The Polly Principle by Davina Stone

Chapter 6

“This is nice.” Judith sat bolt-upright on a stool in the corner of the Shamrock sipping elegantly at her prosecco. “I don’t normally do this on a Monday.”

Polly grinned, hooking her feet on the rungs of her own stool. “You don’t normally do this on any day of the week. You need to come out with the girls more often.”

Judith’s face fell. “Mark likes me home with him. He’s not mad on me socialising. Mind you, I have to say he doesn’t mind spending hours at his computer gaming and drinking with his mates when it suits.”

“That’s plain wrong.”

“I guess it’s been a gradual thing.”

“How long now?”

Judith frowned. “What do you mean?”

“How long have you been waiting around, cooking for him, cleaning up after him, living in hope that he’ll finally get around to popping the question?”

“Oh, I’m not. That comment in the toilet about him proposing was a joke. We’re absolutely fine just living together.”

Jude’s lie was so well-rehearsed her nose had given up growing.

“Nonsense!” Polly huffed indignantly. “You’re the marrying and baby kind. You knit baby clothes in your spare time, you crochet, you do macramé…”

“I’m an occupational therapist, that’s what everyone expects of us, so why disappoint?” Judith laughed, swiping a good-natured hand at Polly’s arm and missing. “Anyway, I knit them for my friends’ babies. It’s a nice thing to do.”

That was hardly surprising, considering Judith was officially in the top ten list of the world’s nicest people. Which was probably why she’d put up with Mark for so long. Polly didn’t get how you could lie down, spray paint the word “welcome” onto yourself, and let a man wipe his feet all over you. When she lay down for a man it was a completely different welcome on offer… and a very short-lived one at that.

Say g’day, play, and move right along.

And then the memory of Solo’s hands cupping her breasts and his warm lips coaxing her nipples into hungry peaks sent such a throb to her sex, she almost winced. Okay, so she’d had fun, but if ever there was a reason to move right along, it was the fact that she’d be working with the guy. Quickly, she reverted to Judith’s love life. “Remind me how long you two have been together?”

Judith hid behind the curtain of her long blonde hair. “Twelve years,” the answer came in a very small voice.

“So you were…?”

“Seventeen.”

“Right. That’s a hell of a long time. How often do you do it these days?”

Judith blushed to the roots of her hair. “God, do you—is that what I think you mean?” She cast Polly a horrified look. “Yes, you really do—honestly, Polly, I’ll never get used to how direct you are about these things.”

Polly popped her eyes. “What are ‘thesethings’? Ball-bearings, egg cups, garden gnomes? Just say it, Jude. Sex. S.E.X. It’s perfectly natural and normal.”

Judith gulped down a large mouthful of prosecco, her eyes watering as she lowered her glass. “For you, yes, Polly Fletcher, the sexologist. Not for me.”

Polly laughed. “What’s wrong with discussing your sex life with a friend?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Only if you let it be. Besides, I tell you stuff.” Apart from the last adventure; that particular little interlude she would take to her grave.

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

Judith giggled. “You actually have something worth telling. Besides, no-one ever mentioned the word ‘sex’ when I was growing up. If it ever got to a kissing scene in a movie, Dad would say, ‘Time for a cup of tea, Marg’, and Mum would fuss off to make one with a lot of harrumphing and Dad would stomp around and pick up his newspaper and rustle through it, and if you were hoping to immerse yourself in how lovely it was to see Brad Pitt making out with Angelina Jolie you’d feel so awkward you’d have to suddenly take a pee break instead. Not exactly the recipe for feeling comfortable around S.E.X, is it?”

“At least you’ve got insight.”

“Are you therapising me?”

Polly laughed. Maybe Jude was right, maybe she would look up sex therapy post-graduate training when she got home tonight. “Dare you to ’fess up.”

Judith’s blush intensified as she stared into her glass. “Once a month, on average.”

“Who initiates?”

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not going into the finer details.” Judith’s eyes rolled. “You’ve squeezed enough out of me already.”

Polly smirked. “So you do, right?”

Judith’s shoulders bunched into a sort of shrug. “Maybe.”

“Oooo—kay.”

Judith had begun to fiddle with the ends of her hair, which Polly guessed was her cue to back off a bit. Two glasses of prosecco on a very empty stomach set off her tendency towards increased candour—okay, bluntness. And, sure, she was pushy in a playful way, but she never meant it unkindly. To give Judith time to regroup, she swung to face the bar and beckoned to Paddy, the Shamrock’s beefy, adorable barman, who came sauntering over.

