Goodbye Girl Ch 04

Hello lovely readers, here's another chapter.

I did submit this last week, but it was rejected for poor punctuation. This was a bit of a blessing, because I felt like one of the scenes was a bit over written so I'm glad I had the chance to tone it down a bit. This is the first chance I've had to look over it again. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please vote, fave etc. Feedback is most gratefully received! Thanks everyone

~

They were in the office, running through the plan one final time. Everything that involved Eleanor had to be organised with military precision. The bunting was fetched down from her attic, the fruit and mint had been sourced for the lemonade stall, the goody bags for the kids were all packed, everything for the plant stall was ready to go and the weather was forecast to be sunny and clear.

"I invited Greg." Eleanor called from the kitchen. "He said something about being busy, but I wouldn't take no for an answer."

Orla had just taken a sip of coffee when Eleanor dropped that bombshell,

"Are you okay?" Ben asked, patting her on the back. "Shall I get you a glass of water?"

"It's okay, I'm fine, I just, I think it went down the wrong way" she took another gulp of coffee, and the coughing abated.

Neither of them knew about her and Greg, or her tendency to drink too much and fall into bed with him Every Single Time she saw him. She supposed she should be grateful Eleanor hadn't mentioned inviting him until the morning of the fete. She didn't have too much time to get her knickers in a twist. In her minds eye, she could see Eleanor on the phone, Greg trying to wriggle out of it, Eleanor refusing to let him.

Maybe he wouldn't turn up? But that would be too easy, she knew he would. It been six weeks since

that

night. Orla was no longer thinking about Greg

all

the time. Sometimes she managed a few hours without him dominating her thoughts. So when Eleanor mentioned that she has invited him to the fete, it caught her off guard.

*

Orla welcomed the distraction of hanging the beautiful old string of bunting, between the trees in the patch of woodland at the end of the reserve. Ben had tried to insist on doing it but Orla had managed to convince him that she should. Everyone had an area in the reserve that they oversaw and the woods were Orla's. She didn't feel that protective of them, but she was happy to pretend she did to have some time alone to prepare for Gregs possible arrival.

She finished the job and stepped back, hands on hips, to survey her handy work. As much as she wanted to linger longer, she had to admit she didn't need to. The bunting looked fine and there would plenty to be getting on with up top. They'd need an extra pair of hands up there. Apprehensively, she made her way back up the path to the education centre.

She saw him before he saw her. He was wearing shorts, holding a ball under one arm, talking to Eleanor. They looked deep in conversation.

"Orla" he called when he saw her, grinning expansively. "I was thinking it might be nice to hold a football tournament, up there on the field. A little one, five a side. What do you think?"

Initially Orla was taken aback about how at ease he seemed to be. She was a quivering mess of nerves at the mere sight of him, and he was carrying on as if nothing had happened, but when she looked closer, she noticed the look in his eye. He was trying to wordlessly communicate something. And Eleanor seemed anxious, she didn't cope well with new ideas or suggestions that led to unexpected changes.

"Yes, excellent idea, something to keep the older kids entertained" the ones they were hoping to encourage to buy into the centre. "give them something to do." A patch of the top field was alway kept short for people to picnic, she knew Eleanor was going to be precious about it, but there was no reason at all that there couldn't be a football game, and every reason why it was be a good idea.

Eleanor still wasn't sure; she looked back and forth between them, it seemed like she was about to disagree.

"What do you think Ben?" Orla called brightly, before Eleanor could voice her concerns.

Ben left the bookstall and wandered over. He stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the field, while they waited for his response. Eleanor always took Ben's word as gospel; if he thought it would be okay, then it would be okay.

"I don't see why not," he said slowly. "It could be fun, so long as we keep it up that end, away from the the pond."

Greg grinned again. "Excellent, I'll go and get the cones I brought to make goals."

Orla watched Eleanor. The anxious expression had dematerialised and there was a tentative smile in its place. Greg flashed mischievous smile at her, she felt a lurch of desire and she quickly looked away.

"I'll go and open the gates," she said.

"Ooh, is it that time already?" Asked Eleanor, "I'll come with you."

