The memory of his lips on the hollow of her neck made her groan. She always did this.

She looked into the bottom of her tequila shot and wondered just how many of these she'd had in the last two hours. She didn't know but she was pretty sure that she had reached her usual limit about five glasses ago. The blues music drifting from the jukebox hammered into her brain and she dropped her head into her hands, shaking it slowly and persistently.

It always came down to him. Every time she saw him, she ended up drinking herself stupid in a myriad of seedy bars and wondering what the hell happened to her life. She should stop.

Re-evaluate. But she couldn't. She was intoxicated by him and no matter how hard she tried, how much she drank, no amount of willpower or alcohol could change that. Some would call it love, she called it bad planning.

She signalled the bartender to send over another shot and promised herself that this one would finally send her into a blissful oblivion. It would make her forget his hands running down her back, through her hair. She downed the tequila and slumped forward despairingly. She was addicted.

She laughed cynically to herself, thinking of how she had been before she had met him. Steady boyfriend. Steady job. Steady life. Normal…No. Boring. But now look at her. Sat in a bar at two in the morning, smelling of stale cigarette smoke, alcohol and sweat with dishevelled hair and smudged lipstick.

She had never planned to be the 'other woman'. She didn't think he'd planned for it either. Still, it had happened and she couldn't deny it. The party had been ridiculous, some stupid get-together thrown by her boyfriend and of course he had to be there. Suit and tie. He'd looked so damn sexy until she'd seen the trophy girlfriend on his arm. Blonde and beautiful. After that, she'd been in a crappy mood for the rest of the evening. Jealous. Green.

And she'd shown it. Huddled in the shadows of the cloakroom. Unspoken promises. Whispered kisses. The beginning of a fucked up arrangement that suited both and neither of them at the same time. It was necessity. It was hunger.

Irregular. Like his breathing as he kissed her collarbone in some dank motel room somewhere because they were too damn impatient to find a proper hotel. She shook her head again and snapped her fingers for another shot. Maybe this time. Maybe not.