Chapter One
(September 2015)
The last couple of months had been awful for Danny. No, they had been downright terrible. Even now he couldn't work out why Jessica had left him, muttering about "irreconcilable differences" as she went. Hell, he hadn't noticed any differences at all, never mind irreconcilable ones. Four years they'd been living together . . .
Yes, four years under the same roof, sharing the same bed and having sex at least once every night (and lots more at weekends). They'd shared everything else too, watching TV together, eating meals at the same kitchen table, showering together, only ever going out socially as a couple.
Four years. And at least a year of being boyfriend and girlfriend before she'd finally moved in.
Never an angry word between them in all that time, and suddenly Jess had had enough.
Struggling to cope, Danny had only ventured out of the house to go to work. That's right, for nearly ten weeks he'd avoided pubs and company of any description. Truth was that he didn't know what to say to people. And his circle of boozing buddies had shrunk to next to nothing anyway, thanks to those five years or more of infatuation.
Ten weeks and, work aside, he'd locked himself away from the world. Weekly shopping was brought to his door courtesy of ASDA's delivery service, and those delivery guys were the only folk he saw.
Well, he saw colleagues every day in the office, obviously, but he hadn't been his usual self. If invited for a lunchtime pint and game of pool he invariably said no. Ditto for invites to after-work events like birthdays, engagements and leaving parties.
Normally he'd head home alone and drink himself silly on bottles of supermarket wine before trying to ring and text Jess, wanting to sort out those differences. But without any success. Jess ignored all of his texts and never once answered his calls. Then, perhaps a fortnight ago, he'd started to get the dreaded "number discontinued" response from her service provider.
She'd only gone and bought a new mobile, retiring the (not-so) old one, presumably for all time.
That's when he finally accepted life as he knew it really was over. That's when mystified frustration turned into the blackest depression.
Over, he thought again and again. Everything is over forever.
Things couldn't possibly get worse . . . but this afternoon they had. Friday was early finish day, in line with POETS day everywhere else; he'd been surprised to be called in to his boss's office shortly after four o'clock. His boss was into extreme sports and was usually keen to haul her (admittedly sexy) ass out of there ASAP, doubtless bound for some woodland assault course or other.
But not today. Mystified by the latish summons he sat in the visitor's chair in front of her large, solid oak desk, half-expecting to be quizzed about his slow progress on a potentially lucrative deal . . .
Only to be hit by a list of shortcomings. His workmates were worried about him. He was untypically cold. He'd become reclusive and uncommunicative. And his day-to-day input was noticeably slipping and sliding. From ace performer he'd become decidedly average.
Come to that, was he going to close a deal on the Richardson contract anytime this century?
'What is the matter?' his boss had concluded, eyeballing him closely. 'Can we help in any way? Can I help in any way? Let me know and I'll do whatever I can. All I want is to have you back to normal.'
Danny hated talking about personal weaknesses. For perhaps thirty seconds he considered lying and blagging it out. Then he'd realized it was a fair cop; he couldn't dream up a credible excuse any time soon. Ditching subterfuge, he'd admitted he'd been dumped and was struggling to adapt to his new circumstances.
'Do you need input from HR?' his boss had asked, her expression as tender as he'd ever seen it.
(Sexy ass or not, his boss was known as Ming the Merciless behind her back; tenderness didn't come high in her everyday list of virtues.)
'No,' he'd replied. 'Consider me given the wake-up call. I'll be back in on Monday, and I'll be back to normal as well. Pool, pints and everything else.'
He had meant every word of that promise, but the question was how to go about it. In the real word here he was, home once more, six thirty-something that worse-than-ever Friday evening, full bottles of ASDA vino beckoning him like crazy.
'Avaunt thee Satan,' he said aloud. 'I'll get pissed, but I'll go out to do it.'
And where better to get pissed than Bingley? The old market town had far more than its fair share of lovely hostelries. It was a relatively small community as well. He would no doubt run into a few long-lost boozing buddies as he went along.
Assuming he could raise the courage to step over that first threshold . . .
*****
Freshly showered and casually dressed, not bothering with any jacket because the weather was still warm, he left his Poplar House terrace and walked through Myrtle Park, passing the swimming baths and the rear of the Arts Centre, crossing a large Pay and Display car park before pausing outside of a relatively new watering hole, one that was favoured by the younger element.
(A class he hoped still included him.)
Come on, come on, he thought when his feet refused to accept his brain's instructions. Exactly how many pubs have you walked into alone over the years? Hundreds, that's how many.
Maybe even thousands.
