Taste of Fury by M Comley (dark academia books to read txt) 📗

the second one down, flipping aside countless garments until she found the particular one she had in mind. A sexy lacy black bodice. She grinned and held it up against her slim frame. A wicked smile replaced the grin as yet another thought emerged.

She riffled around in another drawer and located something she thought would work a treat for what she was proposing. She fastened the extra padded domes into the bodice and slipped into it. Laughing, she turned sideways to check out the transformation. Within seconds she’d gone from a thirty-two A to a thirty-six double DD. “I could get used to this,” she muttered. “Some women pay extortionate fees to a plastic surgeon to achieve this look. Why bother going under the knife in the first place?”

After selecting a low-cut blouse from her wardrobe and a black above the knee skirt, her ensemble was complete, almost. She dug around in the bottom of the wardrobe for the strappy sandals she’d bought as a mistake, hoping they would come in handy in the future. Well, that time had now arrived. She slipped them on and once again admired her image from every angle.

“Sexy bitch! You’ll do, for what I have in mind.” Megan spent the next five minutes practising her sensual walk in front of the mirror. Slow and steady, that’s the key. Not long after, she gathered her sequinned evening bag, filled it with her purse, phone and keys then left the flat. Her movements now driven by the revenge pulsating through her veins.

She jumped in her car, aware of what she must do to prevent anyone tracing her movements later, once the deed was done. Megan drove to the location, ensuring she parked a few streets away from where she was about to meet her… date.

The preparation she’d carried out ensured she walked steadily in her heels. She entered the pub under the watchful gaze of the customers already there—two men at the bar, a group of men at a table in the corner and another group of more mature women on the bench seats in front of the bay window. The barmaid appeared from the back room and smiled at her as she approached the bar.

“Evening, what can I get you?”

“Hi, any chance of a cocktail?” she asked tentatively.

The barmaid frowned. “I can get you anything you like, I might have to ask Google how to concoct something I’ve never heard of, but I’m up for the challenge. What’s your poison?”

“A Mojito or a Margarita perhaps?”

“I can make both of those, which do you prefer?”

“Let’s stick with the Mojito.”

The barmaid hunted around under the counter for a few minutes, cussing now and again. Eventually, she resurfaced, looking pleased with her achievements as she held up the metal cocktail shaker. She got to work creating the drink. Megan hopped up onto the stool and removed her coat.

The rest of the punters got back to their conversations. Megan could see out of her peripheral vision that one of the men standing at the bar kept glancing her way in between taking large gulps of his pint.

Brimming with satisfaction, the barmaid poured the Mojito into a cocktail glass she’d sourced from the bottom shelf which she rinsed and dried first. She presented the drink and added a straw for that special touch. “How’s that?” She smiled, appreciative of her own achievement.

“Looks fine to me, it’s all in the taste though. How much do I owe you?”

“I’ll get that,” shouted the man who’d been scrutinising her since she’d arrived.

She fluttered her false eyelashes at him. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly allow that, but thank you all the same.”

“Nonsense. I said I’ll get it. Put your money away. Tracey, come here.”

The barmaid raised her hands. “Hey, I’m keeping out of it. It’s up to you, sweetheart. What do you want to do?”

Megan sighed and offered the man a broad smile. “If you’re sure? I’m quite willing and able to pay my own way.”

The man left his seat and picked up his pint, he took five paces and joined her. “I’m certain. Can’t have a beautiful young lady like you drinking on her own now, can we?”

“Who says I’m alone? Maybe I’m waiting for my husband or boyfriend to arrive. Perhaps they’re late.”

He took a step back. “Sorry, have I got the wrong end of the stick?”

Megan frowned. “It depends on what you mean.”

“I thought you were alone, out on the town… umm, looking for some company.”

She sniggered. “In that case, you’re a very astute young man. I was only winding you up.” She patted the stool beside her. “Here, take a seat. Tell me all about yourself.”

His serious expression gave way to one of relief. A dimple appeared in his right cheek as he smiled. He slipped onto the stool next to hers and slid a ten-pound note across the bar to the barmaid. “I’ll have another pint while you’re at it, Tracey.”

The barmaid cocked an eyebrow, crossed her arms and stared at the tenner. “Umm… not until you give me more money, the cocktail was eight quid, Jason.”

He jutted his head forward. “What? Bloody hell, I hope it’s worth it,” he mumbled.

Don’t you worry about that, Jason Davis, mark my words, it’ll be totally worth it!

“Don’t feel obliged to pay for my drink, I told you, I’m not averse to paying for my own drinks.”

But he insisted, “No, I never go back on a promise. You can get the next round, how about that?”

She shrugged. “Suits me.”

Tracey supplied him with another pint of beer and left them to get acquainted. The conversation flowed easily enough. At one point, Megan almost had regrets about fooling the man sitting beside her. He seemed a decent chap, compared to the other men who had taken an interest in her over the years.

“So, Melinda,” he said, using the false name she’d supplied him, “what do you do for a living? Wait, don’t tell me, let me guess.” He placed a finger against his cheek