Just a Number (Thirst Trap #2)

1. Mel

Chapter one

Mel

I wish I had the confidence of a mediocre white man.

I blow out a deep sigh as I shut down my computer for the day. It’s amazing I haven’t thrown it out the window as it really has been one of those days. A male colleague tried to suggest the same thing I already had in slightly different terms, and miraculously, the board were more keen on it when he said it. He then tried to suggest it was his idea all along. Good job we weren’t in the same room together. I think I would have swung for him. Combined with an overflowing inbox and an assistant who has just quit to travel the world and discover herself… it’s been a helluva day.

At least it’s Friday.

I straighten my desk accessories, and as I turn off the lamp in my home office, I realise how dark it’s got. Autumn is here and the nights are drawing in. It’s almost time for busy season in my work as an events organiser, so I may as well make the most of a free Friday. Time for a glass of wine and a trashy show on Netflix.

As I open the door, the sound of voices and laughter filter up the stairs. It could be twenty people or just two. Shit. I’d forgotten my son Zack was hosting a gaming night for some friends tonight. Guess that wine and TV show will be in my bedroom then. I let out a sigh of disappointment.

I close the office door behind me and head downstairs to check how they’re getting on. Now that he’s eighteen, he’s fairly self-sufficient—especially in terms of feeding himself. Not so great at the cleaning up after himself part, but he’ll get there, eventually.

I make my way downstairs and attempt to count the shoes discarded by the front door. At least four pairs and none that look like Zack’s. He told me it would be a gathering of close friends, so hopefully there won’t be anyone else turning up.

I head down the hallway and stick my head round the corner of the door to the lounge. The room is full of boys. Sorry, young men. Two of them seem to be engaged in some kind of gaming battle on the console connected to the TV. The other three are cheering them on. I get a bit of a shock when I see the bottles of beer littering the coffee table. It still gives me a jolt when I remember I am a mother to an adult. How the hell did that happen?

Since he started sixth-form college and working part-time, his friend group has expanded in age range too. Now, he’s one of the youngest among his mates. Zack’s bestie, Rich, was the last one to turn eighteen a couple of weeks ago and now they are all old enough to drink, which blows my mind. A couple of years ago, it was cans of Coke and bags of sweets. And now it’s bottles of beer. Where did the time go , I wonder wistfully.

“Hey, guys. Everyone okay?” I ask.

Zack looks over at me with a grin. “Hey, Mum. Finished work for the day?”

“Yes, thank god. I don’t want to repeat that day anytime soon.”

One of the guys with a game controller groans loudly, “This fucking sucks, you cheat,” he tells his opponent as Zack clears his throat. His friend looks over and has the good grace to blush.

“Sorry, Mrs Watson,” he says. I refrain from the eye roll dying to be let loose at his use of ‘Mrs’. I can’t expect a friend of Zack’s to know I’m officially a divorcee, and go by ‘Ms’ now.

“All good, Sam. I’m not the bad word police. We all swear sometimes,” I tell him with a smile. “You guys ordering in for dinner?”

“Yeah, pizza. You want some?” Zack asks.

“Sure. You know what I like. Order it on my account. My treat.” Zack has the money from a part-time job, but I know he’s saving for travelling and I am sure his friends are in similar situations. They’re supplying their drink, so I may as well cover them for the food.

I make my way into the kitchen and pull out a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge. Thank goodness I had the foresight to chill it last night. I tend to save my drinking for when I’m spending time with friends, but I sometimes allow myself a glass or two at the end of the week. A celebration of getting through five more days of work.

I used to love my job. Enjoyed being rushed off my feet. But since my marriage broke down, I’ve been questioning everything I used to hold dear. I feel untethered. Uncertain. Okay, lost . My perfect little life screeched to a halt the day my husband left me. And more than a year later, I’m still unsteady on my feet, trying to work out what way is forward.

I unscrew the cap, pull a wine glass down from the cabinet, and pour myself a large serving. As I take my first sip, I close my eyes and savour the taste. It’s fruity on my tongue and is going to go down far too easily.

I pull up Instagram on my phone and scroll through it while I sit up at the breakfast bar. I can hear the odd shout from the boys in the other room, but they’re not too loud. I look down my feed and add some likes and comments as I go. My notifications pop up at the top and show I’ve gained another couple of followers today and I have some private messages to look at too.

