He smiled, finally. Just a small softening of his lips, but it made his chiseled face look less sharp. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Josie, even if the manner of our meeting left a little to be desired.” She grimaced, though there was no venom in his voice.
He’d let go of her hand and turned away from her by the time she blurted out, “Why don’t I buy you a drink?”
He looked back at her, his brow furrowed over those shifting eyes. She rolled the bike back and forth on the pavement, pinpricks of heat traveling uncomfortably over her skin from the way he was considering her.
“I mean, as an apology. A drink in exchange for a phone.” And yes, that was part of the reason, because really, buying him a drink was the least she could do, but it wasn’t all. Stranded here, he’d said. Alone at Christmas, though he hadn’t explicitly said that. And right then, she didn’t want him to be lonely, at least not in that exact moment, not when she knew exactly how that felt.
He cocked his head, as if weighing up her offer. “A drink in exchange for a phone…” He shrugged. “OK.”
She bit her lip—he hadn’t exactly sounded enthused by the idea. “OK?”
“OK,” he repeated, completely deadpan, his expression giving nothing away.
She locked up her bike, slightly regretting the impulse, being as how they seemed to have already run out of things to say to each other, then led the way inside. She immediately had to strip off her coat to deal with the onslaught of heat from the fire in the corner and the impressive mass of bodies crowding the place. She headed to the bar decorated with that fake green tinsel and jars of fairy lights, wishing right then that she had a local pub she could have taken him to instead, one where the landlord knew her name, where she could be chatty to the staff, rather than risk being stilted and awkward, as she was feeling now. The closest thing she had to that in Streatham was the little pizza place down the road from her flat, which she and Bia often went to, where the waiters greeted them politely, but with an undercurrent of suspicion, like they were wondering if they had a secret, pizza-eating agenda.
A woman behind the bar, her hair in bunches despite the fact she’d got to be in her mid-twenties, sidled up to them, and flicked her gaze over Josie to settle on Max. She beamed widely, more at Max than Josie, and Josie looked at Max for the first time since entering the pub. Well, of course he’d have to be bloody attractive, wouldn’t he? He’d taken off his Sherlock coat and was wearing a petrol-blue jumper underneath, which fitted his body snugly enough to make it obvious that he spent some time working out. The two-toned eyes were more obvious now in the light, the dark green merging subtly into amber. His hair was ever so slightly wavy, though she wasn’t sure if the windswept look was something natural or because of their little accident just now, and there was exactly the right amount of stubble grazing his jaw.
“What can I get you?” the barmaid asked.
“Umm, I’ll have a glass of house red,” Josie said, looking questioningly at Max, who shrugged.
“Sure, I’ll have the same.”
Drinks in hand, Josie managed to find a small corner table and slipped into the booth, leaving him to take the chair opposite. Max grimaced as he sat down. “What’s wrong?” Josie asked quickly. If he was in pain from the accident, maybe she’d allow him to be a bit pissed off with her.
Max raised his eyebrows in a way that suggested she might have sounded a tad too concerned, and nodded up toward the ceiling. She frowned and looked up, but he shook his head. “No, the music.”
She listened. “God, terrible,” she said. “Impossible to escape the endless Christmas songs at this time of year though. You just have to grit your teeth and block it out.”
His lips twitched as he met her gaze, not quite giving in to a full smile or, God forbid, the hint of a laugh. “Cheers to that,” he said, and they clinked glasses. She took a sip. It wasn’t as nice as the wine Bia had brought home, but it wasn’t bad.
Max relaxed back against his chair, his eyes fixed on her face in a way that felt a little intense. “So, Josie. Tell me. What is it that you do, when you’re not off kamikaze bike-riding, running down strangers on the road?”
She took another sip of wine. “Oh, that’s my main profession actually.”
“Aha. That would explain the expert way you did it then. A lot of money in it?”
“Tons.” He did that lip twitch thing again. “I’m in marketing,” she admitted.