Ashley Croft - Love is the Drug

‘Gorgeous brilliant “gonna save the world” Dr Molly envies her sister?’

‘I’m not gorgeous – especially not dressed like an extra from Television X – and I doubt I’ll ever save the world but you know what I mean. You have a lovely bloke who’s crazy about you and would do anything for you.’

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without him; he’s stuck with me through thick and thin, mostly thin for the past year.’

‘You don’t regret leaving the bank to start up the business, do you? You’re so creative. It was time you did something for yourself. By the way, I love the outfit.’

Sarah touched her tiara. ‘I hoped it met the definition of movie hero. I thought coming as Princess Anastasia might be a bit fluffy for this event but then I thought, it might attract some customers.’

Eight assorted biologists were throwing shapes on the dance floor.

‘Even geeks fall in love and get married. Eventually,’ Sarah said, watching them.

Molly wasn’t convinced.

‘But I don’t think they go in for tiaras much. Another?’ said Sarah, pointing to Molly’s empty glass.

‘I think I’d better if I’m going to ask Ewan to dance.’

A few hours later, Molly fished a party popper out of her glass and finished up a large vodka while Sarah went outside to phone Niall during his break. Molly could tell her sister was anxious about him and she didn’t really blame her; Sarah must be desperate to tell Niall about the baby. Sarah looked tired too, and Molly wasn’t pissed enough to ignore the fact that her sister and niece/nephew-to-be really ought to be in bed.

It was well past midnight and there were just a few party people jigging around on the dance floor. She tried to spot Ewan at the bar. The shutters were already down on one side of it and only a couple of people queuing at the other. Ewan had probably gone home; or more likely, back to the lab. The party was over, and so was her opportunity.

Just when she’d given up all hope and was shouldering her handbag ready to join Sarah outside and leave, she swivelled round.

Ewan was right next to her. He looked down at her with a sheepish expression, rubbed his chin and said: ‘So, Dr Havers, would you like to dance?’

‘Ewan. I didn’t notice you creep up on me.’

‘Creep up on you? Is it that bad?’ He folded his arms. A knot of lust twisted low in Molly’s stomach. She stared at him as he swam in and out of focus.

‘No, of course not but, did you just ask if I’d dance with you?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded in the direction of the space between the serving counters that served as a dance floor. ‘That thing where two – or more – people try to move their bodies in time with music. Which in this case, I’m afraid, is George Michael.’

Ewan’s face changed from orange to green to red and back to orange as the disco lights pulsed. He was a human traffic light.

‘But … are you sure ?’

‘Do you mean am I statistically certain that I want to dance or merely sure in a slightly pissed, relatively normal kind of bloke sense?’

Molly giggled and then regretted it. Ewan never giggled, he was allergic to the concept and so was she under normal circumstances but these weren’t normal circumstances; they were slightly drunken circumstances. She stood up and almost had to hold on to the table for support. Make that very drunken circumstances because it could only be alcohol making her legs this wobbly.

‘Oh, go on, then.’

She tugged her nurse’s hem down, which had the effect of also lowering the neckline to pornographic level, just as Ewan moved closer to her.

‘It was all they had left in the shop, apart from a comedy Boris Johnson outfit,’ she said, feeling the need to explain, as the dress pinged up her thighs again.

His eyebrows shot up his face. ‘Interesting choice and um … call me a bit dim but what movie hero are you meant to be?’

‘Um. Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest ?’

Ewan winced. ‘Great film. Terrible nurse.’

‘Kate Beckinsale from Pearl Harbor , then?’

Ewan tutted. ‘Terrible film. Very sexy nurse.’

Molly’s face heated up like someone had taken a Bunsen burner to it. ‘You’re William Wallace from Braveheart , of course.’

‘Well … not really. I borrowed this from my brother. He stayed over Christmas and said I could borrow it. He’s Scottish, you see.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘Technically, yes. I was born in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary but our parents moved down here when I was six weeks old.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Why? Do you have a problem with me being Scottish?’

Molly smiled, suddenly floating on a cushion of air. ‘Not if you don’t, Professor Baxter.’

‘I’m glad to hear it Nurse Beckinsale. So – shall we before they put on something even worse than George?’

He didn’t take her hand and lead her to the dance floor, as George had in “Careless Whisper”, and the soles of her stilettos stuck to the tiles as she followed him. Silly string trailed from his backside and there was also a strand stuck to his calf, curling through the dark hair and over the contours of his muscles.

Molly shuffled closer, not knowing what she should do with her hands, but Ewan seemed to have at least a rough idea and there they were, pressing his around her waist, not too lightly but not too firm either. Perfect, in fact, the way she’d always imagined them. Her fingers rested on his back, beneath his shoulder blades. The laces of his Highland shirt were loose, revealing the hairs sprinkled across his broad chest. Ewan’s fingers brushed her cheek, and Molly’s hormones pinged so loudly she thought everyone must hear. Not that hormones could make any kind of noise, obviously, but if they did a ping would be appropriate …

She homed in on a hot pink strand dangling in front of her nose and the fingers that lifted it out of her line of vision.

‘You have silly string in your hair,’ said Ewan.

‘Thanks for letting me know. You … um … have some on your bum … I mean, the back of your kilt.’

He twisted round. ‘Oh God. Do I?’

‘’Fraid so. It gets everywhere, doesn’t it?’ she said, instantly regretting her words in case he thought she was referring to something under his kilt.

‘Apparently so.’

Molly glanced down at the party popper nestled between her cleavage. What else was she going to find on her person?

‘Shall I um … help you retrieve that? I’ll be careful,’ said Ewan, as if the popper was a seal pup that needed rescuing.

‘Oh, go on then.’

His fingers fumbled inside her plunge bra, fished out the popper and dropped it on the floor. Goose bumps popped out all over her skin. Just another totally normal reaction to external stimuli, thought Molly, nothing to do with Ewan per se …

‘Mol, I really think I may be a bit pissed …’ he whispered into her hair.

‘I know I’m a lot pissed.’

‘Then by the laws of the universe,’ he murmured as George warbled on, ‘we must cancel each other out so that’s acceptable.’

Ewan was smiling happily, in the way she’d occasionally seen him do before. Like when one of the retiring admin ladies had given him a fruit cake for his birthday because he “needed feeding up”. Was that how he saw her? Kind and hardworking but harmless? No way. The way he’d retrieved that party popper had nothing to do with pity, she decided as they swayed in time and George crooned about getting away from the crowd. The hem of Ewan’s kilt tickled Molly’s knees and as his hands slipped lower to her bottom and he pressed against her, Molly realised he wasn’t that pissed and that he obviously didn’t think she was harmless.