O’Shea’s #4 – Hard To Be Brave

I am writing a series of flash fiction pieces set in O’Shea’s Pub. See Romantic Flash Fiction Anyone? for more information. Here’s the fourth one using the enemies to lovers trope. I hope you enjoy it.

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Jason Monroe angry was a sight to see.

“What the hell are we doing here, Emma?”

“Well, you said you needed a drink. So…” she said, trying to keep the smug out of her voice.

He unbuttoned his coat and yanked it off his broad shoulders. “I meant a coffee and you damn well know it.” Throwing it onto the seat, he slid into the booth and grabbed the beer menu. It was a relief not to have his eyes on her.

“Why don’t I surprise you?” She suggested, turning to walk towards the bar before he could complain again.

She blew out a breath, hard enough to lift her thick dark fringe, and jumped onto a stool at the bar while she waited for Ben to make his way down to her.

She was uncomfortably aware that she was winging things at the moment. The man with unlimited control had finally snapped. She couldn’t believe her luck. Jason had been lording it over her at work for months; then to top it off the job they both wanted had just been advertised.

Smiling at Ben, she ordered two pints of Guinness, needing a little more time to settle her thoughts before heading back to him. They actually worked well together when they weren’t fighting over who held the dominant position. Their skills balanced out: she took the lead on customer relations; he leaned more towards data and analysis.

Unfortunately, she’d been late to their meeting with a big client today after her mum’s doctor’s appointment had run over, and things hadn’t quite gone to plan. She took a sip of the first glass of Guinness that Ben set on the bar and tried not to think about what lay ahead for her mother and herself. Rolling her shoulders, she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and focused on the six foot two problem in the booth behind her.

The second pint glass landed in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at Ben. “Start me a tab, will you? I think we’re going to need a few.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Like that is it?”

“Worse,” she deadpanned and walked away as Ben chuckled. She always wished she was attracted to him; he was such a great guy, but for some reason there were zero spark between them.

She really wished she could say the same about the guy in front of her. Unfortunately working with Jason Monroe ignited sparks in her mind and in her knickers. A double whammy which just pissed her off immensely.

Why was his intensity such a turn on  when she’d always gone for laid back types in her past? Why did she feel like her eyes were glued to his arse sometimes? Why did she feel like high-fiving herself whenever she made him smile or laugh? She felt like a beggar crawling around for scraps of food the way he doled those out.

“About bloody time,” he muttered, his head back, his eyes closed. “What were you doing, brewing it?”

“No, Jason, I wasn’t, but I’m more than happy to pour it over your head if you don’t stop moaning.” She threatened as she stood holding the drinks.

He opened his eyes and rolled his head to look at her. “Sit down forgodsake. I’m about to expire from dehydration.”

There was a weariness about him that disturbed Emma. She was so used to his rigid control, his strength, that seeing the cracks appear knocked her own precarious stability.

Sliding into the seat opposite him, she watched him take a long drink and lick away the creamy Guinness from his lips. Swallowing thickly, she dragged her eyes away from him and gave herself another good talking to. The problem was, these talks didn’t seem to work so well these days.

She felt his eyes on her and tried to plaster a convincing smile on her face.

“So…”

He raised his dark eyebrows. “So…”

“We need a new plan, don’t we?”

Jason shrugged. “All my current plans are shot to shit, so I’m currently re-evaluating.”

His intense gaze was making her want to fidget. Picking up a beer mat, she started turning it and took another drink. A truly awful thought flashed through her mind, making her sit up straight and smack the mat onto the table. “You’re not going to leave are you?”

The glass rested on his lips as he paused, he slowly took a drink and carefully placed it back on the table. “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes… I…” She stuttered to a halt, on the precipice and unsure which way was safety.

He sat forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Why?”

Staring at her hand on the beer mat, she realised the tips of his fingers were mere inches from her own. She watched his middle finger twitch and held her breath.

Do it! she thought, touch me.

The small distance stayed the same. It might as well have been the expanse of the Grand Canyon.

