Week 1: Valentine's Day
Carla twirled the straw absently around the double vodka and tonic sat before her on the bar. With the bistro still closed after the tram crash and way too many judgemental stares waiting for her at the Rovers, she'd opted for a downtown bar, a bar where no one knew her name and, even if someone she knew did walk through the door, the lighting was so dim they would be hard pressed to see her.
Here she was, another Valentine's Day alone. Drinking alone. She could cope with the loneliness; she'd done it plenty of times in the past, even when she had been in a relationship, she had often felt lonely. But this year, this year was different. Heartbreaking, humiliating, soul-destroying. She remembered his words, so public an assault, as if every utterance that came out of his mouth was like the strike of a dagger straight through her heart.
"I've been no angel. I've spent a lifetime fighting my genes. But I won that fight. I would've been faithful. Isn't that right, Carla? Yeah. Leanne's best mate there. Cracking looking bird, I think you'll all agree. But a lot like my best man it transpires. You see, while me and this tart were planning our wedding, Carla was doing her damndest to get me into bed. Told me she loved me, no less. Loved me! In fact, she loved me so much that, when she found out about these two, she kept quiet and all. Secretly hoping I'd twig it myself and come running to her. As you can see, Carla, I'm not running anywhere."
She couldn't listen anymore; she had rushed out of the church, all eyes following her as she walked down that aisle, not as a bride, like Leanne had done only moments before, but as the shamed scarlet woman, fleeing the scene of her humiliation to hang her head in shame and ignominy.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man slide onto the barstool next to her, his mouth already half-open, a cheesy compliment on the tip of his tongue. But, before he could get any words out, an offer to buy her a drink, she shut him down.
"Not tonight, sweetheart."
The stranger knew it was a hopeless case; he quickly moved on, leaving Carla once again alone with her regrets.
"Don't you touch me! Haven't you done enough damage? This is all your fault."
Leanne's words still rung in his ears, hours after they had left her lips as they stood tensely at the front of the church in the ashes of the disastrous blessing ceremony. He remembered the look on her face, contorted with anger, shame, and hate. She really looked like she hated him. But he refused to believe it. She couldn't hate him. They were in love. Her and Peter, that wasn't going to last. She was only with him because of Simon, because of a sense of duty. It was him that she truly loved. She would see that eventually.
Janice's tirade against him had been more scathing. "God knows what she's done to be cursed with you," she had screeched at him as he sought sanctuary in his mother's living room. "You may ponce around in your fancy suits and drive a flash motor, but you cannot get away from the smell of what you are. Scum! Always have been, always will be. I would lay you out, sunshine, but you're not worth grazing me knuckles for." His former mother-in-law's eyes looked like they would bulge right out of her skull as she leaned in close to him, incandescent with rage, the spit from her mouth spraying on his cheek as she ranted at him.
Janice's anger couldn't touch him, however; he didn't care about her or what she thought about him. He could have taken any amount of hate if only Leanne had agreed to come away with him. To run away to Milan and start a new life. Just the two of them. But she had chosen to stay and fight for a marriage to a man who had just publicly humiliated her. She had chosen that man, that petty and vindictive man, over him. Why? He didn't understand.
With a sigh, Nick pushed open the door and entered the dimly lit bar, his eyes sweeping across the room and to the u-shaped bar that dominated the space.
That was when he saw her.
Her raven hair was swept at an angle across her forehead and her cheek, hiding the corner of her eye, adding to the mystery that surrounded her, and tied low on her neck over her left shoulder. A red rose was pinned to her stylish grey wool wrap that was flecked with shades of red and purple that covered her customary black leggings. He allowed his gaze to travel down her body, from her perfectly made-up face, despite the anguish that was clearly written on it for all to see, all the way down to her knee-high black leather boots. He couldn't help but enjoy what he saw.
"Drowning your sorrows?" He leaned casually against the bar next to Carla, gazing down on her with interest.
"What's it to you?" Carla glanced up at him with a scowl.
"Well, you know what they say," he couldn't help but smirk at the open hostility in her eyes. "Misery loves company."
"And you certainly are miserable, aren't you?"
"So…?" his eyebrow raised with inquiry.
"Sit down," Carla commanded, raising her drink to her lips and draining the contents in one long sip, before placing the empty glass back down on the bar. "Mine's a double voddy and tonic."
"Hey, can I ask you something?" Nick asked, peering at Carla, so close to him, yet now with features beginning to get a little bit fuzzy as the alcohol spread throughout his system.
"As long as it's not 'why did you do it?'" Carla replied.
"It's not," Nick said, suddenly serious. "Do you think I ponce around?"