Amazingly, his plates of meat took notice and next he knew he was through plate glass doors and on his way to the bar, casting around for old acquaintances as he went. Seeing nobody.
Buying a pint of San Miguel, wincing at the few pennies change from his fiver, he withdrew and took a place against a pillar. To his left were two large TV screens, one permanent, the other roll-down for projected images. On the roll-down Manchester United were already two goals ahead of some set of no-hopers in blue. On the permanent screen Leeds Rhinos were imminently due to hit another set of no-hopers in red and white for six tries or more.
Business as usual, in other words.
Taking his first swig of lager made Danny wonder why he'd wasted his time on vino for so long. This was more real; this was a big step on his way back to normality.
Sighing deeply, he helped himself to another big swig.
And then he saw her.
Chapter Two
For the avoidance of doubt, Danny's (mostly) spontaneous night out on the lash had never focused on girls in any shape or form. His loose schedule included lots of booze and hadn't included girls at all. Far as he was concerned, from now on girls could go whistle.
But the shape and form of this one . . .
Ignoring Manchester United altogether he gaped at the vision not ten yards away from him. Tall with jet-black hair falling most of the way down her back, sculptured like Miss World only vastly sexier . . .
The vision was dressed for the office. Standing as she was just then she was rear-on to Danny, giving him a perfect view of her perfect ass and long legs in sheer black stockings.
Oh my, wasn't she tall!
Raising his glass Danny realized it was empty . . . already. Something must have diverted him along the way.
The plan had been to down one pint and head off for the next pub. As if! Heading back to the bar, he did his best to look everywhere else but took in as much as he could of the divinity as he went by.
Currently holding court to a small crowd of similarly dressed office workers, the black-haired beauty was clearly telling a tale. There was an element of power dressing there too. She was clad in a short grey skirt, a brighter than bright white blouse, both revealing curves in all the right places.
For the first time in ages Jess wasn't haunting Danny's thoughts. In all truth she was nowhere to be found.
Did he miss her?
Eff missing her, right then she wasn't even a consideration.
Buying himself a second pint he turned away from the bar and stopped in his tracks. The divinity was not just a new, previously unencountered stranger, he knew her!
Well, he knew her by sight, anyway. He must have seen her a dozen times over recent years, usually in bars and nearly always with a different partner in crime, often a male but more frequently a sexy babe. And she was always deeply tanned, to extent of possibly being mixed-race.
But what does that matter? he thought as he (yet again) kicked life back into his feet and returned to his pillar. Maybe she likes girls as well as guys. Who am I to hold that against her? I prefer girls, don't I? That preference puts us on a level, doesn't it? And as for the colour of her skin, it suits her, so who cares about her parentage. Green with an ariel on her head she'd still be way beyond gorgeous.
The image of holding anything against her flipped his mind. On his return trip he had a proper sight of the girl's face and almost died. Okay, so he'd seen her face before, but generally he'd seen it from a distance whilst admiring the various bits of her scrumptious body.
And scrumptious hardly summed her up. He hadn't a clue who she was, but she certainly ticked all of his boxes.
Why hasn't she affected me like this before? he wondered. Then, with Jess still totally absent from his head, he tried to pluck up courage to make some sort of an approach.
But no need. As he stared at her she turned on prompting from her small crowd of girly admirers, all of them obviously alert. Breaking into a wide, beyond attractive grin, she said something witty then marched across the room towards him, followed by hails of ladylike laughter.
Omigod, thought Danny, she's homing in on me. Am I about to get shouted out for openly ogling?
That grin offset the worry. So too did the irresistible shape of her. Broad shoulders, big (but-not-too-big) tits on a body that curved divinely to a narrow waist with wide (but-not-too-wide) hips.
And double omigod, those eyes . . .
Danny hadn't previously got close enough to realize she had bright, emerald green peepers. As she came closer and closer, he realized now, of course. Those weren't just eyes, they were deeper than deep pools, well capable of dragging someone in and drowning him.
Not that any red-blooded guy would seriously object.
At a shade under six feet himself Danny realized the divinity really was tall; almost as tall as he was.
I've never been with anyone who matches me for height, his mind rambled dizzily. How sexy would that be.
Assuming she's not about to lynch me.
'Hi,' she said in greeting, stopping maybe a foot short of bashing into him. 'I'm Heather. Wherever is your ball and chain?'
He mumbled something inarticulate in reply, not at all understanding the question, trying his utmost not to take a suicidal dive into those wonderous green depths.
'I've often seen you out and about,' Heather enlarged, 'and you've always been with a large-chested young blonde. She's always been possessively anchored to you, too. Where's she gone?'