Exhaling quietly, she let herself really look at him before she met his eyes again. She saw the strain around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth and wanted to kiss it away.

Was she brave enough? Could she handle his rejection? What’s the worst that could happen? Well, abject shame and humiliation, which was never good, but she thought she could survive it. It might mean a long distance move or plastic surgery but she’d deal with it. Right?

She looked back down to their hands and willed her own to move. God, it was hard to be brave sometimes. Her pads pressed down onto the table before she flexed her fingers and moved forward. They stopped as she felt the heat of the skin from the very tips of his fingers.

She wanted to look at his face and really see him, but she’d used up every ounce of bravery that she had. Her heart thudded hard in her chest and she felt the heat prickle across her chest, knowing she’d made a mistake.

She looked away and felt her fingers separate. She closed her eyes as he pushed his between hers, taking a shaky breath as his thumb stroked across the inside of her wrist.


I’d love to get other writers involved in this. If you fancy writing your own piece of romantic flash fiction, shoot me a message and I’ll link to your story.

Cheers,

Kx

O’Shea’s #2 – The Blind Date

I am writing a series of flash fiction pieces set in O’Shea’s Pub. See Romantic Flash Fiction Anyone? for more information. Here’s the second one – The Blind Date. I hope you enjoy it.

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Coming to an abrupt halt in front of the door to O’Shea’s, Sam’s hand hovered over the handle but he couldn’t bring himself to take hold of the damn thing.

“Shit!” he muttered.

He really didn’t want to go in there.

Stupid sodding dare! Stupid sodding so-called mates!

He stepped to the side of the doorway with some relief when his phone beeped with a text.

Matt: You there yet?

Sam: Maybe 😦

Matt: The rules clearly state that you need to be physically inside and sat down next to her to win.

Sam: I know what the bloody rules are!

Matt: LOL! Try not to be a complete dickhead. She’s actually really nice. Give her a chance, you might actually enjoy yourself 😉

The problem was, Matt didn’t know why he was allergic to dating. Admitting you’d had your heart ripped out by your ex-girlfriend wasn’t exactly Friday night in the pub conversation with your work-mates. So he hadn’t told them. Now, he was seriously thinking that might’ve been a mistake, because if he had told them, he wouldn’t be in this shitty situation now.

Closing his eyes, he tried to get his head together. He needed to just get in there, have a drink and get out. No harm, no foul.

Right. Come on!

Walking with purpose, he swung round, yanked the door open and walked into the busy warmth of O’Shea’s.

He’d arranged to meet her at the bar. It was busier than expected and part of him hoped they’d miss each other. Then he remembered the bet and he urged himself forward.

His eyes flicked over the crowd around the bar, but no-one immediately stood out. Breathing a little easier, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slid a ten pound note out. Seeing a gap at the bar, he side-stepped through until he felt the old oak against his middle.

“How you doing?” asked the bartender. They’d bonded months ago over their mutually painful support of Everton football club.  

“I’ve been better. A pint of Guinness, please.”

“Coming up.” Tilting the glass, Ben cocked his head and asked, “What’s the problem?”

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar. This was not a conversation he wanted to be overheard. “I’m here on a blind date.”

“What?!” Ben spluttered.

“It’s not funny, man!” he scowled.

“Why the hell did you agree to that?”

“All I’m saying is, there are football tickets on the line. FA cup final tickets. This may never happen again in my lifetime.”

“I hear you, mate.” Ben’s nod of understanding solidified their friendship. He understood the frequent agony and rare ecstasy that was the life of an Everton fan and this was the first cup final they’d been in since 2009. They hadn’t lifted a cup since 1995 when Sam was six years old.

Fond remembrances of that day were rudely interrupted by a voice brimming with amusement.

“The Toffees don’t stand a chance.”

He turned with a natural defence of his team on his lips only to be brought up short by the sight of a stunning, tall, brunette unwinding her scarf and starting on the buttons of her red wool coat. “Errr, that’s not necessarily true,” he managed to get out.

“Even if you do go to the game, it’ll just be ninety minutes of torture watching them get thrashed by Manchester United. Why would you want to do that to yourself?”

