Love is the Drug. Ashley Croft
maybe she was a teeny bit in love with him.
‘Look, he is single right? And straight from what you’ve told me?’
‘Divorced. His wife lives with a barrister in Dulwich according to one of the lab assistants. His workaholism was why they split up. Apparently.’
‘Single, then, with a bit of baggage, but you can work through that. Also, straight, in that case, unless that’s why he split up with her?’
‘Oh, he’s straight.’ Molly surprised herself with her own vehemence. She did know Ewan was straight, even though all the recent evidence was against it. ‘Though it’s feasible that he could be asexual, I suppose …’
Sarah laughed. ‘I doubt it. Look, it’s New Year’s Eve and even though I hate to swell your ego, you’re the most gorgeous girl in the room. Why don’t you just go and ask Professor McDreamy if he wants to dance?’
‘Dance? Are you mad?’
‘Only as crazy as you are if you don’t take your chance while he a: doesn’t have his face glued to a microscope and b: is probably a bit pissed. Go on, ask him. Otherwise, shut up and come and dance with me. It’s New Year’s Eve and as you know, I don’t get out much so I’m bloody well going to make the most of tonight.’
‘Oh God, Sarah, I’m a selfish bitch, going on about Ewan. What a shame Niall couldn’t make the party. It must be shit having to work on New Year’s Eve but Niall’s a hero, and hunky; he loves you to bits. I could hate you, if I didn’t love you to bits as well, hon. I really envy you though.’
‘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