"You? Ponce around?" Carla looked Nick up and down before flashing him a cheeky smile. "Yeah, I do. Big time."
"Oh, thanks very much."
"You did ask," she shrugged off his protest.
"I know, my own fault."
"Why?" Carla asked. "Why did you ask?"
"Janice," Nick revealed with a grimace. "Had a go at me before."
"Ah, then I think you got off quite lightly with 'ponce around'."
"She said I was scum."
"Well, you are."
"Whoa!" Nick held his hands up in the air, as if in silent surrender against her unprovoked attack. "Hang on a minute!"
"No, Nick," Carla pushed back, not willing to retreat. "What you did, giving Peter booze, enabling him, that was way over the line."
"Was it worse that what you did?"
"Yes. A million times worse and you know it."
"I'm not proud of myself," Nick confessed. "But I was so focused on what I wanted, so blinkered that everything else, the people that would get hurt, the lives destroyed, it didn't matter. As long as I got what I wanted."
"She's not worth it, you know."
"Don't." His tone held a dangerous warning; despite her rejection of him, he would never stand to hear a bad word said about her. "At the risk of getting my head bitten off," Nick broke the silence that had momentarily descended over the unlikely pair. "Why did you do it? Try to seduce Peter I mean?"
"I dunno," Carla shook her head sadly. "It was so many things. Things that built up over such a long time. Everything that had happened…"
"You mean with Tony?"
"Tony, Liam, Paul, all of it." Carla tried to blink away the tears that welled in her eyes at the thought of the relentless tragedies that had seemed to curse her life ever since she had first stepped onto Coronation Street, but ultimately failed; a solitary tear rolled unchecked down her cheek. "It all got too much and I… I'm not ashamed to admit it, I fell apart. Completely. Which is when I started drinking. A lot. And Peter was there for me. He understood me. I got attached. Too attached."
"You mistook his help, his compassion, for love?"
"No," Carla shook her head vehemently. "It was love. It is… It's in the past. I know that. But don't say it wasn't love."
"I wouldn't dare."
"Listen, can we not talk about Peter and Leanne anymore," Carla pleaded. "I'm so sick of talking about them, of thinking about them."
"Sure," Nick agreed. "What do you wanna talk about?"
"Anything," Carla said. "Talk to me about the weather, about the price of milk, I don't care."
"Okay," Nick smiled at her indulgently. "Let's talk about business, that's your thing, isn't it?"
"Ruthless businesswoman, that's me."
"So, how is business?"
"Are we really doing this?"
"You wanted to change the subject," Nick shrugged. "So, come on, tell me about Underworld."
"Well, it's a tough market out there," Carla began hesitantly. "Everyone's feeling the pinch."
"But you've got enough work to keep you going?"
"Honestly, if we don't get this contract with Frank Foster... that could be it for Underworld."
"Frank Foster?"
"Did you never come across him?" When Nick merely shook his head, Carla went on. "Let's just say that an order from him would keep us going for the rest of the year."
"I'm sure you can charm him into signing," Nick said. "You always had a certain je ne sais quoi with clients of the male variety."
"We'll see," Carla mused. "So, what about you? How's the rebuild coming along?"
"Slowly," Nick said with a weary sigh. "I sometimes think I should get out, cut my losses. That place has given me nothing but grief."
"That's not true," Carla objected. "You've done a fantastic job with that place, you're a natural."
"Thanks," he smiled at her gratefully. "You know, sometimes I actually get nostalgic for the rag trade."
"Ooh," Carla grimaced. "Things must be bad if you're hankering to get back into knickers. Don't you remember what it was like?"
"I remember we made a great team."
"Oh, come on, Nick. Admit it, you wanted to throttle me most of the time."
"I didn't, I… okay, maybe once or twice you did get on my nerves," Nick confessed with a smile. "But I always respected you as a businesswoman."
"As long as we don't have to work together, right?"
"I also remember the first time I ever saw you. You didn't see me," he recounted with a nostalgic smile. "You were going into the factory one morning. I was arriving back at my mum's after a run. And I saw you getting out of your Merc, with your heels and your hair and I was just… wow!"
"Did you…?"
"Of course I did," Nick assured her. "I mean, have you ever looked in a mirror? You're beyond gorgeous." He smiled as he watched her lower her gaze, a flush creeping over her cheeks. "What did you think of me when you first met me?" he asked, suddenly nervous about her reply. "That day I first came into your office."
"I thought you were arrogant."
"That's a fair cop, I guess." He couldn't help but be disappointed, failing to keep his emotion from showing on his face; this time it was his turn to drop his gaze, unable to meet hers.