Sitting on the stool, she acknowledged Ben with a nod of her head and said, “Half a Guinness, please. Actually – no, make that a pint will you? My blind date’s here because of a dare and he supports Everton – I think I’m going to need it!”

Sam caught the sardonic edge to her words before their meaning sank in. What he didn’t miss was Ben’s snort of amusement at his double take.

Oh shit… she was his blind date!

He was going to kill Matt. Why hadn’t he warned him Ruby was gorgeous? That little shit was probably laughing his head off right this minute, knowing that he was royally cocking this up.

Ben put the pint down in front of her and they both watched her close her eyes and take a long drink, licking the creamy moustache from her lips in what he strongly suspected would be the most erotic moment of his life.

Surreptitiously shifting on his stool, he cleared his throat, trying desperately to find some way of salvaging the situation.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “How many tickets are up for grabs if you win this dare, Sam?”

“Two,” he replied cautiously.

“Ok, here’s the deal – we have a few drinks, play some pool and we’ll call it a date. That should get you the tickets, right?”

“Right.” He really needed to form a complete sentence here or she was going to think he was a total moron.

She took another drink. He held his breath, waiting for her to lick those full, rosy lips again. His chest felt a little tight.

“Then, if we get on ok as friends, you can take me to the match.”

He choked on his drink. “Sorry, what?!”

“You heard me. I have no interest in dating right now. I got blackmailed into this by Matt’s girlfriend. Anyway, that doesn’t mean we can’t hang out sometimes. None of my girlfriends like football. So you can be my football friend.”

Ruby stepped off the stool and picked up her pint. “Come on, let’s play pool while the table’s free.”

Sam watched her walk across the pub. He watched the sway of her hips and the fall of her long, thick hair and wondered what the hell just happened.

“I’ll tell you what just happened, mate,” said Ben, with his forearms crossed on the bar while he watched Ruby lay her money on the pool table. “You just got friend zoned. That has got to hurt!”

That was the understatement of the century.

 


I’d love to get other writers involved in this. If you fancy writing your own piece of romantic flash fiction, shoot me a message and I’ll link to your story.

Cheers,

Kx

 

O’Shea’s #1 – The Reunion

I’ll be writing a series of flash fiction pieces set in O’Shea’s Pub. See Romantic Flash Fiction Anyone? for more information. Here’s the first one – The Reunion. I hope you enjoy it.

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I wasn’t prepared to see him, that was the problem. Only I don’t think anything could have prepared me really. Ten years is a long time, long enough to persuade myself it didn’t matter.

I walked into O’Shea’s, like I do every Friday, at half past five. Glad to be out of the cold Spring evening and looking forward to a large glass of red, I made my way to our usual table at the back of the pub, knowing that Sarah wasn’t far behind me.

Shrugging my coat off, I threw it over the back of the booth and started unwrapping my scarf, thinking how ridiculous it was that I’d had to root it out again this morning after the warm spell we’d had last week. I was always too optimistic putting away my winter woolies.

My phone beeped with a text telling me to get the drinks in because my best mate, Sarah would be here in ten minutes. I dutifully grabbed my purse and headed for the bar, side stepping and shimmying my way through the after work crowd. I managed to squeeze my curvy frame through until there was only one line of bodies in front of me.

I came to a stop behind a lovely set of broad muscular shoulders and when my eyes travelled down I was rewarded with a gorgeous arse on top of a lovely pair of long legs. Nice scenery while I waited. His blue dress shirt was hanging out at the side, the sleeves rolled up over wide, corded forearms dusted with light sandy hairs. He looked more suited to a rugby pitch than an office.

I’m not sure when the first hint of recognition struck.

Maybe it was when I smelled his familiar scent as someone pushed me forward and my nose ended up practically on his back. Or maybe it was the deep laughter that vibrated through his body or the way he ran his hand over the back of his neck. Either way, I had a shocking moment of knowing.

Jerking back away from him I instantly began to panic.