*

The lemonade stall was swamped. She hadn't been tasked with a particular job. She was meant to be milling around, keeping an eye on everything, giving people breaks. But Orla was worried that Vera, the elderly woman who had volunteered to run it, might not be able to cope on her own, so she stuck around and helped. It was impossible to entirely forget that Greg was there, even when she was no where near him. Being constantly on edge was exhausting, so she welcomed the distraction.

Somewhere in the queue she could hear two mums chatting, clearly their sons had discovered the 5 a side.

"I didn't know there was going to be footy today, I can't get Liam to do anything else, he loves football."

"Daniel didn't even want to come today, now he's having a great time."

"The coach is easy on the eye."

"I could watch him all afternoon, and he's great with the kids. I wonder where they got him from."

It wasn't just the words, it was the lavicious tone, laced with innuendo. Orla was overcome with all sorts of undefinable feelings as the women laughed.

"We're nearly out of lemonade," Orla said. "I'll give these a rinse and make some more." And she dashed off to the kitchen holding two empty jugs before Vera could offer to do it instead.

She put the jugs in the sink and leaned gratefully against the wall. Her eyes fell closed. It was nearly 4 o'clock, they only had another 2 hours of this and it would be all over, and Greg would be gone.

Breath Orla, you can do this.

An excited chorus of voices interrupted her little pep talk to herself. Someone had scored. She stepped back over to the sink and looked out of the window.

There he was. She'd forgotten you could see that part of the meadow from the window. She took the opportunity to simply watch him; to remind herself of what he looked like. He really was gorgeous. He didn't have the well defined muscular physique of someone who lifted, but the muscles were there. He was big, and bulky, and her mind filled with memories of how she felt, waking up wrapped in those strong arms, pressed into that firm chest.

Absently she picked up one of the jugs and began rinsing. He really was good with those kids. They surrounded him, looking up with undisguised adoration. His body language spoke of the perfect mixture of cool and authoritative. She watched transfixed as he organised them into a new teams and set the ball down in front of a young boy. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but the boy was listening with such wrapt concentration.

Suddenly he stood upright, blowing a whistle she hadn't realised he had. As soon as the game was underway, Greg looked right at the window, and although she was certain he couldn't see her, Orla jumped back. She was about to take the jugs back out to Vera, when Ben showed up.

"Hey! What are you doing hiding in here?" He asked, grinning.

"Vera was out of lemonade."

"Again! Wow, it must be our most popular stall."

Orla smiled. "I thought I'd give these jugs a rinse before I make a new batch, they're a bit sticky."

"Oh look, you can see football through this window, its going well -excellent idea of Greg's"

"Really?" Orla said, as cheerily as she could manage. "Oh yes!" Arousal; unwelcome, bloomed in her stomach, as she glanced out of the window again. Greg had taken off his shirt. He was still surrounded with adoring kids, there were one or two admiring mums watching too. She closed her eyes, as a surge of jealously lanced at her chest.

"You should take him some lemonade" her eyes sprung open again, as Ben's words interrupted her torture "he's been running around all morning in this heat."

"It's not that hot today."

A confused frown formed on Ben's brow. "He must be thirsty though."

"Of course he is." What was she even thinking. She could feel the colour rise in her cheeks as she hurried back to Vera.

While she walked up the slope towards the game, Orla had the advantage of being able to observe Greg unnoticed. It was a sight to behold. He moved with more grace than should be allowed for someone of his size and bulk. He smiled when he noticed her, but it was a cool, polite smile.

"you're in the wrong job" she said as she handed him the cold drink.

"Yes, perhaps I am he says thoughtfully. The other issues with his job lay unspoken between them.

He threw back his head and finished it in one giant gulp. Orla tried not to stare at his throat as he swallowed. She failed. There was something undefinably sexy about watching him drink.

"Thanks" he didn't look at her as he handed back the empty glass. He was far more reserved now that he didn't have Eleanor to win over. Orla felt a pang of regret.

Mostly, she managed to avoid him after that, sending Eleanor up instead with more lemonade, but more than once she overheard talk of the hunky guy who was playing football with the kids.

