'FUCK LOVE,' I tell myself as I set the glass down with a decisive click.

Obsessive thinking. Separation anxiety. Bad surprises. Sleepless nights. Rebound hook-ups. Who the fuck needs this shit?

So, instead of risking getting blown to pieces again, maybe I should just enjoy life in a less complicated fashion. This evening, for example. Instead of sulking, I could have some fun with that cute brunette.

She's right here, in front of me, shaking her curvy bum, sending me all the buying signals. Besides, I have the feeling she's looking for a quick fix, so I wouldn't even have to sweat that much to pull this one away for a little one on one.

And that seems like a good plan to you?

No, it's a fucking terrible plan.

"Damn, she's hot," Jake says, fixing her over the rim of his glass. "Not to mention, there's 'shag me' written all over her face."

I give an uninterested shrug and take another sip, my mind torn between flashes of the woman who doesn't want anything to do with me and the fact I need to get her out my system.

"Hey, listen!" He puts one hand to his ear as if straining to hear some far-off sound.

"What?"

"Can't you hear it? Her pussy screaming? 'Fuck me! Fuck me hard!'" Jake punches me on the arm. "What are you waiting for? You're a goddamn wuss now? If you don't man the fuck up, I'll do her myself!" he adds, his eyes travelling up the length of the brunette's body, devouring her.

"Yeah, do that, you moron. Because you don't have enough problems already."

"I'm into deep shit, aren't I? What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" Jake drops his face into his hands.

"Okay, mate. Let's analyse this. You love her?"

"Who?"

"Your wife, you idiot."

"Of course."

"Right." I give him a cynical look.

Jake sags deeper into the chair.

"In that case, you know what you need to do."

His brow furrows, there's utter despair in his eyes. "But I can't leave Patricia."

"Think straight, mate. One thing is bonking, shaking the sheets. But then there's that other thing, love or whatever. You'd-give-up-your-left-kidney-if-she-needed kind of thing, you know? Come on, you can't possibly feel the same thing for both of them."

"I can't, because she'll blow the whistle. If I leave her, she'll tell Claire. And I'll lose everything..."

The beach house, the convertible – and Claire's father, whose prominent position in the world of high finance sure has brought him a lot of perks along the way.

"Yeah, it's a total bummer." I nod, with feigned sympathetic understanding. "But I suppose you have to man up and admit what happened. What else can you possibly do?"

"Either way I'm fucked, aren't I?" Jake lets out a heavy sigh, the realisation there's no way he'll get out of this in one piece dawning hard on him.

"You are. You're knee deep in shit and I can't be of any help to you on this. Sorry."

I stand and tap him on the shoulder, in a hopeless gesture. Then I head to the counter and sit on a stool while waiting for another two pints.

Avicii's 'Waiting for Love' invades the club and the screaming crowd begins to undulate enthusiastically. I find the dark-eyed brunette in the middle of the dance floor, which is now packed with writhing, gyrating bodies, moving in sync to the throbbing beat of the loud music. She's jumping and spinning with her eyes closed, both hands waving in the air, her hips swaying wildly, her braless breasts bouncing freely.

I observe her for a while, dancing and laughing, following the contagious vibe. But then, suddenly, in the middle of the flashing lights and all that psychedelic frenzy, she turns around and a rush of energy takes over my body.

I'm seeing someone else. The woman with long golden-brown hair who's been filling up a lot of my thoughts lately.

Damn it, it's happening again!

In an effort to shake off these thoughts, I turn back to the counter to check if our beers are here already. I'm still changing position when in the tiniest fragment of time and through the narrow gaps between all those bodies in motion, I find Mary's eyes boring into me.

Curious, I reciprocate the gaze.

She flashes a smile and begins to run a hand through her hair, then play with her earlobe – in a far too sensuous way to make it a casual gesture. After sipping her drink, she licks her lips and bites her lower lip, teasing me. Then she lets out a small chuckle.

I scowl.

What exactly are you trying to accomplish with that?

There's nothing amusing about it.

Spinning around on the stool, I turn my eyes and mind away from the sad scene.

Moments later, when I'm about to grab our beers and head back to the table, I feel a light hand run down my back.

"How about if we catch up today?" Mary's voice resonates through me.

"Excuse me?"

She rests her hand on my thigh and comes closer to breathe into my ear, "How about if we go elsewhere? Just the two of us?"

"Sorry, again? The music's too loud, can't hear you." I act nonchalant, pretending I don't understand her advances.

Her eyes twinkle with mischief and her lips form a slightly crooked smile. "You know," she insists, her hand sliding up my leg, her knuckles surreptitiously grazing my groin, "I've been watching you. And what I'd like to do with you right now is actually a criminal offence if done in public."