I started my Bookstagram account a couple of years ago, when my marriage was in an awful place and I needed to carve a space that was just for me. I’ve always been a prolific reader, and in the last couple of years, I’ve really got into spicy romance. I love sharing the books I’ve been reading and chatting with other fans of the genre. It’s a lively crowd. That’s how I reconnected with my friend Cassidy. She writes smut for a living and does a bloody good job of it. She reached out after I reviewed one of her books and we realised we knew each other from years before when we worked at the same place. It turned out we were each going through a divorce and had a lot in common. Speak of the devil, I think as a message notification pops up from Cassidy.

Cassidy:

Tell me you have something fun planned for this weekend, Mel. Let me live vicariously through you! I’m deep in the writing cave and need to know there’s life outside this manuscript!

I smile at her dramatics.

Me:

Just sat down with a glass of wine and scrolling IG. No plans as yet. Want me to drag you out of your cave tomorrow and we can go out for some cocktails?

Cassidy:

Hmmm, maybe. Let me see how this goes. It could be my reward if I get my word count down tomorrow.

Me:

Okay - let me know. How are you doing?

Cassidy:

So so. I’ve been trying to reach Tom all week. I think he’s avoiding me. Missing Jack like crazy *crying face emoji* I just want a cuddle.

Me:

You know where I am if a cuddle from me would help. But I suspect that you need a hug from your soft Dom. Hunt that man down and snuggle him!

Cassidy:

*Salute GIF* Yes, ma’am, yes!

Me:

Seems like Jack’s brattiness has been rubbing off on you.

Cassidy:

I think he transferred it to me before he got on the plane to leave. *sad face emoji*

Me:

Aw, honey - hopefully it won’t be too long before you see him again. Did you get a chance to read that reverse age-gap book we talked about yet?

Cassidy:

Nah, need to get this book done and then I will reward myself with reading as much as I can in one sitting! Have you?

Me:

Started it last night. I bloody love an age gap. Throw in some grumpy sunshine and I’m ecstatic.

Cassidy:

You’ve got me excited to start it. How would you feel about starting a mini book group and inviting Abby? She works at the bar with Tom. Cute pixie girl with ever-changing hair colour and can make even a giant man quiver in his boots.

Me:

I know who you’re talking about. That sounds good. Does she like drinking cocktails while talking about smutty books?

Cassidy:

I’m sure she will. I’ll mention it when I see her.

Me:

You need to get back to your writing. I need to check if Zack ordered dinner. Let me know about drinks tomorrow.

Cassidy:

Sure thing. See ya later *big smiley face*

I smile even though she can’t see me. I’ve been so grateful for her friendship these last couple of years. It’s really hard navigating friendships I had as part of a married couple, and I’m glad Cassidy is my friend. I don’t know what I’d do without her. And at least her books and all the other smutty ones I read convince me there’s a happy ending out there for everyone. Even a forty-year-old divorcee.

I’m upstairs, scrolling my Netflix queue, trying to work out what I’m in the mood for. Something funny? Scary? A tear-jerker perhaps? Ooh, maybe some true crime. I can’t go wrong with that.

The doorbell rings and I listen out to see if Zack’s heard it. The noise levels got a bit crazy a while ago when they were in the midst of some kind of battle challenge and that’s when I decided to hide away upstairs for some peace. I can’t hear if Zack is moving around and I’m hungry enough that I don’t want the pizza delivery guy to leave, so I head back down.

“Zack, pizza’s here,” I shout as I swing the front door wide open. I have a smile ready for this delightful person who has delivered my food, so I don’t have to cook.

It’s a guy. He’s tall with dishevelled golden brown hair, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. He has biker boots on his feet and holds a helmet at his side. I look him up and down and the smile drops from my face when I notice the distinct lack of pizza boxes in his hands. Beyond him, a motorbike is parked up on the driveway, but there’s no warming box on the back for the food. My brows knit together. I look back at him and my frown intensifies as his piercing brown eyes sweep over me.

“You’re not here to deliver the pizza,” I state. There’s no point making it a question.

“No, I’m not,” he answers in a lower drawl than I was expecting. I notice tattoos creeping up from the neckline of his black t-shirt and as he reaches up to brush his caramel hair away from his eyes, I spot another tattoo on his hand.

“I think you’re in the wrong place then,” I tell him, lifting my chin and pinning him with a stare. I’m up a step, being just inside the house, and yet he’s the same height as me, our eyes level. He cocks his head to the side with a smirk on his face. He’s hot as hell, but what’s he doing at my door?