"Hey," Carla nudged his knee gently with hers. "I meant that as a compliment."
He looked up at her, looked into her eyes, searching for the meaning behind her words.
"You like arrogant men, do you?"
"As long as they've got summat to back up their arrogance."
"Do I…?" The words almost caught in his throat.
"Well, you are smart… and conniving, which I like by the way. You know what you want and you go after it unapologetically with determination. And passion. You might get it wrong, sure, but you don't do things by halves."
"There's no point in doing something half-heartedly, is there?"
Carla shook her head, her gaze fixed on Nick's, their bodies subconsciously moving closer to each other, their feet bridging the gap, hers resting on the footrest of his bar stool, his on hers, her knees slightly apart as his leg filled the gap between hers.
"You know what else?" her voice came in a hoarse whisper.
"What?"
"Despite being an offspring of Gail Platt, you are…"
"Tell me."
"Very attractive."
Before the hotel room door had fully swung shut, Carla was in Nick's arms, her hands either side of his face, pulling him towards her, kissing him, as they stepped as if occupying the one body, towards the bed.
Wasting no time, Carla tugged on Nick's shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked firmly into the waistband of his trousers. She pulled it free and, almost ripping the buttons off in her haste, tore open the shirt to reveal his well-toned physique. She couldn't help but smile as she gazed upon his chest; it was obvious that he worked out, that he took pride in his appearance. She reached out and, placing her hands gently on his chest, kissed his neck softly, then up and along his jawline, she left a trail of little kisses, finishing with a little suck on his earlobe, her tongue sweeping across his skin.
Meanwhile, Nick's hands had been busy, roaming freely over Carla's back, reaching underneath her top, gliding over her smooth, warm skin, and expertly unclasping her bra.
Carla pulled away from Nick ever so slightly, just enough so that Nick could, in one smooth motion, push her top, bra and all, up her body and over her head, tossing the whole lot over his head, scattering her garments over the floor.
He stood for a moment and stared at her breasts, at the soft yet pert mounds that jiggled and swayed slightly as she moved, at the small blush pink nipple that crowned each breast. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body close to his, her breasts close to his face, her nipples into his mouth.
As he teased her nipples, arousing them so they became hard and erect, like little pink pebbles, Carla allowed her head to fall back, her gaze skyward, as her fingers raked through his hair, a soft moan escaping her lips as he tweaked her nipples gently between his teeth.
A surprised gasp escaped her lips when, without warning, Nick gripped her tightly by the waist and swung her over and onto the bed so she was lying on her back and looking up at him.
Holding her gaze, he slowly unzipped her boots, one by one, and pulled them off, tossing them onto the floor. He momentarily regretted losing the boots; the thought of Carla wearing nothing but knee-high boots as he fucked her was very appealing. The appeal was so great in fact, it was causing the pressure to build in his boxers as he felt his penis swell within its fabric prison.
He had no choice but to abandon the boots; they were the only way he could rid her body of those leggings, the only way his path to her vagina would be clear. With a grin, he reached up to the waist of her leggings and slowly pulled them down, with a little help from her as she raised her arse off the bed, over her hips and down her legs, allowing his fingers to glide over her skin as it went.
Soon enough, Carla's leggings were on the floor with the rest of her clothing, and she was lying in front of him, naked.
He'd often wondered what she would look like naked, the natural curiosity of a red-blooded man day dreaming about a stunningly attractive woman. But seeing her nakedness right before his eyes, not just for him to gaze on, but to touch, to experience, was more than he had ever imagined. More beautiful, more sensual, more intoxicating.
Carla stared up at Nick and, despite her intoxicated state, couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected turn her Valentine's Day had taken. A few hours ago, all she had wanted was to drink her cares away; alone, by herself. The thought of conversation held no allure for her, not tonight. But with Nick, the conversation had come easily. Perhaps because they were in the same position. Two rejected people finding solace in each other. What could be more natural?
She grinned with anticipation as she watched Nick unfasten his trousers and join her in the pure state of nakedness. She allowed her gaze to travel down his body to his penis that was standing, ready and erect, throbbing with desire for a woman who, until that evening, he had never imagined he would ever be with, not like this.
Raising her upper body slightly off the bed, she reached for him, intertwining her fingers behind his head and pulling him down onto her, her legs instinctively parting as his body fitted into her curves, as if his body was created especially for hers.
And so, this improbable duo, for right or wrong, for better or worse, spent their first night together; a night that would change the course of, not only their own lives, but the lives of the couple that had rejected them, forever.