“Poll. What can I do for you?” He cracked his knuckles and flexed inked biceps as if in anticipation.

“Don’t flirt, I know you’re taken.”

“Sad but true.” Paddy pulled a face that said happy but true. Paddy was the picture of devotion. All brawn and ink and shaved head, still madly in love with the woman who’d tempted him to leave his beloved Ireland for Australia fifteen years earlier.

“What brings you here so early in the week, Poll?”

Polly raised her chin proudly. “I’m celebrating—just heard I’m going to be an auntie.”

“Congratulations.” Paddy’s grin cut a swathe across his face. “You want some practice changing nappies? I’ve got three you can skill up on.”

Paddy had six kids at last count. His wife Shereen had squeezed out twin girls eleven months ago, barely a year after little Adam appeared on the scene.

“Think I’ll pass on that,” Polly replied swiftly. “I’m going to be a hands-off auntie in the poop department. Strictly cuddles only.”

“Coward.”

“Some of us aren’t built for dealing with the icky bits. Ask Judith, she’ll do it, she loves everything about babies. She secretly sniffs baby’s heads when no-one’s looking.”

“I do not!” Judith squealed indignantly.

Paddy’s grin swung to Judith. “I’m with you on that; I’m thinking of bottling my ‘Baby Head Blend’. Reckon it’d make a me a fortune.”

Judith managed a weak laugh.

“Jude and I work together. Apart from baby-head sniffing, she’s our team occupational therapist at the hospital.”

Paddy’s face lit up. “Craft? Even better. If you want a career change, we could do with a nanny.”

Judith’s mouth turned down. “Why is it as soon as someone mentions I’m an OT people just think of basket weaving and stuffing toy rabbits?”

Paddy’s eyebrows waggled. “Sounds fun.”

“Fun? Can we join in?”

Polly wasn’t expecting the addition of another voice. She knew that rumbly tone—Carts.

Her foot slipped from the stool rung as she swivelled, tipping her headlong into a very firm, hard wall of muscle. Definitely not Carts. A waft of clean male, and something subtler and intimately familiar hit her nostrils. At the same time her fingers splayed against firm pecs, and a hand steadied her shoulder. Something about that touch sent a shiver along her spine. Her eyes flew up, and oh fuck, here she was again, just about drowning in a pair of sinful silver eyes.

Abruptly, she righted herself as Solo drew his hand away. Cheeks flaming, Polly turned quickly to the familiar giant next to him.

“Carts, what are you doing here?” she heard herself say, a good few notes higher than her normal speaking voice. And what’s he doing with you? a voice screamed at a thousand decibels inside her brain.

“I just about live here,” Carts said with a grin. “You should know that.”

“It’s Monday.” Which was kind of illogical, because she and Judith were here, weren’t they?

“So? Mondays are good; nice and quiet, and you get served quicker, eh, Pad?” Carts grinned, then his hound-dog eyes slid onto Judith and widened. “Hello there, I’m Carts.”

Judith turned a faint shade of pink. “Hi, I’m Judith, I work with Polly.”

Polly couldn’t help but see the way Carts’ eyes lingered. Even in her heightened state of arousal—no, wrong word choice—abject horror, she managed to file that little piece of information away.

“This is my new housemate,” Carts continued, half turning towards Solo while still ogling Judith. “Solo Jakoby.”

Polly kept staring hard at Carts, who was staring harder at Judith, who was almost bouncing on her seat with glee staring at Solo. “Hello again,” Judith said, eyes popping. “Wow, these coincidences just keep cropping up, don’t they?” She turned to Carts. “Solo has just started working with us at the hospital as our new psychiatrist.”

“Really? Classic.” Carts looked at Judith like she had just spouted a pearl of ancient wisdom.

Polly cringed. Any second she’d have to acknowledge Solo… Okay, large sinkhole. Open. Swallow. Now, please…

Her heart bounced painfully against her ribs as she snuck a glance and caught Solo’s mouth twisting in that laconic sideways smile that she would totally wallow in if there was no history to it.

“Seems we’re doomed to keep meeting,” he observed drily.

“Yeah, Groundhog Day.” Inwardly she cringed. He’d think she was a permanent bitch at this rate.

He didn’t blink. “Or 50 First Dates.”