*

After the punters and the other volunteers left, the four of them stood near the entrance. Eleanor, jubilant at their success and having entirely forgotten her earlier misgivings. Greg's hair was still wet and he was still glowing from the physical exertion, but at least he was wearing a shirt now.

"We must all go for a drink to celebrate" Eleanor announced. "You'll come too, won't you Greg?" She added, when he didn't immediately respond.

Greg wasn't looking at her, but Orla could sense his discomfort. So he wasn't as unruffled as he appeared then. "Please come" she said. The words were out of her mouth before she'd had the chance to think about them.

"If

you

want me to come then I'd love to." He said quietly. Their eyes locked and just like that she was a quivering mess. It felt like her emotions had an on/off switch and Greg had the remote control concealed in a pocket. Eleanor was looking back and forth between them both, the cogs turning in her brain.

When they arrived, Orla sat down first, behind the table in the corner. She only realised her error, when Greg slid behind the table to grab the spot next to her. She'd meant to time it better. She'd meant to wait until everyone else had taken their seats, so she could ensure she wasn't sitting too close to him. When Eleanor sat on the other side of him, Greg had to squeeze up. His thigh pressed against Orla's. She closed her eyes, as the familiar response to his touch, bloomed in her chest and erupted, deep in her gut. When she sucked her breath in, Greg turned, but made no effort to move his leg. The heated look in his eyes confirmed that his choice of seat had been no accident.

As they watched each other, it felt like the air around them had burst into flame and Orla didn't know how she was going to get through the rest of the evening. Something had shifted in Greg. He'd switched the charm on, full beam. She was determined that the evening wasn't going to end in sex, that she was going to maintain a polite friendly distance, but despite Herculean efforts to resist his charms, she was failing.

At least the awkwardness subsided, after a few gulps of lager. It was hard to hold on to it, when the day had gone so well. Eleanor was happy, things have worked out. In her mind it had been her idea all along. And although they indulged her, Greg and Orla and Ben shared the occasion knowing look, when they were sure Eleanor wouldn't notice. The ice was thawing between Ben and Greg too. Greg was a hard person not to like. At some point he'd draped his arm along the back of her chair. Coupled with the searing look in his eyes, whenever their gazes met, it felt very much like a statement of intent. Mercifully, he'd been mainly chatting with Eleanor. Which meant Orla didn't have to keep a lid on the increasing arousal that was smouldering inside her, at the same time as trying to make conversation with its source.

Orla finished her drink. She was getting to her feet, giving her excuses, when Eleanor suggested they order food. Greg had been regaling Eleanor with stories of his time in Kerala, and how much he liked South Indian cuisine, Orla suspected it had been a rouse to extend their time in the pub. She tried to plead tiredness, but Eleanor wasn't taking no for an answer, and neither was anyone else. So, just like that, what was supposed to be quick drink, turned into an entire evening, trapped in a corner with Greg.

When he'd finished advising Eleanor on what to order, he turned to Orla

"What are you going to have?"

She'd been staring at the menu for what felt like a small age. Trying to form a coherent thought. Failing. She looked up at him. Big Mistake. His face was right there. His lips were close enough to kiss. The masculine earthly scent of him surrounded her. Desire ignited in her loins. Oh god what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she think?

"I... I don't know"

He smiled, indulgently. He could see the effect he was having on her. He spoke so quietly, she needed to lean in to hear him; making the conversation far more intimate than it needed to be.

"You could have this one?" He pointed at her menu, his arm momentarily resting against hers. It burned where their bodies connected, and even where they didn't. "And I could get this." he continued, pointing to another item on the menu. His arm brushing against hers again, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "And we could share?"

She could feel the tickle of his breath against her throat, His voice, weighty with intent, licked through her. Her toes curled in her shoes, and deep in her belly she felt the intoxicating pulse of her desire flare and quicken. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded her agreement.

When her food arrived it was spicier, than last time. Not unpleasantly hot, but hot enough that it warmed her insides, heating her face, adding to her already inflamed state.

