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the driver’s door as Lauren Simpson slipped into the passenger seat. It was hard not to ogle her ample cleavage, which was only further accentuated by her tight silver top. Not many got away with such outlandish fashion in Hope Junction, and most simply wore Hurricanes jumpers to the game, but Lauren was stunning and on her it worked. Still, he’d never found her kind of beauty attractive.
    She rested one of her perfect hands on his thigh. He tensed, cursing himself for not changing out of his footy shorts.
    ‘You’re not going home, are you, Flynn?’ Her singsong voice grated on his nerves.
    ‘Actually …’ That’s exactly where he planned on heading. The last thing he wanted to do was socialise right now.
    ‘I understand,’ she began, in an annoyingly sympathetic tone, ‘that today would have been difficult for you. But it’s times like these you need to be around friends. People who care about you, people who understand you.’ Her nails drifted a little higher up his thigh. ‘What do you say? Come to the pub with us?’
    He looked past Lauren to see Lucy a few metres away. She was beaming like a loony and holding both thumbs up. ‘Go on,’ she mouthed at him theatrically.
    ‘Who’s us?’ asked Flynn. He didn’t want Lauren getting any ideas.
    ‘Oh, you know, the usual crowd. Rats will be there.’
    Rats, nicknamed so because he’d had a rat’s tail haircut since he was in kindy. That is, until a few weeks ago when he proposed to Whitney, who refused to accept unless he cut it off. Rats, who just happened to be the best mate Flynn had.
    He still didn’t want to go. Pubs hadn’t been real appealing since his father’s accident, when he’d been forced to get his life back ontrack. But this wasn’t just about the pub. Maybe he should make an appearance and hold his head up high. Show everyone he didn’t need their sympathy, that ten years was a long time. Definitely long enough for him and Ellie to be in the same shire without him losing the plot. Again.
    ‘Do you need a lift, then?’ He forced a smile to his lips.
    ‘Sure.’ Lauren’s face lit up. She poked her head back out the car for a moment. ‘Meet you there, girls.’
    ‘Shove over. We can fit,’ came a voice from outside.
    Flynn leaned forward to wave at Emma and another local chick, Linda.
    ‘I don’t think so.’ Lauren pulled the door shut before they could negotiate. ‘Drive on, Flynn. They’ll be fine.’
    Ignoring Lauren, he pushed a button to wind down the passenger window. ‘If you ladies want, you can hop on the back.’
    Giggles and shrieks ensued as Flynn hitched the girls up onto the tray. He took the opportunity to pull his jeans out of his bag and tug them on before getting back in. He barely had three hundred metres to drive, so there wasn’t much danger. Not on the road, anyway.
    When Flynn opened the door at the top pub for Lauren and her friends, however, the hackles rose on the back of his neck. It wasn’t that he never came to the pub, but it was rare. Years ago this joint had been his first port of call whenever he’d wanted to drown his sorrows. The place they came whenever they lost a game of football – which hadn’t been nearly as often back then – and always where they came to celebrate a win. After Ellie had left he’d come even more. It had become his second home.
    Back then, he’d step inside and smile. The aroma of cigarette smoke mixed with beer, sweat and cheap perfume always comforted. The rundown décor? Strangely alluring. The music? Exactly what he would have chosen. The people? Folks he’d grown up with, folks he’d die for. Folks he knew would do the same for him.
    But times had changed. Although he still loved his football, he wasn’t the carefree larrikin of a decade ago. Not frequently anyway. He was a long way from the Flynn that streaked across the oval. In the years since, the law had sent the smokers outside, and although he wasn’t one of them, there was something