The only advice he’d get from his idiot friend would be dirty and screwed. No, he needed someone to talk to who didn’t have his head screwed on slightly sideways. It wasn’t like there was actually anything to be inflated about, was there? Damn, he needed Alan right now. Just like he didn’t know why he felt a little down, a little deflated. How the hell he managed to swallow he’d never know. “Friends,” she echoed, and clinked her mug to his. But then Carly smiled again, her shoulders relaxing, and the warmth in her eyes was so genuine, so happy, that he tamped down his irritation and smiled widely at her. Mustering his professional shield, he smiled at her, released her sweet little hand, sat back, raised his mug in salute and said, “Friends.” Just like that - fizzzzzz! Heat chilled down. That was like a dash of ice water to his rapidly heating ardour. Hell, that little squeeze of his hand had warmth spreading right up his arm, and when she smiled so gently, he had the sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss her, to touch his lips to those inviting, plump ones, to drown in her soft brown eyes and. Turning her hand, she linked her fingers through his and squeezed gently. “And I’m sitting here drinking your tea and eating your biccies, right?” “And yet I still came over to check your hand, didn’t I?” “In his sodden state, it was definitely ‘pour’ and not ‘put’.” “And already I’ve patched you up and helped pour Ed into bed.” “I don’t think you’re that kind of people.” “Nothing of the kind crossed my mind.” Wisely, he didn’t mention his fleeting doubts about the peace of the neighbourhood when he’d heard the motorbike roaring off down the road.
Soothingly, he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Honey, look at me.” When she raised her eyes, he could see the uncertainty in them and it tugged at something way down deep inside him. Understanding dawned, and leaning across the table, Sam laid his hand over hers to stop her fidgeting fingers. Last night wasn’t something that’s going to happen regularly, I promise you. “Sam, I promise you, there’re no wild times, wild parties. She was biting her lip, fidgeting with the handle of the mug. Why was she so worried? Frowning, Sam studied her. And it’s actually only a few blokes, you know? Not a club or anything.” They meet now and again, have a few drinks, but they’re not rowdy, there’s no fighting. They’re just a bunch of blokes who like motorbikes. “They’re not a bikie mob, not like Hells Angels or anything like that.
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