Definition of Stripped: Book One of the Definition series Read online

  Sian’s natural flirt rises to the surface and she fixes her pout in place. It usually gets her what she wants. “Ah, but it’s my friend’s hour of need. Please. For me?”

  He shakes his head and looks the other way wearing a self-satisfied smile. This guy’s enjoying wielding what little power he owns.

  Sian’s approach didn’t work. It’s time for my intervention. “Fine, I understand the rules,”—I stop to peer at his name badge—“Jonjo … but would you mind if she waits here so she can make sure my taxi turns up?”

  He shrugs and his huge shoulders swallow his neck. “Don’t see why not?”

  I give Sian a final hug. “Thanks for asking me tonight. I’ve had a fab time.”

  The bouncer holds the door open and I’m greeted by a blast of chilly March air as I step onto the pavement. I stride to the kerb avoiding the uneven paving slabs. So far, so good. I turn around and when my back is turned, someone touches my elbow. I swing around, fists clenched and ready to slug.

  “Hey, Lettie, remember me?”

  My heart pounds while my brain clicks and whirrs, processing my mystery texter. Despite wearing thick-rimmed glasses, I recognise him. He’s still into hoodies and the one he’s wearing now obscures most of his face.

  “Everything okay, Scarlett?” Sian shouts.

  My face twists into one of apology. “Give me two seconds. I wasn’t sure who to expect, so Sian—”

  His deep voice breaks into my waffling. “Take as long as you need.” Then, with a dollop of the sarcasm I remember, carries on, “I’ve got five minutes.”

  “That makes two of us,” I shoot back, complete with snarky attitude and a quirked eyebrow.

  Five sentences are all that’s needed to turn back time. I run across the pavement and hug Sian again. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Who is he?” she asks while peering over my shoulder. “Looks a bit dodgy to me.”

  “How can you say that when you can only see his back? I’ll text you. Go back to Lisa, everything’s cool here. Thanks, hon.”

  Before she gets the chance to respond, the bouncer taps her on the shoulder and nods to the door he’s holding for her. She rolls her eyes and walks back inside.

  I return to the guy who’s waiting to pick up from where we left off.

  His hands are in his hoodie’s pockets and he’s standing so straight he must have a stick running the length of his spine.

  “Dev Jackson, how the hell are you? What’s with the cloak and dagger stuff?” I study his face, but those damn glasses hide whatever emotion he’s feeling.

  He shrugs. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

  I raise my hand in protest and tut a couple of times. “Don’t be silly. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, you know. I didn’t call you back.”

  He’s got impatient hand syndrome. One second, he’s scratching his head, the next they’re in his pockets, and the next he’s playing with his earlobe.

  “Er, yeah, I remember, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to see you again. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you because I changed phones and your number wasn’t copied to the SIM card, so I lost it.”

  Oh, bugger, does he need to know this? I don’t think so, but my mouth babbles anyway. “When you didn’t try calling me back, I figured you’d moved on.”

  With impeccable timing, a taxi stops at the kerb. “This is mine, I think.” I open the passenger door and peer inside. “Baltic Quays?”

  “Yes, pet,” the taxi driver responds.

  “Great, could you give me five minutes please?”

  “Meter’s ticking, love. I can give you that.”

  Dev raises his eyebrows. “You live at Baltic Quays, hmm? Cool place to live. Handy for town.”

  “It is,” I agree. An alcohol-soaked smile fixes itself to my lips. Another glance at his stiff body language makes me laugh. “Listen to us talking like strangers.”

  “We’ll never be strangers, Scarlett. It’s just been a while since we saw each other.”

  As I ponder his words, the taxi driver drives a sledgehammer through our fledgeling reunion. “Five minutes is up, love and I’ve got another fare in Low Fell.”

  “Two minutes, please.” I nod at the driver, my mouth controlling my brain because it opens before I consider the possible outcome. “Why don’t we meet for coffee tomorrow to catch up?”