"There's a lot of coconut." Eleanor said

"Coconuts are Kerala's biggest export"

As he spoke he leaned forward and swept his thumb across the edge of Orla's lower lip. and licked it clean. Her mouth tingled where he'd touched. She pushed her eyes closed, in a bid to contain the inferno raging inside her. She squirmed in her seat, pushing her legs together to ease the heat building in her groin. It didn't help. It felt like molten lava was coursing though her veins.

"Greg!" She hissed, "stop it"

He chuckled. The sound made Orla's already unmanageable levels of desire tip over into meltdown. "But I'm enjoying myself"

Ben watched from across table, eyes narrowed. He wouldn't be able to hear what they're saying, but he could surely guess the gist of it.

The waitress appeared and began collecting plates. Greg's innate sense of good manners meant his attention was diverted towards helping clear the table. Orla sighed with relief, her torment would soon be over. When waitress returned with the bill, Eleanor insisted on paying. Greg was cross, when she won't let him help. Orla mumbled something about knowing how he felt.

His eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn't identify. "This is different."

"How is it different exactly?"

He didn't have a reply to that. Instead he watched her with a look that made her stomach clench with anticipation.

*

Greg kept stealing glances at Orla as they walked home. She was wearing a pretty green camisole top and loose cotton trousers. The colour suited her. He'd never met anyone who affected him in quite the way she did. More than once, over the course of the evening, he'd had to squash a primitive desire to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of the pub and home to his bed. She made him feel like a cave man. She was beautiful. But she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful? Was she the kind of woman he'd be better admiring from a distance, rather than getting close to and burned? He'd texted her a few times, after that second night. He had been disappointed but not that surprised when she didn't reply. He'd stopped trying pretty quickly.

Orla shivered beside him, rubbing her hands up her bare arms. The warmth of the sun had long since departed and she wasn't wearing a jacket. Greg shrugged his own off, and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up at him and ahead again quickly. "Won't you be cold?"

"I'm wearing more than you." He said, in a tone which brooked no argument.

"Thanks, I hadn't meant to be out so late."

"Here we are again." He said, when they reached her door.

"Thanks for walking me home." She looked up at him with her big green eyes. Biting her bottom lip. The expression on her face, as conflicted as he felt.

She stepped forward, and gently pressed her lips against his. The kiss began tenderly. And as Orla's eyes fell closed, Greg felt like a desperate thirst was finally being quenched, after a long scorching day with no relief. Their bodies weren't touching, just their lips. He lifted a hand and cupped her check. Something changed then. The lazy sumptuous contact exploded into something urgent and desperate. She sunk her teeth into his lower lip. He rested both his hands on her hips and gently pushed her further into the doorway. As she hit the wall she grabbed his shirt and tugged. Forcing him to step forward, so he was pressed up against her chest.

God he wanted her. He wanted her so badly.

Without speaking she opened door, and they made their way inside. No lights were switched on, no one removed their jackets, they just went straight to her room and fell onto the bed. Finally alone. She kissed him as thought the world was ending, wrapping her arms around his neck, fisting her hands in his hair. It was painful, deliciously so. And Greg's heart soured. Every cell in his body rejoiced. Something male and possessive and undefinable surged through him. He pulled back, and looked at her. Everything about her was perfect. Her waist; so slender, he could almost encircle it entirely in his hands. Her breasts; so perfect, he couldn't wait to get her clothes off and feast on them again. Her eyes; green with hazel flecks and almost too big for her face. He could lose himself in them forever. The freckles; across the bridge of her nose, covering her shoulders. More pronounced since the summer had arrived. He began to pepper them in kisses. She grabbed his face in her hands and pulled it back up so she could kiss his mouth.

He wanted to be inside her so badly, but darker thoughts intruded. Memories of that morning, weeks ago, when she wouldn't look at him. The heavy feeling in his chest when she hadn't replied to his texts. The terrible sting of her rejection. He stopped, cupped her face in his hands and studied it. She seemed to know, he was suddenly serious, as she watched him back. He'd be lying to himself, if he didn't admit he was crazy about her. At significant risk of falling had over heels in love with her. His response to Ben earlier, had been a sign of how irrational and strong his feelings were, when it came to Orla. And he would be telling himself an even bigger lie if he didn't recognise she didn't feel the same way.