“He’s come straight from work; that’s why he’s dressed up.” I let my eyes wander Jared’s exquisite form in his black suit trousers and white shirt with the sleeves he’s rolled up to his elbows.
He definitely looks like a wet dream.
Heather leans in and pinches Tim’s cheek. “Looks like you’ll have to up your game if you want to try and compete for best-looking male in the group now.”
He groans and shakes his head. “I’ll have to settle for being the funny one.”
As Jared steps to the side of our table, I smile reassuringly, sensing his unease as his eyes flick from me to Heather and Tim. He nods a greeting and starts to say hi, but I throw my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to me.
“Me first,” I grumble, raising one eyebrow.
Where I’m still standing on the footrest, we’re the same height, our eyes meet, and his hands reach for my waist, steadying me as I wobble.
When he presses his lips to mine, I melt against him and sag in contentment. It was yesterday morning that I last saw him—he made me coffee in bed just before he left for work—but it feels like forever. I am quickly becoming addicted to him. We’ve been exclusive for five whole days, and in that time, we’ve spent more time together than apart. He’s stayed at my place every day this week—apart from last night. Hello, Tequila Thursday!
He breaks the kiss, his eyes remaining locked on mine as if we are the only ones in the room. “Hi, beautiful. God, you taste good.”
I glow with pleasure at his compliment. “It’s the cocktail. Between the Sheets, it’s called.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Oh, really? And is it good, Between the Sheets?” His hand slides down to my bum, squeezing gently.
I grin at his double entendre. “I have no complaints.”
Tim clears his throat, and Heather says sarcastically, “Oh, you two just carry on. We’ll wait.”
I giggle, and Jared pulls back but leaves his arm around me.
“Hey, sorry. I’m dating a pathological attention seeker. What you gonna do?” He playfully rolls his eyes and shrugs. “I’m Jared. It’s nice to meet you.”
As I sit down on my stool and pick up my drink, Jared holds out his hand, and Tim shakes it, smiling warmly.
“This is Heather”—he quirks a thumb at her—“and thanks to you, I’m now the DUFF, Tim.”
We all burst out laughing, and I almost choke on my drink at the movie reference, but Jared misses the context of the Designated Ugly Fat Friend joke, so he smiles politely but doesn’t seem to get it.
Instead of sitting, Jared nods at the almost-empty drink jugs in the middle of the table. “I’m not late, am I?” He frowns and checks his watch, the muscle in his jaw tensing. Jared abhors lateness.
I smile, slipping my hand into his. He’s right on time. “You’re not late. We got here an hour ago, so we could get a good table.”
He seems a little relieved and nods in understanding. “Ah, good. Well, shall I get a round in?”
Tim grins. “I like you already.”
“I love it when a plan comes together,” Jared replies, and I can tell the retro A-Team reference wins Tim over that little bit more. “What are we drinking?”
Tim laughs and reels off the drink order. I send Jared a wink as he heads to the bar, and then I look back at my friends and raise an eyebrow.
“Well, he certainly raises our group’s average hotness score a couple of points. But I’ll reserve my character judgement until a little bit later,” Heather says, nodding.
I chew on my lip, hoping tonight goes well. Things are going great with Jared, and these two sitting opposite me are as good as family to me. It’s important that they all get along. I’m not sure what I’ll do if they don’t like each other. It doesn’t bear thinking about.
It takes a while for him to get served, but when he finally comes back with a fresh jug of orange-coloured cocktail and another one full of beer, I smile over at him and pat the seat next to me. He pulls another glass from his pocket, followed by two packs of plain crisps, which he sets in the middle and sends me a knowing smile. He sits, pouring himself a drink, while I reach for the crisps, tearing open the packet so we can all share them. I grin, happily munching away. He already knows me so well.
“Amy’s told me a lot about you. It’s so nice you’re so close after all this time. You and she went to secondary school together?” he asks Heather.
She nods in reply, giving a noisy pull on her straw, sucking up the last dregs from her glass. “We did. She’s the Rachel to my Monica.”
One of Jared’s hands softly strokes my back as he reaches for the cocktail jug with the other and refills Heather’s glass, like the perfect, attentive gentleman that he is. “And you and Tim have been together how long?”
“Four years,” Tim answers. “Four wonderful, long years.” He widens his eyes in exaggerated horror on the word long, which earns him a slap to the chest from his fiancée.
Jared nods, looking thoughtful. “So, you’re probably the best people to come to for advice on how to deal with this one then.” He motions to me and smiles as he fiddles with a lock of my hair. “Do you have any advice for me, any pearls of wisdom that’ll help me navigate the awesome craziness that is Amy Clarke?”
Tim laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Amy’s like a gremlin.”
My mouth drops open in outrage, and I fold my arms across my chest. “Oh, gee, thanks.”
He holds up a hand and raises one eyebrow. “Just calm your tits there, Gizmo. Hear me out.”
Jared takes a sip of his beer, his eyes firmly latched on Tim, waiting to see where this is going.