“Oh, I love that movie sooo much,” Judith threw in.

“That’s the one where she loses her memory, right?” Carts’ eyes beamed in on Judith’s glowing face.

Carts, you are so blatantly trying to impress, one part of Polly’s brain thought abstractly as a more primitive part tried to deal with the steady thrum in her vulva. This was utterly crazy. It had to stop, but the more she tried to control it, the more her body seemed to want to hurl itself at Solo’s chest, sneak her fingers around his neck, sucker her mouth shamelessly onto his. And he was wearing another black T-shirt, just like the one she’d wriggled up his torso and ripped over his head only two—two—crazy nights ago.

If only it was 50 First Dates and she could forget and start all over again.

And keep on doing it.

She flailed an arm behind her to grab her glass, missed and knocked it over, sending bubbly liquid gushing down the front of her jeans.

Oh, flying fucks. Paddy threw over a bar towel. Solo caught it and handed it to her, straight-faced, but she knew that delectable cheek crease was hovering.

“Thanks.”

“Pleasure.” Somehow that one word zapped down the length of her spine and sent heat spinning into her abdomen.

Pushing back the blush that was about to joyride into her cheeks, she busied herself dabbing at her crotch. Carts ordered a couple of pints of draft beer and offered a drink to Judith, who primly refused, and another to Polly, who refused then changed her mind and asked for a gin and tonic, all the time painfully aware of every movement Solo made.

They sat and drank, both Solo and Polly remaining doggedly silent while Judith and Carts exchanged detailed rundowns of their favourite movies. Have you seen that new black comedy series on Netflix? What’s it called… yeah, that one… You haven’t seen it yet? God, you absolutely must watch it, you’d love it, can’t remember the name but it’s the one where she runs over the other woman’s husband and… blah-de-blah-de-blah.

Polly glowered at their animated faces. Carts and Judith were obviously picking up on energy beaming out from some great big data cloud of attraction in a virtual sky. Meanwhile, back on Planet Embarrassment she and Solo were behaving like dark matter, both repelling and sucking each other closer at the same time.

Finally Judith’s phone beeped and, glancing at her message, her face took on a slightly pinched look and she jumped up. Flicking her hair behind her ear, she bent and grabbed her bag off the floor. “That was Mark wondering where I’ve got to. Better dash. I’ve only had one and a half glasses, that should still mean I’m fine to drive, shouldn’t it?”

Polly nodded. After two proseccos and a G&T, she was anything but fine to drive, which meant taking an Uber yet again. And picking her car up after work tomorrow, damn it. Her fun evening seemed to have disintegrated, leaving nothing to show for it but an embarrassing damp patch between her legs.

Carts sprang up too. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Oh, no, really,” Judith protested.

“No, no, I insist, it’s late. Polly will vouch for me. I’m not a mad axe murderer.”

“He’s not a mad axe murderer,” Polly said. “Here’s Johnny!”

Carts delivered a hurt look and Judith patted his arm solicitously. “Don’t worry, she’s just as mean to me. That’s really sweet of you, thanks.”

As she watched them depart, Polly’s heart sank, rose, then sank again, like a bobbing cork.

After an awkward moment Solo said, “Fancy a game of pool?”

Polly cast him a squinty look from under one eyebrow. “Is this like when parents suggest kids help with the washing up so they don’t have to look at each other during awkward conversations?”

He shrugged. “Were you planning on having an awkward conversation?”

“You tell me.”

Solo banged down his glass on the bar. “Jesus, are you always this infuriating?”

Polly tried to look innocent. “Probably.”

“Okay.” He held his hands up. “Please yourself, I’ll go and finish my pint down the other end of the bar.”

“Fine. You do that.”

Abruptly he got up, but as he made to push past her she found her hand had connected with his forearm. The muscle flexed, his skin warm under her touch. She didn’t even know what she was going to say but as his eyes met hers, there was a cloud of hurt there and something caught in her throat. She muttered, “Forget I said that—sure, let’s play a game of pool.”

For a split second she was certain Solo was going to shake her off, his face hard and tight, then his expression softened and, oh god, that glorious little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Little creases shunted at the skin around his eyes, adding contours to a face that was already way too enticing.

“Okay, then,” he said. “You’re on.”

Dark matter,thought Polly as she followed the sway of Solo’s lean hips towards the pool table. We are totally dark matter.

Capable of mutual annihilation.