Page 2 of Fletch
She looks up from her phone when she senses me and rolls her eyes in irritation. “I swear I know you.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?” When I don’t reply, she smirks. “We fucked.”
“Shit,” I say, smiling. “Right, makes sense. I never forget a pretty face.”
She arches a brow. “Oh god, what the fuck did I see in you?” I’m sensing bitterness. “I bet you don’t even remember my name.”
“I’ve never been great with names,” I admit, wincing. “Look, sorry if I’ve pissed you off. I didn’t mean to offend?—”
“Gemma,” she snaps. I pause, trying to recall her and then it hits me.
“Gemma,” I repeat. “Gemma Stone?”
“Fuck me, Fletch, has it really been that many women you can’t remember me?”
I’m almost lost for words as I give my head a shake. “No, it’s just I didn’t recognise you.” I glance down her body, taking in her womanly curves that definitely didn’t exist when we were together. “You’re so much?—”
“Thinner?” she spits. “Prettier?”
I swallow the lump that seems to be lodged in my throat. “Just different,” I mutter feebly.
She rolls her eyes again and stomps back inside. I let out a long breath and lean against the wall. “Fuck,” I say out loud.
“You asking for one from God?” comes Atlas’s voice.
I smirk. “I am God.”
He laughs. “The bar’s busy, get back in here to help us mere mortals.”
I head back inside, and Gemma turns her back as I approach. I stop behind her. “Sorry,” I repeat. “You took me by surprise.” Just being this close is a stark reminder of what I gave up. She smells different. Her perfume’s changed along with her body and the colour of her hair. Back then, she was a redhead. Now, she’s dark brown. She was curvier too, not that I minded it, but she hated her curves. I’m so lost in thought, I don’t realise she’s turned to face me.
“I’m just here for my friend’s hen night. I think we can avoid one another, don’t you?” She runs her tongue over her lower lip, and I watch the move, wondering if she still tastes the same.
“Sure thing, Snap.”
She narrows her eyes at my nickname for her, and I smirk before moving on towards the bar.
It’s almost midnight and the only women left are the bride-to-be Anna, Gemma, and another bridesmaid, Kelly, who are all crammed in the toilet while Anna brings up the contents of her stomach.
Grizz left half an hour ago, along with Atlas, because I drew the short straw to lock up. I’m stacking the clean glasses when Gemma appears. She leans on the bar and watches me for a minute. “Her fiancé is on his way to collect her.” I give a nod. “You were a hit with the girls though,” she adds. I turn to her, and she gives a small smile. “You always were.”
“About all that?—”
She shakes her head and holds her hand out to cut me off. I notice the sparkle of the diamond on her finger and grab it, holding it closer so I can inspect the engagement ring. She blushes, tugging it back to her and covering it under her other hand. It doesn’t surprise me she’s engaged. In fact, I’m more surprised she isn’t married already.
Gemma
There’s a long, drawn-out silence as he rounds the bar. “When’s the big day?” he asks.
I keep the ring hidden, unsure why I’m embarrassed he’s seen it. “What about you?” I ask. “Married, single?”
He shrugs. “Single.”
I’m not surprised. He’s a man whore. He always was. “We should probably stand outside,” I mutter. He steps in front of me, and I halt, staring up at him. He’s so much bigger than I remember. He always had a good body—it’s one of the reasons I was so body conscious around him—but now, he’s ripped and in the body of a man. My fingers itch to trace the tattoos that ride up his skin and over his face.
He steps closer, and my breath catches as he raises a hand to my cheek. “The one that got away,” he whispers. I blink, not daring to say a word, as he lowers his mouth until I feel his warm breath against my lips. If I was to pout, we’d touch.
“Gemma, help me get her outside,” comes a voice from the bathroom.