Blood RED. Paul Kane

      “Okay,” said Steph, eyes on the prowl again. “Him. Now he’s been checking you out since he came in.” She was pointing to a dark-haired man not far away at the bar, dressed in what looked to be a pretty expensive suit, albeit with an open-necked shirt; the complete opposite of the denim-clad man’s outfit. And the way he held himself was confident, assured.

      “He has not. And don’t point,” said Rachael. “Oh no, he’s seen you now.”

      “So what? I do it all the time ... It’s part of the dance, Rachael. The fine art of seduction.”

      The man smiled at them, and Steph smiled back. In fact, she waved.

      “Stop it,” pleaded Rachael, but it was far too late for that. The man strolled over and leaned on the top of the booth. Now that he was closer, Rachael could take in his clean-shaven appearance, wavy black hair and deep, penetrating eyes. The way that smile lit up his face completed the set perfectly.

      “Hello ladies,” he said, flashing it again. “Nice evening for it.”

      Steph giggled, and was about to say something when Rachael kicked her ankle.

      “Can I buy either of you a drink?”

      “Not very original, but since you’re offering. Bacardi, please.” Steph held up her virtually empty glass and waggled it. Rachael shook her head coyly.

      While he was at the bar again, Rachael pulled Steph closer and asked her what the hell she was playing at.

      “What’s the matter, don’t you like him? I think he’s gorgeous. Suave, sophisticated ... Plenty of money, I’d say.”

      “We don’t even know him.”

      “So? We get to know him. If you’re not interested, I’ll take him.”

      Rachael frowned. “You make him sound like a washing machine or something.”

      “Just set him on the spin cycle and I’ll be happy enough,” said Steph with a laugh.

      “Look, this really isn’t me. I don’t do this kind of thing ...” Steph shushed Rachael as he returned with her drink, and one of his own—a scotch.

      “Cheers,” he said, clicking the glasses together. Rachael held up her drink and he locked eyes with her. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and, to her surprise, found herself smiling.

      “So,” he said. “I’m Will. William Oliver Finch to be precise, at your service.” He gave a little bow.

      Steph introduced herself and Rachael. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before,” she tacked on to the end.

      “No, I’m fairly new to the area.”

      “How did you end up in this place, then?”

      “Oh, I just followed my nose. And what do you ladies do for a living?”

      Rachael opened her mouth, but found Steph answering for her. “I work in a solicitor’s office, but Rachael here ... she’s an actress.”

      Will’s eyebrows shot up, obviously impressed. “An actress?”

      Now Rachael was blushing even more. “Aspiring,” she corrected.

      “She’s been in plays and everything,” Steph added.

      Will nodded. “I’ve done a bit of acting in my time, too.”

      “Really?” asked Rachael. The night was picking up a little bit after all, and Will was quite a handsome man. “Yes, not professionally you understand—nothing in your league. But I seem to have a flair for it.”

      “Well, look at that—you two have something in common, then.” Steph was beaming.

      “Oh, I’m sure we have lots in common,” said Will with confidence, grinning again and sitting himself down opposite them in the booth.

      Maybe I’m going to enjoy myself tonight after all, thought Rachael. Famous last words, she discovered, as the evening took a decided turn for the worse not long afterwards.

      Steph had made the blatant excuse of needing the loo, in spite of Rachael giving her a look that would’ve frozen lava. “Won’t be a tick,” she told them, undeterred. “You two carry on chatting.”

      After an awkward pause, they both said together: “So ...” Will chuckled and she found herself laughing too. “You first,” they said again in unison. That did it, and they both cracked up.

      Rachael was so busy laughing, she didn’t notice the shadow fall across their table. She was aware of a figure standing there, and was about to tell Steph that she’d been quick, when she realised it wasn’t her at all. Rachael stopped laughing instantly, stunned into silence.

      It was Mike. Her Mike. No, don’t call him that anymore, he forfeited the right when he slobbered all over that cow. He looked the same as he had the last time she’d seen him—which, she had to admit, wasn’t that long ago—same tousled hair, same razor slit across one eyebrow. All that had changed was the T-shirt he wore.

      “Hello Rachael,” he said, then looked Will up and down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new ... friend?”

      “Mike ...” she managed. “What are you doing here?”

      “It’s a free country, isn’t it?”

      Elaine ... thought Rachael, her mind working overtime. Had to be. Steph must have told her sister she was coming out with me here. Elaine told Mike. Simple. Why couldn’t they just keep their big mouths shut, why—

      “I’m still waiting for an introduction,” said Mike, his voice taking on a more urgent edge.

      “Will,” said Rachael. “This is Mike ... my ex-boyfriend.” She emphasised the first bit for both their benefits.

      “Ah,” said Will, sticking out his hand. Mike ignored it.

      “You two look very cosy,” Mike said.

      Rachael shook her head. “Cosy? We were just having a laugh, and anyway, what the hell has it got to do with you anymore?”

      It was at this point that Steph did return from the bathroom. “Shit! Mike? What’s he doing here?”

      “We’ve done that one already,” said Rachael. “And I want words with you later about it.”

      Steph held up her hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t know anything about this, I swear.”

      Mike changed tack then, saying, “Look, Rachael, I came to talk to you.”

      “I’ve got nothing to say.”

      He leaned in close to her, making her uncomfortable. “You owe me that much at least.”

      “Owe you!” spat Rachael. “Owe you?”

      “You’re upsetting the lady,” said Will, rising. Mike put his hand on Will’s shoulder to stop him from getting up.

      “I don’t think you want to do that, friend,” Will told him.

      “I’m not your friend.”

      Will’s eyes narrowed and he brushed off Mike’s hand. Then he was suddenly up and standing beside him.

      Sensing the inevitable, Steph tried to step between the pair. “Now let’s all just calm down a little.” But it was way too late.

      Mike tried to push him, but Will grabbed his arms and pushed him back. Though Will looked the perfect gentleman, he was quickly showing that in a fight, it was another story. Mike took a swing, catching Will a glancing blow to the cheek. He snarled, and tackled Mike to the ground, knocking over a table with some glasses on it.

      The next thing, people were wading in—including the burly landlord—separating the men, dragging them to their feet and holding