I AM SOLEMNLY SORRY! oh gosh. i know i said that i would update about a MILLION YEARS AGO but i promptly forgot about this after i posted it and then a few months later i read it and cringed at my writing and i swore to myself i would update because i love you guys for letting me know you loved it, but then i had a zillion of schoolwork (and I sound truly pathetic, I know.)
was that a bunch of crap you didn't need to know? probably. anyway, Rush ended and Michael died! WHAT? ): but I hope some FF can entertain you and be an peace offering to you as a beer is a peace offering to Shannon!
and you guys loved it? what? seriously? half the time i'm writing nonsense, and i was so thrilled! honestly, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. anyways, you all probably forgot about this story so righto then… oh and btw, i really have to make Jacinta's character a bitch for later chapters. i hate it, because i absolutely love Asher Keddie, but didn't particularly like her character in Rush…
Chapter Two - Drunk
THIS WAS A bad idea, SHANNON thought, trying to conjure up with excuses of why it wasn't in her schedule to share a drink with Lawson, a taken man, for goodness sake. Tiredness, maybe? Or Michael was afraid of the dark? The latter sounded good, plausible. Michael was the world's greatest pussy after all and -
Shannon looked up and met Lawson's frowning face. "Yeah? Sorry."
His frown deepened. "Are you… okay? I mean, it's not this…" He gestured between them two. "…isn't it?"
"No," Shannon said quickly. "Just… aren't you supposed to be with Jacinta now though? I don't think she'll appreciate you having a drink with a female colleague."
"Nah, she's in Adelaide. Some big arse serial killer story over there or something." He shrugged. Took a sip of his beer. Glanced around the pub, "Besides, you're my friend, right?"
The F-word went through Shannon's chest painfully. But she smiled. "Of course."
Lawson smirked. "Although… we used to be friendlier back in the day."
Shannon rolled her eyes. She really didn't want to think of that. If she did, she wouldn't be able to contain herself, throwing herself shamelessly at a completely unavailable man. "Shut the fuck up," she said without heat.
But Lawson didn't. He grinned. "Hey, there were some good times."
Shannon smiled. "Don't flatter yourself, Blake. I've had better."
The mirthfulness that was there was completely wiped off. "What, with your new boyfriend?"
Boyfriend? Shannon thought. What the hell -
Right. This morning, when she jokingly lied to him that she was on a date the night before (when she was really at a club with Stella) and then he got crazy pissed off for no apparent reason. The bloody dumbarse still thought she was with a guy. Well, she wasn't going to look like an idiot who lied to her boss so…
"Right," Shannon said smoothly.
Lawson jaw clenched and he took a gulp of beer. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand roughly. "What his name?" he asked.
Name? What was this, fucking twenty questions or something now? Shannon hesitated, sipping her beer to stall. "Is that really necessary?"
"Hey, I just want to know his name, not his penis size by inch," Lawson said. Shannon choked on her mouthful. "Why, is it a really embarrassing name? Like Dick? Or… Wolfgang?"
"Just give me the name, Shannon," he said exasperatedly.
A million male names flashed through Shannon. "It's… Michael."
Oh. Jesus. Fuck. Out of all the names, it had to be her colleague's/housemate's name!
Kill me now, God. Just take me.
Lawson reacted the worst though. He spluttered in disbelief and his voice came out hoarse when he choked out, "Michael? As in, our Michael?"
Well, Shannon had to make-do with what she got. She wasn't sergeant for no reason after all. She rolled her eyes. "No, shitdick. A different one. It's a common name."
Lawson recovered from his shock and sit up straight. "Oh. Well, fuck. Imagine if it were bloody Sandrelli."
Shannon winced. "I'd… prefer not."
"Yeah. Right. So what does not-our-Michael do for living?"
Shannon narrowed her eyes. There was no way she was going to stack on another lie for her phantom boyfriend. But just to get him out of her hair… "Accountant. Now shut up and drink."
"OKAY," SHANNON SAID, her head resting on her hand. She swayed a little in her bar stool. "Kerry is so gonna kick our hangover arse tomorrowwww."
Lawson nodded in agreement. "Lady needs to get laid," he said matter-of-factly. He giggled uncharacteristically and pressed his finger to his lips. "Shhhh," he whispered, as if Kerry was within earshot. "Don't tell her."
"Locked and threw away the key," Shannon said, waving her hand airily.
They erupted into another fit of giggles. So they were acting like a couple of teenagers discovering the effects of alcohol for the first time but who the fuck cared?
"Righty-o," Pete, the bartender said to the both of them, his face bemused. "You guys are cut off. You're having too much fun."
"Nooooo," Shannon said. Or slurred. Whatever. Everything felt like one big blur to her. "We are not drunk. I swear on my left tit."
Pete quirked an eyebrow and chuckled, removing their bottles off the bar. "Not drunk, huh? Right, and I'm Johnny Depp. Want me to call youse a cab?"
Lawson looked Shannon through barely-opened eyes. 'Whaddya think, Henry? Shall we take this party of two elsewhere? The bloke over here cut off our supply."
"Right. Let's go."
Lawson handed the bartender a wad of notes. "No change. 'Sgo, Shan."
