STAY IN THE GAME

Eve banged loudly on Maya's front door “For, God's sake! I only stepped out for a couple of minutes!”

Rushing to the front window Eve peered inside. The sight made Eve's chest tighten with frustration and fear. Maya sprawled on the sofa cradling a vodka bottle like it was a newborn baby outing the lie about being laid up with a nasty bout of flu.

As a surprise Eve had brought her some homemade broth that was easy to heat up. The tense atmosphere in that small kitchenette should have been the first clue

Maya was always the same in December - filled with a strange mix of excitement and stress that started with Whamaggeon. So far this year no one had heard Last Christmas being played.

The usual race had officially started when the first Christmas advertisement was seen on television. It was meant to be fun but it got very competitive decorating the Christmas tree and having all the presents wrapped up and placed underneath it. Then it was who would have the best Festive food but this was something that made Eve break out the emergency cigarettes

"You stupid... you were finally sober!" Eve muttered cursing her nicotine habit.She took a deep breath, staring at her mobile phone. Eve's finger was hovering above her brother's name.

Lloyd had been very patient with Maya but even he had his limits. He was constantly planning to announce their official reconciliation once he knew Maya had shown that she had turned a corner in her recovery This relapse, however, could end their marriage for good.

Eve dialed her boyfriend Griff's number instead He wasn’t exactly Mr Reliable but he was already en route so it made sense plus he had been supportive when Maya had suffered that terrible miscarriage

Suddenly there it was - the unmistakable sound of Griff’s phone buzzing from inside the flat.

Eve quickly blinked away any tears refusing to shed them. Instead she sent a simple text to Lloyd. Then turned around with her head held high.

Eve took a deep breath as she pushed open the old Western saloon doors that lead into the Funky Gibbon. The smell of whisky and smoke dashed against wood panels and leather seats overwhelmed her despite the place being nearly empty.

The bartender with his bow tie and floppy black hair was definitely giving off 11th Doctor Who vibes.

“All that's missing is the fez” Eve thought as she watched him cleaning yet another wine glass with a tea towel

At the far end of the bar, there was a shadowy figure, seated, hunched over ever so slightly in a bid to make himself look small and insignificant.

Eve ordered a whisky and clambered to sit down on the ridiculously tall stool closest to the bar. Eventually she managed to get comfortable before knocking the drink back in one gulp.Eve could feel the heat from the drink seeping throughout her body instantly calming her. A sharp cough showed off of the true strength of the alcohol.

Eve’s gaze wandered to the figure at the end of the bar. He hadn’t looked up yet, but there was something familiar about him. She stood up as if she subconsciously recognised the shape of his broad shoulders.

“Hiding too, huh?” Eve felt compelled to break the silence.

Suddenly the air seemed to shift. "Stan?" her voice barely audible as she took a step closer, still not quite believing it was really him

Stan straightened in his chair, eyes locking with hers, and a small smile curled at his lips.

“Didn’t think anyone would recognize me,” he said with a soft, amused tone, his London accent thick and smooth.

“You look incredible,”Eve swallowed, still in disbelief. The man she had only seen in glossy pages and on art gallery walls was sitting on this barstool - enigmatic, intriguing and extremely attractive

Stan's eyes softened for a fraction of a second. It was fleeting, but Eve saw it—his vulnerability, something he rarely showed. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, looking away briefly before focusing back on her.

“I stole this magazine from the dentists,” Eve gasped, almost breathless. “I couldn’t help it. There was an article about the whole ‘how does an artist decorate his house’ Your self-portrait was above the mantelpiece in the living room.”She let the words hang in the air, the weight of them like a confession. “Most paintings follow you around the room. Your self portrait stalked my soul Sorry…I don't know what made me say that. I'm rambling. I tend to do that when I'm nervous.Maybe I should go and .”

“Stay.” Stan’s breath hitched ever so slightly as his hand brushed against hers .

The air between them became lava hot and intoxicating, leaving them with the sensation that the two of them were alone in one mindset.

Stan's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, the kind that sent even more heat shooting straight through her veins.

He leaned in, voice low and a little dangerous. “People look at that portrait, and they think they know me. But they don’t. Yet you steal a magazine because of it and hide it under your mattress”

“I never said where I kept it hidden. Oh very clever.”Eve could feel the need rising between them. “Not just a pretty face then.” She blushed crimson red.

Stan felt his heart rate increase and that moment - he knew. Most people had this rather shallow preconception about him. He had grown weary and cynical thanks to the ongoing circle of ass lickers that would kick him in the nuts the second he used a different colour scheme or a smaller brush but this beautiful woman had truly connected to his self portrait. Was he actually ready to admit that he had noticed her the moment she had struggled to sit on the high stool at the end of the bar?

Eve couldn't remember the last time she felt this alive. She could hear her heart pounding against her chest, feeling the rising heat of the dare.

Stan’s breath caught in his throat, his body freezing for just a second. But then, without a single word, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward him with an intensity that made her breath catch. There was no hesitation. He knew exactly how he felt and didn't believe in wasting time.

The moment their lips met, it was like the world shifted. The kiss was slow at first, the kind that held all the promises of something dark and thrilling, but it soon deepened. It was raw, hungry—everything they both had been holding back. Eve could taste the tension, the longing, in every second of it. His hands found their way into her hair, gripping, pulling her closer as if he couldn’t get enough. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she pushed into him, feeling the heat between them burn hotter with every second.

As their kiss deepened Eve’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him so close they could have melted into each other

Stan’s fingers moved to her back, the slight pressure sending a shiver down her spine. She could feel the rawness of his emotions mirroring her own

They pulled away for a breath, both panting, eyes locked, faces inches apart.

"I don’t usually do this," Stan stumbled the words out, his voice hoarse, his lips still grazing hers as he spoke. "But you’re different."

Eve gave a breathless laugh, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Dammit why can't I resist you?"

Her words hung in the air, bold and daring.

Without another word, Stan grabbed his jacket from the chair, his movements smooth and decisive. "Let’s get out of here," he said, his voice low, but filled with a hunger for the same thing she had always craved - a deep connection that couldn't be denied.

Eve nodded, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes never leaving his. "Lead the way."

Stan stepped toward the door, the soft click of his boots against the floor marking the rhythm of their shared urgency. Eve followed close behind, the cold night air hitting her skin as they stepped outside.

Stan's motorbike sat under the dim light of the streetlamp, waiting like a dark promise. Without a word, he swung a leg over the bike, and Eve followed suit, straddling behind him. The engine roared to life, and they sped off into the night, the wind whipping around them, the world blurring by in a rush of adrenaline and acceptance

Eve buried her face against his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, holding on as the world around them seemed to vanish.

Suddenly the phone lit up like a Christmas tree. There was an urgency in the tone as Griff finally decided to ring her. He had it all planned out. Maya had a drink problem so he had one too and it was a drunken mistake.

The barman polished another glass as he looked down at the phone. Gazing through the window in the fourth wall

he smiled “Well I’m not going to answer it”