Jack. Oh God – it was Jack. Here… in O’Shea’s. What the hell was he doing here? I had an irrational moment of possessive anger over my favourite pub. How dare he invade my space like this?

Long buried memories started to push back into my mind. There had been so much anger and frustration at the end. So much hurt. I wasn’t proud about the way I’d behaved and I think that was part of my reluctance for him to see me now. Would he see me and remember the good times or the way I’d lashed out at the end, unable to contain my pain and anger when he decided to take a job offer overseas?

It didn’t matter that I understood now why he’d made that decision. It didn’t matter that I knew he’d made the right choice. What mattered is that he instigated the split – in short – he dumped me.

It had taken a long time to get over that, over him. I’d learned not to go digging around that particular sore spot and I didn’t appreciate the way it was stinging now.

I was seriously debating retracing my steps and meeting Sarah at the door so we could go somewhere else. It grated a bit, but I was tired and not feeling up to any kind of reunion tonight. Ok, that could be construed as running away, but quite frankly I was alright with that.

I began to turn around, jostled by the crowd I stumbled back a step hoping to God the pressure I felt at my back wasn’t Jack.

Please don’t turn around.  

“Tasha?”

Goddammit!

I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled.

“Tash, is that you?”

A little shiver of awareness went down my back. Damn his annoyingly sexy deep voice. I pasted a smile on my face and turned to face him. What else could I do?

I wasn’t prepared though. Seeing his beautiful face again after so long made my eyes prickle. I blinked rapidly. There would be no tears, not if I wanted to walk out of here with any pride left in tact. I coughed to clear my suddenly tight throat.

“Hello, Jack,” I managed to get out. I’d forgotten how his eyes, vivid and blue, could smile without the rest of his face moving. I’d forgotten the slight crookedness of his nose that he was a little self-conscious about. I’d forgotten his full bottom lip. A sudden shocking image of me licking it, then sucking it into my mouth nearly blind sided me.

I tried to catalogue the changes instead, looking for some new flaws. There were a few more laughter lines around his eyes, some grey hairs that only made him sexier (so bloody unfair), and an inch long scar along his right temple that just made him more intriguing.

I sighed to myself, admitting defeat and suddenly realised that his eyes were roaming my face in just the same way. I felt exposed and vulnerable for a moment as I saw my own need for caution reflected back at me.

What did he see? What had ten years of living done to me?

Then he said the words that I didn’t realise until that moment I wanted to hear.

“It’s been too long, Tash.”

***

 

 

Romantic Flash Fiction Anyone?

I’ve read a fair bit of flash fiction over the past couple of years and I really enjoy it. Good flash fiction draws you in and gives you a brief, vivid snapshot with “the ability to hint at, or imply a larger story”. At under a 1000 words, you can’t exactly sink your teeth into it, but if you’re looking for a quick hit of your chosen fiction fix then it does the job.

Romance is the most popular genre in fiction, but I’ve struggled to find any flash fiction within this genre. If you know where I can find some, I’d appreciate the heads up. I think romance is rife for a bit of flash! Just think about all those firsts… First meeting, first touch, first kiss.

I’ll be writing a series of flash fiction pieces set in O’Shea’s Pub. It’s a chance for me to try and hone my writing style and it’s also an opportunity to share my writing with anyone who cares to read it.

The first piece called ‘The Reunion’ will follow shortly.

Thanks,

Kx

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*Cough* It’s Been A While…

So… the whole blogging thing fell into a black hole!

I thought I’d be like this…

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But the truth is, I’m more like this…

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Part of the problem was I had a technical issues with this site and got really frustrated with it. Then I’ve been trying to concentrate on writing and finishing my first manuscript. I think I saw blogging as a distraction, more effort that I had to put into something other than writing my story. I’ve had to come to the conclusion that I’m a poor multi-tasker and admit the stark truth that I’d rather be writing or reading than blogging. Actually, I’d rather be reading than most things, but such is life 😉

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I’ll be honest, it also felt like I was sending the blogs out into a big void. I got demoralised and too easily put off. So, shoulders back, chin up… and here’s to having another go!

Kx