“Is Zack home?” he asks. I can’t help my skitter of surprise. I try to age him, but it’s difficult. He’s got to be in his early twenties.

“Zack?” I ask, floundering as he continues to stare at me with that pesky smirk. “What do you want with Zack?”

“He invited me. Am I at the right place?” He tilts his head to the side slightly and more tattoos become visible.

“How do you know my son?”

“I met him through work.”

Hmmm, that sounds too vague for my liking. What kind of work? Peddling drugs?

There’s a noise behind me and I jerk as a hand grabs my shoulder. I let out a small sigh of relief when I spot Zack.

“Hey, mate, you came,” my son says to the stranger before he reaches across and they bump fists.

“Mum, this is Alex. He works at the Arts Centre too. You gonna let him in?” Zack gives me a smile, but I stand for a moment longer. There’s an awkwardness, but I’m not quite willing to stand down just yet.

“You’re here to game?” I ask Alex, quirking a brow.

“Yep. And drink beer. And eat pizza. I believe that’s the plan for the evening?” He looks over at Zack with a brow raised in question.

“Sure is. Come in. The pizza is due any minute. I'll introduce you to the other guys.” I finally take a step to the side as Alex comes closer to follow Zack’s lead to the room where the guys are. I don’t move far enough back and his leather ensconced arm nudges me as he passes. He looks down at me, significantly taller now that we’re on level ground. I draw in a deep breath, trying to ignore the fluttering low in my belly at his proximity.

“Apologies, Zack’s Mum.” His voice is husky as that smirk from earlier makes a reappearance.

“Mel, my name is Mel,” I tell him. He gives me a brief nod before turning to follow my son down the hallway. My eyes track his movement. His body is lithe, and he moves with self-assurance. I close the door and then lean back against it, sucking in a breath. What the hell just happened there? Am I attracted to Zack’s friend?

Ten minutes later the pizza has arrived and I have a horde of ravenous young men standing around the kitchen island helping themselves to slices from the many boxes.

“I got you a bougie one, Mum. I know you like them best,” Zack tells me as he points towards an unopened box. I crack the lid and my mouth salivates as the smell of warm pizza infiltrates my nostrils.

“What’s on it?” I ask, trying to identify the toppings under the cluster of green rocket leaves perched on the top.

“Pulled pork, onions and mozzarella,” Zack states as he grabs a large piece of a meat-covered pizza and devours it. I jolt as someone nudges me from the side. I look over and Alex is there, staring down at the pizza slice I’ve just lifted from the box.

“Looks tasty. Are you willing to share, Zack’s mum? Sorry, I mean Mel.” I meet his eyes and his smile is more genuine than his previous smirks.

“Sure,” I tell him, waving my hand over the box to show he should grab some. His arm brushes mine again as he reaches for a slice. My skin tingles at his nearness as I breathe in the earthy scent of him.

We all stand around the island, eating. It’s fairly quiet as the guys tuck in, and I can’t decide if it’s because they’re all ravenous or because I’m here, getting in their way. I grab a plate from one of the cupboards and place two of the smaller slices of my pizza on it. Next, I refill my wineglass from the bottle in the fridge. I lift both up and smile round at everyone.

“I’ll get out your hair. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.”

“You don’t need to hide away, Mum. It’s your house,” Zack tells me, putting an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in for a half hug. He’s a decent kid and I’m grateful that he doesn’t seem phased by showing me affection in front of his mates.

“It’s all good, love. I’ve got a date with a crime show on Netflix.” I lean my head into his shoulder for a moment—with both my hands full, it’s all I can manage—and then I leave the kitchen to head back upstairs.

It’s not long before my pizza and wine are gone and I’m fully engrossed in the crime show about a serial killer from the 1970’s. Movement catches my eye from the doorway and I jump.

Alex stands confidently in the doorway, his long legs ensconced in jeans. He’s taken off his biker jacket, leaving his forearms bare in his black t-shirt. My attention catches on the colourful tattoos there as my hand comes up to cover my throat, my heart beating fast.

“Oh, Alex, you scared me. Everything okay?”

“Sorry, Zack sent me up to the bathroom. Someone’s using the downstairs one. Think he might have had one too many beers.”

I grimace, sincerely hoping I won’t have a mess to clear up later. “It’s just down at the end of the hall.” I point him in the right direction, listening to the soft thud of his footsteps as he moves away and then try to get back into the television show I’m watching. But it’s hard to focus when my mind is on the guy just down the hallway.