2016

That first week passes quickly, thankfully devoid of any more strange dreams. I'm relieved about that because training is pretty thorough and I really need my sleep to recover.

I'm unsurprised to discover I'll need to be able to cover the bar, restaurant and reception if necessary, as well as assist with the HR and payroll duties. I'll also be dealing with the hotel's social media as part of my role, which I have to admit pleases me. Alice has confessed she can't really be bothered with that side of things ("I'd 100 percent end up tweeting from the wrong account about pregnancy piles or something," she'd giggled) but I'm quite eager to get my teeth into that. So much so that I've already happily taken that chore out of Alice's hands.

I barely see Ryan. Obviously our days off won't overlap since I'm meant to be his cover, but even on the days we are both working we're like ships that pass in the night. We're overly cordial to each other when we do find ourselves crossing paths. One time I almost even curtsey, but I decide that is maybe taking our icy politeness a little too far.

Each day flies in and every evening I find myself falling into a routine - 30 minutes on the cross-trainer blasting 90s dance music into my ears, followed by a bath, then whatever I can be bothered cobbling together in the kitchen for dinner. After that I usually wrap myself up in my bed and watch Netflix on my laptop. If I can be bothered pushing the boat out, I'll chance a glass of wine, but I'm usually half asleep by that point.

I'm always very aware of the fact that Ryan might be on the other side of the wall. On a slightly related note, I haven't yet used my vibrator. I'm still trying to work out just how thin those walls actually are.

Friday is my first day off and I decide I really should just take it easy and try to recuperate after the last four days. A nice long lie beckons, and I thoroughly embrace the urge to sleep until eleven a.m. I fully deserve it.

I love my room, I think, glancing around contentedly from my comfortable bed. I'm starting to love my job already too, I realise. Because I have so much practical experience working in hotels growing up and in the summers during my degree, I have picked up most tasks pretty quickly, and I'm feeling confident I'll be able to manage once Alice finishes up and I'm on my own.

Then I remember her last day is Sunday and try not to panic.

Once I've dressed and stuffed a few slices of buttered toast in my mouth, I'm feeling calmer again and I head down to stare at the loch for a bit. The water is choppier today and I let the waves hypnotise me for fifteen minutes or so. It's surprisingly therapeutic.

On the way back to my room, I run into Angus. "Been for a cycle?" I ask him, probably a tad redundantly, taking in his outfit. I know it's his day off today as well. We've been talking (and flirting) quite a lot this week.

"Nah, I just really like to wear skintight shorts to the pub," he jokes. "Speaking of the pub . . . hey, eyes up here!"

My gaze snap guiltily back to his face. What is with me lately??? He's clearly trying not to laugh.

"I wasn't looking at that . . . I mean it. I mean . . ." I cover my face in mortification. "Sorry! What were you saying before I so rudely perved on you?" I might as well own it.

A chuckle escapes his lips. "Fancy coming to the pub in the village tonight?" He asks casually. "We can be locals for the night."

Is this a date? Do I want it to be a date?

Either way, I find myself nodding. "I'd like that."

We've agreed to meet out front at seven so I have a few hours to stress and then another few to choose an outfit. It reminds me of the night of the barbecue all these years ago, trying to choose an outfit to impress Ryan, and I briefly have to squeeze my eyes tightly together to eject the memory. I decide to stay casual and swap out my baggy jumper for a fairly low cut slouchy black top that really makes the girls look good. And yes, "the girls" are my boobs.

Angus is already waiting for me when I reach our meeting point and I don't know whether to be disappointed or relieved that he's not alone - one of the local part-time barstaff, Rory, is also ready to go. So it's a group thing, I surmise as we walk down the road towards the pub. Probably for the best.

"I'll get us a round in." Rory walks off to the bar as Angus leads me to a table. The pub itself is fairly small and already busy, so I guess we're lucky to get a seat at all.