Outside the pub, it was chilly, a mere eighteen degrees and Shannon prayed the cab could come a little bit faster. The road was bare and quiet but Lawson wasn't. "Oh God," he said. "This feels… fuckin' liberating. Probably gotta feel like a piece of shit tomorrow but bloody well worth it."
Shannon closed her eyes and leant her head back about the brick wall. She crossed her arms for warmth. "Mmmm."
Lawson looked over at her and noticed her freezing state, even though he was thoroughly shitfaced. "You cold? Want my jacket?"
"Nah…" Shannon said, clutching her head. "You'll catch a cold."
Shrugging his leather jacket off anyway, Lawson put the clothing over her shoulders. Warmth enveloped her. Shannon opened her eyes.
Lawson looked down at her, hot, dark eyes intent on her, and suddenly, she didn't seem drunk anymore. His hand lingered on her neck, and went down, tracing her collarbone and Shannon breath became fast, and bit her lower lip, which made Lawson look there and -
"Shit," he said. He also seemed clear minded now. His face seemed like stone. "No. We shouldn't. This is a bad idea.
Shannon blinked a few times. "Yes, the worse," Shannon said, breathy. "We're drunk and just horny."
His hand went up anyway, to cup her cheek lightly. He hand was shaking, torn between desire and logic. "This is dumb. So dumb."
Shannon leaned forward and bunched his shirt in her hands. "Then stop."
His eyes drifted down to where Shannon's hands were at, then he looked up, pained, confused and blurred. His hand wove into her hair and Shannon's heart just about stopped. "I… can't."
"Then…" Shannon's lifted his shirt a little so she could touch his torso. She was sure she was going to regret it, so would he, but they'd gone to far now to even consider stopping. "Then don't."
Then, he kissed her. It wasn't gentle, like the end of a 50's romance film. It was demanding, thorough, passionate, as if they starved for each another like it was oxygen. It was hot, so hot, and when he stroked his tongue with her, she groaned and he pulled back and said, "Oh, hell," and then he pressed into her and made her damn lose her mind and…
"Bad, bad idea," Lawson said like it was a reminder to himself, his voice husky, and Shannon said, "More," and there was no way he'd refuse that.
He kissed her again, and as he was about to ease his hands under her shirt…
His phone rang.
Lawson pulled back as fast as if he'd been electrocuted, as if she were diseased, and he was breathing hard. "Christ!" he yelled into the frigid air and stumbled because he was drunk and had a lack of equilibrium. "Fucking hell."
Shannon fell back against the wall, wanting to cry, and hating herself because she wanted to. They should've stopped. But it was too hard.
Lawson glanced at his phone, debating whether to take the call. Shannon knew who it was on the other line. It was like a sixth sense. Jacinta. He sighed, running a hand down his tired face and pressed silent on his cell. "Look, Shan. I'm sorry, it was my fault. Just… forget it happened."
Shannon nodded. It hurt to hear that, God it did, but there was no other way. What they did was in the moment of passion and they were drunk and that was easy, believable. What she couldn't deny, however, was that she wanted him. But she wasn't going to be a home wrecker either. She'd best stay away.
The taxi drive home was eerily quiet.
SHANNON WOKE UP, feeling completely shit. There was no way to describe it, really. First, she noticed her pounding head, throbbing relentlessly. Then, the sun peeking out the curtains and that made her head hurt even more. And then, she remembered her and her boss, practically near-doing it in front of a pub.
She groaned. A guilty conscience. She hated it.
Michael stood at the doorway, coffee and the mail in his hand.
"Did you," he said, "get the supplies last night?"
Shannon's head was fuzzy. "What?"
"Groceries, Shannon. Did you get them?"
Go away, Michael, you pest. "Uh… I got… tied-up."
"What were you doing?" he asked.
"Friend's house." I drunkenly made out with the Senior Sergeant last night. And we were practically dry humping for the world to see until his girlfriend called.
"Well, get them today. Or else you owe me a beer at the pub. Oh, and," Michael looked down at the stack of letters, "a letter for you. It has no returning address or anything, it just says, 'Shannon'. Weird… Whatever, here." Michael tossed the letter on the bed. "Anyway, get up and get ready. Duty calls. And by the way, you look like shit right now."
"Gee, thanks," Shannon said.
And he left.
Shannon withdrew her blanket slowly. Okay. Okay. So a couple of drunken kisses. No biggie. It was alcohol. And alcohol made them lose their inhibitions. That was easy to believe.
So when she was going to work, she would reiterate this theory to Lawson, so that he wouldn't feel guilty. And she was going to make sure she would never be in close proximity to Lawson Blake ever again. So that ruled out going to the pub with him in promise of a beer.
It was impossible because, of course, they were colleagues, but she had to try.
Shannon got her head straight and stared at the nondescript letter on her bed. Grabbing it and turning it over, she had to say that Michael was right. Strange. It had no address, no stamp, so it had to been personally delivered to her house.
Shannon, it said, and that was all.
Ripping it open and unfolding the piece of paper inside it, Shannon rolled her eyes. Who the hell writes letters anymore? Who the hell would come specifically to her house to drop a letter? That was seriously ridiculous and -
She wasn't a pussy. No, Shannon was a tough woman, but this made her heart stop.
The letter read three words:
You're mine, Henry.