wanted to freakin’ boogie with glee before a date with Emma. She’d never made him feel like doing a John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, a Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing.

But Polly Fletcher, in just two weeks, had.

So after he’d sent an equally curt, “no worries, catch you Monday”, he’d gone into the kitchen and rummaged around for something alcoholic. He’d just found a bottle of shiraz and scribbled an “I owe you one” note when Carts shot through the door in his yoga gear. He was wearing an OM-inscribed T-shirt, spidery legs encased in tight black shorts and a bandana wound round his head. His appearance would have lightened any normal mood, but tonight, no.

“I am deeply relaxed and sending peace to all sentient beings,” Carts had said, bringing his palms together in response to Solo’s confession that he’d stolen the wine. “Have it on me,” he said as he threw his towel on the back of a chair and tugged off his headband. “Better still, instead of guzzling that on your own, why don’t you join me and Dan at the Shamrock?”

Solo didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to be alone either. So he’d gone, shared a couple of Guinnesses, gritted his teeth through the rugby talk and then excused himself.

He couldn’t stomach a vindaloo.

Back home, he’d sat and looked at his cigarette stash. And then lit one, smoked it down to the butt and lit another. And now here he was on the front porch, wondering whether he should try and find a locum position in some little town in the middle of nowhere and hide out for the next year.

Until his wounds had healed enough to…

To what? Return to Pop’s farm, which he knew he’d likely have to sell, as the caretaker had only promised a year? Watch Drew piece his life back together from a distance, probably with Emma? Either way, nothing was ever going to be the same between the three of them again.

He took a last puff and turned to go inside when a shadow on the street caught his eye. The familiar tilt of a head was suddenly illuminated. Bobbing curls, that swift gliding step, and his heart lurched like someone had taken a turbo charger to it.

The click of the gate and then she was skimming up the path and his heart was suddenly doing the tango.

“You,” was all he could get out gruffly as she drew to a standstill and tilted her chin at him.

Her eyes glittered like two bright jewels and her lips were full and parted, and so soft and inviting it took all his willpower not to dive in for a kiss, to remember he’d just put out his second cigarette and she’d probably find him disgusting.

“Yes. Me.”

“What are you doing here?” He stalled for time as the light from the front door arced onto her features, lighting up her cute round cheeks, the dimples bracketing her perfect mouth.

A smile hitched at the corner of her lips. “Just hanging out. Like you. Had to cancel on a hot date.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, shame, eh?”

“Shame.”

“But I’d be prepared to settle for a nightcap. What’ve you got?” Reaching out, she gave his arm a mock punch, then her nostrils quivered. “Do I detect smoke?”

He grinned. “Terrible pollution problem this end of town.”

“Really?” She shimmied closer and he caught her delectable heady perfume. “Breathe on me.”

Anyone would have thought she’d said go down on me, the way his cock rose to immediate attention. Christ, look what this woman did to him. He went from 0 to 100 in a matter of seconds. Ferrari, eat your heart out.

Solo tightened his lips. She reached out and touched him there with a fingertip and, unable to stop himself, he sucked her finger into his mouth. With a little gasp she melted against him, and all he could register was her breasts against his pecs and a pair of hot, eager lips meeting his.

He gave up worrying about his breath.

They kissed ferociously as Polly backed him hard into the front door, her palms sending heat into his chest. In a flash, he swung them round and it was Polly’s turn to be backed against the hard surface. He let his tongue explore her mouth with deliberate precision, and she moaned softly, her body all yielding curves, pressed against his rigid cock. And then… Jesusss Christ, when she reached a hand between them and palmed him over his jeans he nearly tipped over the edge. In answer his fingers ruched up the satin of her dress, relishing the slide of fabric, of skin meeting skin, as his palm found the top of her suspenders.

“Wicked thing,” he muttered, hot against her mouth.

“What did you expect?” she panted.

“Nothing less from you.” He tongued the rim of her lips.

Right now, all he wanted was to dive into her, bury in deep and happily never surface again.

When she wrapped her hand over his and moved his fingers higher, he almost forgot to breathe; no way was he going to stop her, even though they were still in full view of the street. She directed his hand under the drenched gusset of her panties to the slippery delight of her sex. Strumming the hard nub of her clit elicited little gasps and sighs as her head kicked back against the door.

Her body was melting into his touch but he had the presence of mind—just—to know that a crazy coupling against Carts’ open front door maybe wasn’t the best idea.

“Bedroom,” he gritted out and she nodded wordlessly.

Somehow he’d managed to silence Polly Fletcher with a few deft strokes of his fingers. Sweet fucking victory.

Reluctantly, he removed his hand from between her legs, looped his arm around her waist, and tugged her through the door before slamming it with his heel and heading with her up the stairs.

It appeared Polly had no problem with a show of primitive male behaviour, if the light trip of her feet and that soft breathy giggle close to his ear was anything to go by.

Seconds later, Solo had slammed the bedroom door with the same finesse, and for a moment they stood gasping in the light cast from the street lamp outside; eyes eating into each other, before Polly’s nimble fingers ripped at his shirt buttons.

“Nice.” Her voice was thick like treacle as she admired his bare pecs.

“Nice? Is that the best you can do?”

She stepped back and shimmied out of her dress. Seeing her in just her lacy bra and undies, he felt a rumble of delight rising up his throat.

“Now you.” She tossed black curls away from her shoulders.

He grinned. Slowly undid his belt.

“Take your bra off,” he demanded, sliding his jeans lower over his hips, aware of his erection wanting to burst from the confines of his boxers. “Or I don’t go another inch.”

“Fighting talk,” Polly murmured, but biting at her lower lip, she did as he’d asked.

Moments later her beautiful white breasts, big and full and heavy and just as amazing as he remembered, stood proud, her nipples dark against the luminosity of her skin.

Hot air whooshed from his nostrils. His mouth went dry. The buzz in his balls tightened to a deep ache.

In front of him her hands toyed with her breasts, a look of triumph curling her lips as she tweaked each nipple into a hard peak.

“Boxers. Off.” Her voice was hoarse, and such a turn-on his cock bucked an immediate response.

Trying to pretend he wasn’t desperate, Solo shucked down his jeans and boxers and his cock bounced free, ready for action. She licked her lips, gave a little sound, almost a battle cry, and as if of one mind they sprang at each other like two wild animals. In between wild, wet kisses her warm fingers were shafting him, his own exploring between her legs, working her as she moaned with pleasure. It felt to Solo like the boundaries of their bodies had merged.

Pulling back with super-human effort, he pressed her gently down onto the bed and propped himself on his arms above her. Polly flopped backwards with a husky moan.

He worked little kisses down her body, over the soft mound of her belly, until he reached the heart-shaped little patch of dark hair.

She spread her legs and arched her back.

Almost reverently, he kneeled between her splayed legs and, taking her gently by the thighs, slung one leg over each of his shoulders.

As she squirmed deliciously below him, he dipped his head… lower… lower…

“Oh-myyyy-god,” she sang and her fingers weaved tight into his hair.

With a groan of pleasure, Solo buried his mouth deep and let his tongue work its magic.