"Sorry about Rory." Angus leans over as he sits and says in a low voice into my ear. Goosebumps prick at my skin. "He pretty much invited himself along and I didn't have the heart to say no. His girlfriend just dumped him so he's feeling a bit crap."

I smile. "It's cool, the more the merrier."

"Personally, I'd prefer if it was just us," he says as he straightens back up. He smiles at me and there doesn't seem to be any guile or agenda there. I have a feeling this is what he does though - it's his honesty and straightforwardness that pulls in the ladies. And Alice has assured me he's pulled in many; mostly hotel guests.

This doesn't really bother me. I don't really have any desire to be another notch on his bedpost - well, most of the time I don't think I do - but I want to experience the initial burn that leads to that. The flirtation, the build-up, maybe a bit of skin-on-skin. The anticipation.

For some reason, probably from the intent in his eyes, I have a strong feeling Angus is going to provide me with all of the above tonight. Maybe even more if I want it.

He's already angled himself closer to me as Rory returns with three pints and plonks himself down opposite us. "Thanks for including me, guys," he says as he holds his glass aloft towards us. "I really didn't feel like being alone tonight."

"No worries," Angus says easily, as we clink our glasses together. "So tell us what happened with Carrie."

We're through the best part of our first drink by the time Rory has treated us to the first act of a lengthy monologue about the ups-and-downs (mainly downs) of his relationship with his now-ex. We "um" and "ah" and "you're kidding, what a bitch!" our way through our side of the conversation, but I'm barely listening and I suspect Angus isn't either.

Because he's slid a warm hand up underneath my top and is tracing shapes on my back.

His touch is light as a feather but holy shit, all my nerves are fizzing over like a bubbling glass of prosecco. At one point, his hand slides right round to my other side, just above my hip and I find myself jumping and letting out a giggle. My sides are ticklish. Angus' fingers get the hint and retreat to the small of my back, while Rory frowns at my involuntary interruption.

"Sorry, my drink went down the wrong way," I say in explanation. I realise too late it's probably been at least five minutes since I last picked up my glass and my explanation isn't exactly feasible; however, Rory is caught up in his own drama and therefore almost immediately resumes his sorry tale without suspicion.

Eventually he needs the loo. "Gonna get us another round on the way back?" Angus asks him, passing over a twenty quid note. "I don't want to leave Iona on her own to fend off the old men in here." He grins down at me, and my breath hitches. "She's pretty irresistible after all."

As Rory walks away, I'm almost melting into a puddle of lust. This is what I was talking about. This is exactly what I need.

"Your skin is so smooth," Angus says softly, looking straight ahead like nothing at all is untoward. "I'd like to find out where else you're ticklish." He briefly slides his hand away from me but it's just to pull my chair even closer to his. Our sides are pressed against each other and we're both ridiculously warm where our bodies connect.

I'm speechless. My pulse is currently racing to win an 100m sprint. It just outran Usain Bolt.

His eyes are dark when he turns to look at me again. He tucks some of my more wayward ringlets out of the way and brushes his lips across my ear and I stifle a gasp. Then he pulls back and picks up the remainder of his pint to sip, casually. I find myself doing the same, on auto-pilot.

Rory joins us again and with that the curtain comes up on Act 2 of The Story of Carrie. And apparently Angus is not yet tired of stroking my back. I drift off, this time just letting him insert the required platitudes.

There is one point where I register Rory saying "and can you believe she wouldn't let me put it in there?" and wonder if he's talking sex or something else, but I can't quite bring myself to care. My brain has stopped functioning. My whole body is hypersensitive. I'm feeling extremely turned on right now. Far more than I expected to be.

But can I do this with Angus?

I guess, one way or another, I'm going to have to make a decision very soon . . .

Okay, so I actually wasn't planning any of that to happen in this chapter... the characters went rogue on me.🤣

Bear with me while I decide if I can rein them in or not . . . ❤️

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