  My intestines tangle into a Gordian knot, knowing we have unfinished business I never thought I’d need to address.

  “Sounds good,” he confirms, in a super low, super sexy voice just settling in when I last saw him. “How about 2 pm at Imbibe the Bean?”

  “Really? You wanna meet there?”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s as good a place as any, I guess.”

  Shit, what do I do now? Hug him? Kiss his cheek? Once, twice, both cheeks? Get in the taxi? My indecision saves me because the taxi driver honks his horn.

  “Come on, love, you’ve given it your best shot. Let’s get you home.”

  “Okay, okay.” I look back at Dev and catch him studying me. “Need a lift?”

  As the words slip from my mouth, three women and a man walk past. The guy bumps Dev’s elbow with his and shouts, “Hey, leave Tabbie alone. We’re going to Michelle’s.”

  Dev gives him a sharp look and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “Why did he call me Tabbie?”

  He doesn’t answer but walks backwards in their direction. “Ignore him. Tomorrow at Imbibe, yeah?

  I nod, smiling. “Yeah.”

  The taxi driver honks again, so I wave and get into the car. Dev waves back and his friends don’t bother hiding the fact that they’re scoping me out.

  It takes the taxi driver ten minutes door to door and I’m in bed within twenty. I attempt to read an email on my phone but leave it after reading the same line three times.

  I’m having a massive attack of brain buzz and give in to the thoughts that won’t stop bombarding me.

  Adrian is my definitive version of an elusive fantasy. Where do guys like him come from? Are we the subjects of their fantasies? Do they crave the worship, existing in limbo until Miss Interpreted speaks their name?

  Seeing Dev for the first time in six years, I can’t believe how much he’s changed. After such a long break, haven’t we both?

  An uneasy tingling at my nape makes me question if I should’ve asked him for a catch-up.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  Go ahead with the meet.

  Chapter Three

  It’s an immutable fact. Video clips of inked muscle men dressed in tight black leather just aren’t doing it for me this morning. I take a mouthful of granola and gag. Shit, the milk’s gone again.

  A mouthful too late, I sniff the milk carton and pour the rest down the sink. Gulping my coffee, I clear the foul taste and scrape the soggy granola into the bin. Shopping is such a bind. Even when I bother to fill the fridge, I bin most of it because it achieves short-dated status far too quickly.

  My phone has pinged at least a dozen times since returning from the gym, but I ignore whatever’s waiting in my inbox as I focus on the clip. The daddy gropes the twink’s arse, throws him onto the bed, and sticks his tongue in his ear.

  Boring with a capital B.

  I power down because I’ve seen this scenario a million times. As much as I enjoy a little smut on a Saturday morning, it’s time to change from yoga pants and T-shirt into civvies. Every Saturday I treat myself to a session with my beauty therapist and I’m due at the salon in about thirty minutes.

  As I walk to my bedroom, my phone pings again. It’s Sian and I’m overdue on texting her. I know she’ll be going crazy wondering who my mystery guy was, but I don’t want to tell her about my coffee date yet.

  I need to get my head around it first.

  Back when we worked together at Imbibe, Sian got along just fine with Dev until I mentioned in passing that he never responded to my texts. She isn’t as forgiving as me and I don’t want to listen to a Dev-focused rant. I knew why he didn’t return them and I wanted to defend him, but I let it go. What was the point when I didn’t think I’d see him again?

  Six years on, I realise I should have tried harder.

  Sian: YOU DIDN’T TEXT

  Me: Sorry

  Sian: Everything okay?

  Me: Absolutely fine.

  Sian: That’s it? Who was that guy?

  Me: Can I get back to you on that, lol?

  Sian: Typical Scarlett. Going undercover when I want gossip

  Me: Promise. I’ll give you the goss soon. X my heart

  Sian: Call me, yeah?

  Me: Absolutely

  Throwing the phone in my bag, I take a second or two to select today’s clothes. Skinny jeans and a fitted white T-shirt will work just fine. Too much effort equals lack of control. That’s something I won’t relinquish, not even for Dev and he’s probably the only person who understands why.

