No Strings Attached

Chapter Six

Davies cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he spoke slowly, “Nate asked me to stick around and cover the rest of your stay once Tori’s gone, although he will also be here by then he wants you to feel completely safe.”

Shannon crossed her arms defensively over her breasts, the white fabric stretching over her flesh. “Why would he do that?” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“You know why,” he rushed out in a breath, signalling Tori’s appearance out of the store behind them.

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Back at the hotel later, she couldn’t get Nate out of her head.

He was like a dog with a bone whenever she saw him, he just wouldn’t let go – pushing and pushing her for a response.

And all it was doing was crowding her mind with memories – good and bad – that really wasn’t helping her with everything else that was going on up there recently.

Dr. Greenwood had advised some respite, a break of sorts. Initially she’d thought she was having it, but with Nate knocking around every two seconds she was drowning again.

Except, talking with Tori the other day, about her and Jayden, well it had sparked something in her.

Nate called to her body – he always had, probably always would. And maybe she wouldn’t ever find that again.

But she could try having a master again, she could try and ... work through things that way. It felt as though she’d been looking for the response that he drew from her body since the second she’d realized that she’d never have him again – he was completely right about that. Maybe it was just about finding someone new to ... command it.

Groaning in frustration, she grabbed the short leather jacket she’d brought to fight off the cold night air, and threw it over the short cream peasant style dress and grey cowboy boots that she’d changed into. Running her fingers through the choppy razor sharp cut of her concave hairstyle, she grabbed her purse from the sideboard and went down to the bar.

The bartender was with her within seconds, pulling out the tall lime green leather bar stool before she could. “Miss Claxon,” he said smoothly, a flirty glint in his emerald green eyes that she would have probably giggled like a schoolgirl to a year ago, “What can I do you for?”

His lips twitched in a private smile at his own joke, and she almost rolled her eyes at him. He was only around eighteen, obviously basking in the throes of early testosterone with the steroid induced muscles that were evident beneath the casual white shirt that was rolled to the elbows.

“Scotch,” she muttered abstractedly, “A large one. Ice, and a dash of soda water.”

 Handing over her credit card, she swallowed the drink in one, and then ordered another, and told him to keep open the tab.

Just over two hours later, she was feeling the clouding of her mind with the whiskey, but she wasn’t feeling a rush of happiness she was looking for – or the peace of mind that fools you when you drink and dance the night away.

This bar – trendy as it was with its smooth black marble countertops, and the vivid lime green matched with the matte black wallpaper – lively and bouncing as it was with the Skrillex that pounded from the speakers, and the fairy lights that blinked at the large window front – it just wasn’t the place to sort out your shit, she thought, looking around at the smiling happy faces of her peers.

Not the place at all, she thought, settling up her tab and grabbing her handbag.

The soft breeze ruffled her hair as she stepped out into the night – streetlamps casting a soft glow over the pavement as cars idled past. Pulling her jacket tighter around her, she crossed her arms underneath her chest and strolled slowly past the shops and restaurants on the quiet streets.