I catch her hand immediately, stopping it from moving any further. "Listen to me, what happened the other day was a mistake. It's not going to happen again."

She covers my lips with a finger and comes closer, to whisper in my ear, "I'm feeling so horny right now..."

Tightening my grip, I hiss through clenched teeth, "What's the problem, darling? Grandpa can't get it up anymore? That's too bad. But there's nothing I can do about it. This ship has sailed, and you won't get on it ever again."

There's shock plastered across her face.

"Now get the fuck out of my way." I stand and push my way past her.

It's time for me to get the hell out of here. Jake is on his own, I'm calling it a night.

Desperate to get home, hit the pillow, and forget the mess I've been in for a few hours, I grab my jacket and rush outside.

Under the neon lights of the club, I suck in a long breath of fresh air.

It does little to ease the turmoil roiling inside me.

Zipping up my jacket, I walk by the people queuing up to get inside and head down the street. Just as I'm approaching the car park and digging in my pocket for the key, my phone buzzes with a text.

Rogers | Friday, September 4 | 22:25 > Stay the fuck away from her.

I stand rooted to the spot, reading the text over again, not sure what to think of it. The irony almost makes me laugh. Almost. I'm seething inside, my head throbbing at his audacity.

A feeling of coldness creeps up my spine and my eyes dart around the dark street, checking if I'm being followed. I see no one. There's nothing but silence. Only the feeling of blood roaring in my ears, as if the rhythm of the pounding music came chasing after me.

On an impulse I hit the green call button and press the phone to my ear, turning around furiously, hoping to see him emerge from wherever he's hiding.

Two beeps and his rough, smoky voice comes on. "What? Wasn't I clear enough?"

"Very." A dry, rasping chuckle fills the line.

"What the hell is so funny, boy?"

"'Whatever happens, don't lose your cool' – that's what you always told me, remember?" I ask, not bothering to suppress another cynical laugh. "So, yes, it's actually quite funny. When people fail to practise what they preach. But, where are you? Why don't you come talk to me, face to face, like a man?"

"Let go of her. Accept it's over and move on with your life. There's no need to make this harder than it is, for any one of us." A brief pause and he adds, "Consider this a friendly warning, son."

I feel my jaw clench, my hand forming into a fist. "I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about. But go ahead, continue. This might just get interesting." I make no attempt to hide the sarcasm.

"Just stay away from what's mine, you got that?"

"I don't know what kind of trouble there is in paradise, but you seem a bit desperate, mate. What's up? Life's coming back to bite you in the arse?"

Revenge is a dish best served cold, he taught me that too, and soon I'll make him swallow his own words of wisdom. But hitting on his girlfriend would be pretty insignificant compared to what's expecting him. I'll strike where it most hurts. His reputation. His public image.

"Don't mess with me, boy. You know well patience is not one of my best attributes, so you'd better not step over the line or–"

"Or else what?" A contemptuous, hate-filled laugh escapes me. "Did you know I could be fucking your classy girlfriend in some seedy bathroom stall this very moment? Sure you do, you're spying on her – how pathetic is that?"

He doesn't react to my provocation.

"Thing is, old man, I could be fucking her, but I'm not. Want to know why? Because I don't want to. The only thing I want from that woman is distance. So, you'd better tell your people to do a better job because it's not with me you need to worry about. You got that?"

I hang up before he can say anything else and get into the car, every muscle in my body throbbing with fury. Wrestling to regain control, I grip the steering wheel, so hard it hurts.

Son of a bitch!

It's one thing to chase some piece of ass, it's another very different thing to betray the man who made who you are today. My father. He should have shown some respect and consideration, but no, good old Rogers had to play hardball like that, the greedy bastard!

But he picked the wrong guy to mess with. I can play hardball, too.

I inhale a calming breath. A few moments later, I'm ready to push the key into the ignition and hit the road. I turn on the radio and a somehow familiar breathy, rough voice touches me somewhere deep.

Only love can hurt like this?

It's that song from the other night, when I took Olivia to my flat. I smile to myself, not exactly amused by the coincidence. It's more a self-commiserating smile, ignited by the words of some idiot who thinks himself a poet: when you're falling for someone, suddenly all love songs begin to make perfect sense.

Poetry or not, this one kind of does...

Though it only adds more pain to the hurt, I don't change the station. I turn it louder and louder, to an almost deafening level, until I feel so numb I can't think of anything else anymore.

Because the awareness I'm no longer able to contain what I'm feeling is just too overwhelming.

I'm scared. I'm scared of losing her, of keeping her, of never seeing her again.

What are you going to do about it?

What needs to be done.

What if it crashes and burns like it did before?

Frankly? I don't care.

**

Thanks for reading! Chapter 18 will be up on Wednesday already ;-)

xo, Ana