  Happy that the chunky heeled black boots and my favourite leather jacket complete the understated look I’m going for, I make it in time for my appointment across the river in Newcastle.

  Three and a half hours later, my body has been pampered and primped to perfection after my massage, followed by a blow-wave and nails. Nobody would guess there’s so much energy involved in looking understated.

  After slipping my therapist her tip, I peek outside to see whether the weather has improved since entering the salon. It’s chillier than usual for March, but I’m fine with that. It’s mizzle I hate because it turns my hair frizzy.

  Crowds of people stream onto the pavement from the Monument Metro exit and I saunter around the corner onto Northumberland Street. Imbibe the Bean is dead centre on the left of the ped
estrianised street and I notice Dev approaching from the opposite direction.

  Always a tall guy with an athletic build thanks to his athletic prowess, he’s taken the hot young professional image to another level. Still wearing his chunky glasses, it looks like he’s grown his dirty-blond hair out and has tied it in a ponytail. The image suits him.

  His natural poise and grace scream at me. It’s as though his body is on a direct communication link with mine and it unsettles me more than it should.

  I could never have guessed this version of Dev would make the final cut.

  He hasn’t spotted me and seems unaware of the attention he’s attracting, catching the eye of women and men as he strides past. Even from this distance, I can tell the cut of his clothes scream designer label. I’d bet this month’s salary that he’s on the mailing list of every indie shop in Newcastle, Leeds, Manchester, and London.

  All morning I’ve indulged in my Saturday morning routine of gym, home, breakfast, and salon. Every time the thought of meeting him edged its way in, I kicked it out. Now I’m here and about to have a coffee with the guy. It’s time to admit that I’m bricking it. Because I am. Big time bricking it.

  “Hey, you made it then?” Whoo, high five, Scarlett. My insides cringe in sympathy with my frozen face, welding my features into a grimace. A quiet smile, understated like my clothes, plays on his lips as he opens the door for me.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asks, in that deep, dark, and dirty voice he’s been cultivating since we’ve been apart.

  Is it too soon to mention I’d like to fuck his voice?

  “I wasn’t sure, to be honest,” I mumble, as we head for the empty table next to the swinging kitchen door.

  He pulls a chair out for me and it makes a scraping noise on the floor. It gives the other customers a bona fide reason to look at him. As he’s so scrumptious I don’t blame them … and these thoughts should belong to someone else. They sure as hell shouldn’t belong to me.

  I take my seat and inhale the aroma. “Mmm, that smells so good. It tastes better too when you’re a customer. I’d rather be on this side of the counter, wouldn’t you?”

  “We had some good times behind that counter,” he says. “Remember Sian and Harvey’s arguments?”

  “Hell, yes. I lived through every one of them. I heard that Harvey moved on to a competitor’s.”

  “He was a total douche, wasn’t he?”

  “Absolutely.” I smile and he does too, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wish you hadn’t just left here, Dev.”

  His stare sends ice cubes tumbling down my spine. “You gave me no choice.” He looks beyond my shoulder at the large whiteboard menu behind the counter. “Do you still drink those calorific, syrupy drinks?”

  He’s blocking me, but that’s fair enough. I guess I deserve it. “Not any more. Let me get them.” I’m already getting to my feet.

  “Scarlett,” he says with an indulgent patience. “I can buy you a coffee. Sit down.”

  “Okay. Mine’s a large cappuccino, please.”

  As he pays for the coffee, I check out his reflection in the mirror behind the barista. My palms itch to touch his stubble and I grow hot at the thought of it on my skin.

  Stop that, Scarlett, focus on the coffee.

  The male cashier casts a flirty grin in his direction, but Dev either doesn’t notice or plain ignores him.

  Dev places my extra-large bowlful of coffee on the table without saying a word. Shit, where do we go from here? We need to transition from the people we were, but I don’t know how. A good place to start would be willing my hands to quit fussing with the condiments and menus.

