Bonnie Sveen Fan - as always, I really appreciate the review, thank you! I completely agree - I love Chris and Ali's on-screen chemistry, I don't think I've seen another screen couple with a connection like theirs
This is a short, not very good filler chapter for you guys - I'm back at university now, so I'm really struggling to find time to write. Sorry!
Thank you so much to everyone who is reading - I hope this is okay!
Chloe xoxo
Carla spent a majority of her Saturday curled up in a ball on her sofa, nursing her hangover. Her eyes were glued to the television screen, but she flicked to a different channel every time something remotely romantic happened on whatever show she was watching. She wasn't in the mood to tolerate anybody else's happiness.
She tried not to allow herself to think too hard because every time she did, memories of the night before flooded her mind and made her cringe with embarrassment. The electrifying brush of their fingertips, the warmth of his body beside her, that fatal touch of his lips that made her breath catch in her throat.
She could practically feel the light graze of his stubble against her fingertips as she stroked his cheek, shivering at the thought. She mentally scolded herself as she drifted back to reality, but she couldn't ignore the telltale goosebumps that had formed across her arms. She loathed that Peter Barlow still made her feel like a helpless teenager fawning over her first love. After everything he'd done to her, the heartache he'd caused her, he shouldn't make her feel anything at all.
Carla toyed with the idea of calling Michelle, who was her best friend and probably the only person who might be able to knock some sense into her with some stern home truths. But the thought of confiding in Michelle, telling her 'Oh, by the way, Peter's here. No reason, he just decided to show up out of the blue. And then I let him come to my house when I was blindingly drunk and proceeded to snog his face off'.
Yeah. That wouldn't go down too well.
Besides, there was nothing that Michelle could tell her that she didn't already know herself. Peter had a bad track record for fidelity, and a recurring drink problem, and had wrecked her life and left her an insecure wreck. So why did he still make her stomach flip every time her eyes met his?
She'd had enough. Carla pulled herself to her feet, closing her eyes briefly in an attempt to stop the room spinning around her. Then, she shuffled upstairs and, once in the security of her bedroom, threw open her wardrobe and scrutinized the summer-y contents. She was going to put a stop to the battle inside her head. And, to do so, she intended to look gorgeous.
An hour later, Carla stepped out of her car and onto the paved path outside The Hunter's Arms public house, the evenness of the floor a stark contrast from the cobbles that her Louboutin stilettos had formerly had to contend with. She'd eventually settled on a pair of black leather-look trousers and a yellow blouse to reflect the warm summer evening that stilled the air around her. She'd hastily made arrangements to meet with one of her work colleagues in half an hour's time; she figured she may need some kind of distraction after the conversation that she was about to have.
Forcing a confident expression onto her features, she strode through the door of the pub into the bar, surprised to find it empty other than for Jenny, the landlady, who was behind the bar and scrubbing a basket full of glasses. She glanced up and smiled at her regular customer.
"Sorry, love, we closed five minutes ago."
"I didn't realize it was that late. I'm not here for a drink though, Jen." Carla drew in a deep breath and gave Jenny a sheepish smile. "Is Peter about?" Jenny's eyes glimmered with understanding, and she took a few steps back, before turning her head towards the door that led through to the pub's living quarters.
"Peter?" she called, "You've got a visitor." She resumed her previous position and began to pack all of the glasses that were spread out across the surface of the bar back into the crate. "He's out back watching some comedy rubbish with Chris. I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you." The intuitive barmaid had noted Peter's foul mood when she'd returned to the pub that morning, wearing the same clothes as he had been the night before. Carla merely smiled coyly in response.
Although Peter knew that Carla was his unexpected visitor – after all, he was over a hundred miles from home, who else would it be? – he couldn't prevent the jolt of surprise that he experienced upon laying eyes on her, every inch of her dressed and painted to perfection.
"Carla…" he breathed, trying not to let his eyes wander down her slender figure. He didn't blink as Jenny moved in front of him, grabbed her crate and made a hasty beeline for the door to the living quarters.
"I'll leave you two to it," she sung, awkwardly, kicking the door shut behind her. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the pair, and Carla found herself unable to hold Peter's gaze any longer, instead lowering her head in embarrassment.
"I didn't expect to see you tonight," Peter admitted, "Or for the rest of the week, really."
"I shouldn't have lashed out at you earlier."
"I know what raging hangovers can be like."
"There was more to it than a hangover and you know it." Carla was surprised to find herself smirking, meeting his eyes once again as she lifted her chin in defiance. She would not allow herself to appear meek and timid in front of him. "I remember everything."
"I know." She narrowed her eyes and took two small, challenging steps towards the bar that separated them.
"I can't handle my liquor anymore. A few glasses and I'm anybody's," she shot back, refusing to play to her ex-husband's ego. For a moment, she could have sworn that she noticed jealousy flash across his face, but he quickly brushed it off and smiled at her instead.
"I suppose we all have the occasional slip-ups," Peter replied, shrugging nonchalantly. He hesitated, watching in awe as Carla licked her nude-coated lips. He gulped, and quickly interjected another retort before she could pronounce herself as the winner of whatever game they were playing. "Or slip-of-the-tongues, whatever you want to call it."
He'd got her. Memories of the night before seeped into her mind, the warmth of his tongue exploring her mouth and massaging her own, his movements so familiar that they were almost comforting. She shivered, and prayed that he didn't notice. Though, judging by the stupid grin on his smug face, she was sure that he had.
"I thought we could call a truce, anyway. I'm stuck with you for a week, might as well start being nice to each other."
"When were we ever nice to each other?" Peter teased lightheartedly, though the reality of their last months as a married couple were a more prominent memory than the witty exchanges of teasing banter of their past.
"Meet me tomorrow, my house," Carla instructed, ignoring his last thoughtless comment.
"What for?" She breathed in slowly, and forced a smile of mock-confidence.
"I'm going to show you Devon," she announced. She didn't give him a chance to respond to her, wanting to have the last word in their match, and turned swiftly on her heel. She could hear his footsteps behind her. She'd almost reached the door before she felt the light brush of his hand against her upper arm; Peter knew better than to grab her after everything she'd been through in her horrifying past. She spun back around to face him, a look of triumph plastered across her face.
"Aren't you staying for a drink?" he asked, softly, suddenly aware of how close he was to her. He could hear her steady breaths, which were gradually getting faster. Carla shook her head.
"I'm going for a drink. With a friend. From work," came her response. She sunk her teeth into the plumpness of her lower lip before slowly releasing it, ending with the corner. Peter's brown eyes immediately darkened with longing, a sign that she knew all too well.
"Be careful," he warned her, his voice barely more than a whisper, "We've seen what happens when you have a few drinks, Carla." The corners of Carla's lips twitched, and she almost caught herself smiling.
"A few drinks and I'm anybody's…" she finished for him. "Goodnight, Peter." Deftly, she pushed down on the handle of the pub door and took a backwards step outside, forcing a distance between them. Peter watched her, transfixed, as she turned she strutted in the direction of her car, finally allowing herself to grin. She hugged herself, though it wasn't the cold that had made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end – it wasn't even cold that evening. She wouldn't glance over her shoulder, not until she heard the door close.
Peter Barlow managed to have an intoxicating effect on her, even after the pain that he'd caused her and everything that he'd put her through. But the result of that evening's investigation was just as she'd hoped: it was very obvious that she had the same effect on him, too.