  “Well. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Ah, fuck. A degree in Marketing Comms, business owner, and this trite crap is the best I can manage?

  Tension holds my body tightly. I’m on the verge of running away because I don’t want to remember the past. Asking to meet was an impulse I should have ignored. But I did ask and now we’re here.

  Does he know what I’m thinking? I think he does because he chooses this moment to surround my hands with his, halting my obsessive menu shuffle.

  “Enough fussing, Scarlett.” He fixes his cerulean blue eyes on me. “Can you believe I had a speech rehearsed that I planned to throw at you if we met again?”

  Oh, yeah, that I can believe. I nod my agreement while he scratches his chin, breaking the bond between us. He raises his coffee cup with the other hand and mine grow cool without his warmth.

  “Yeah,” he carries on, “I’d rehearsed the exact words I’d say if we bumped into each other. Now we have, it seems pointless. Six years since we saw each other. It’s a long time. People change.”

  “You’re right. People do change.” I take a deep breath and brace myself for my next offering. “Do you want to discuss it?”

  Appraising eyes search mine. “Nope.”

  I didn’t expect that. Lip chewing is another of my nervous habits and I’ve all but shredded my lips after being with him less than ten minutes. God knows what carnage I’ll cause after thirty.

  Dev, on the other hand, looks chilled sitting there resting his right ankle over his left knee. I do wonder though whether his passive body language is telling the whole story. One of his hands taps a tune on his knee, the other twirls a lock of hair.

  “Why not?” I ask, flinching from the glare of his disapproving eyes as my past sins stack against me. Unfair, but he’s entitled to his opinion.

  He frowns. “Why would I?”

  “I thought it would be a good place to start. We could—”

  “What?” he asks, emphasising the T. “Find out if you regretted it?”

  “Regretted it?” I shake my head. “It was the right thing to do.”

  “Poor Little Miss Scarlett couldn’t deal so off she ran.”

  I slide my hand on top of his. He glances down but doesn’t move away. “It was more than that and you know it, Dev. I understand why you’re angry and I’m sorry. We had a great connection but it wasn’t enough to keep me there.”

  “We did have a great connection.” He rests his other hand on top of mine and it appears we’ve got a flesh and bone Jenga tower going on.

  A smile flickers about his lips but doesn’t quite make it. I’m irritated with myself because I want to see it. I take another sip of coffee and debate whether to mention I bumped into Paul a few years ago. He told me Dev left not long after I did.

  “There’s gotta be something we can talk about, Dev.”

  “My life’s complicated. Too much has happened and I don’t look back.”

  “Complicated, hmm? Okay, but give me something. Otherwise, why agree to meet?”

  He gives me a lazy, one shoulder shrug. It’s the kind that makes you want to punch the owner and his attitude places him at the top of the heap.

  Tugging on the same loose strand of hair, he says, “I don’t know where I’d start. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay long because I’m helping a friend. This was the only time I could meet you.”

  “Nice to know you could fit me into your schedule.” I roll my eyes.

  He holds his hands up in defence. “Hey, the arrangements were in place before I saw you. It was the only way I could get it to work.”

  Shaking my head, I suppress a grin. “Such a badass, Dev. How long do we have?”

  “I hope I’m a badass,” he says around a laugh, his eyes holding mine. “I’ve spent the past six years nurturing the image.” He checks the clock above the door. “I need to leave at 2.30 pm.”

  “Six years apart and I get thirty minutes? We’re together now, so talk.”

  “Sheesh, you don’t give up, do you?”

  He scrubs his face as though the action will refresh his memory. He looks away, pinching the bridge of his nose and laughs again.

  “Okay. Do you remember Rembrandt’s Cave?”

  I snort. “I should. I gave your bedroom its name.”

  “Do you also remember I was never short of volunteers to sit for me?”

  “You mean the never-ending trail of androgynous teenagers?”