“Gremlins are great if you treat them right. They’re loving, cute, happy, affectionate, and they make great pets. All you have to do is keep them warm, safe, loved, and most importantly, fed.” Tim sits back with a shit-eating, smug grin on his face, clearly pleased with himself for the ridiculous analogy.
Jared purses his lips, thoughtful, and then replies, “I already noticed the food thing. I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s eating. She hums when she eats.”
I gasp and look at him. “I do not!”
One of his eyebrows rises in challenge, so I look at Heather for help, but she just nods in agreement. My mouth snaps closed, and I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassed heat.
Hmm, you learn something about yourself every day.
Tim picks up the jug of beer, refilling his own glass and Jared’s. “Just a heads-up though. Gremlins are simple creatures, and they might look cute and cuddly, but don’t mistreat them; otherwise, they’ll fuck you up. And watch out; they run in packs.” He subtly motions his head towards Heather. “Hurt one, and feel the wrath of the group.”
Heather must kick him under the table because Tim jerks, groans, and spills some of his beer in his lap as he frowns at her.
I chuckle and turn to Jared, plucking another crisp from the packet. “But of course, you can feed me after midnight. That’s all good.”
The bar is filling up even more now, and people crowd around our table as the band starts to set up on the stage. When a drunken guy, who looks barely legal to drink, walks past and smiles at me, Jared frowns and reaches down, gripping the leg of the stool I’m perched on and pulling it closer to his. I squeal and giggle, setting my hand on his thigh and leaning in to him. When he plants his foot on the rung of my stool, I feel my tummy flutter. It’s a possessive gesture, distinctly alpha male marking his territory. I actually love it.
He doesn’t mention the move at all, just turns to Tim to continue the conversation as if nothing happened. “Amy says you’re a nurse at the hospital?”
“Yep, I work in paediatrics. It’s tough going some days but rewarding. I love it,” Tim replies. “What about you? What do you do?”
I lean forward excitedly. “Ooh, ooh, I can answer that!”
Jared looks at me quizzically but waves a hand in a go-ahead gesture.
I clear my throat
and lean in to make sure I’m heard over the crowd. “Okay, so you know when you’re chatting on the phone one day, and you casually mention that you really fancy a soft-boiled egg. And then the next day, you’re scrolling Facebook, and bam, you see adverts for a boiled egg machine.”
Heather bursts out laughing. “A boiled egg machine?”
“No wonder you live off ready meals and cereal,” Jared jokes, leaning in and planting a soft kiss on my forehead.
I shoot him a warning glare and turn back to Tim and Heather, who are still laughing. “Do you want to hear this story or not?” When they nod, I roll my eyes and continue, “So, yeah, the boiled egg machine comes up in your news feed. That’s Jared. He uses the wiretap information to learn about you, so he can sell you shit through advertising.” I turn to Jared and raise an eyebrow in question. “Is that about right?”
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “Nailed it.”
Tim is grinning. “And how many boiled egg machines do you sell, Jared?”
“Surprisingly few,” Jared answers, deadpan.
“I’ll cheers to that,” Tim says, raising his glass.
We all laugh and chink our glasses as the band starts up behind us, rendering conversation impossible for the rest of the night.
When Heather looks up and catches my eye, she sends me a discreet thumbs-up gesture. My insides fizz with pleasure. Jared gets the BFF stamp of approval.
thirteen
My time off goes by in what feels like a blink of the eye, and before I know it, I’m back in my old routine of early mornings and swaying in rhythm on the train.
I’ve been back at work a full week now already, too, and my holiday seems like a lifetime ago. Today marks another momentous occasion that excites me to my very core. Today is what I used to call Man Crush Monday. But it’s the first time I’m going to see Jared on the train since our very first accidental meeting at the coffee shop four glorious weeks ago. The whole dynamic of our relationship is different this time; we’re no longer strangers who don’t speak. I’ve seen him naked and smelled his morning breath; he’s touched every part of me, seen me with no make-up and unbrushed hair, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt that I dropped pasta sauce down after a disastrous attempt to cook for him one night. I no longer feel nervous around him. He makes me feel at ease, confident, wanted, even when I am at my worst.
I can barely wait to see him this morning. It is sure to be the highlight of my day. What is going to make this experience even better is that I haven’t seen Jared for two days because I went home to my mum’s house for the weekend and only got home late last night.
I’m standing on the platform, outside the door at the front of the train, eagerly waiting for him to arrive, when one of my daily regulars walks up to me and stops at my side, folding up her newspaper and tucking it under one arm as she sips her coffee.
“Good morning, Amy.”
“Hi, Angela. How are you today? Good weekend?”
She nods but scrunches her nose up at the same time. “Same old, same old. Back to the grindstone now though!” she huffs, rolling her eyes. When I beam a smile in reply, she narrows her eyes at me. “What’s got you so chipper this morning? No one should be this happy on a workday.” She waves a hand in the direction of my face and my wide smile.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Just love Mondays; that’s all.”
“Ugh, you’re the only one, I’m afraid. I’d rather still be in bed.” Angela takes another swig of her coffee and steps on board the train, sending me a little wave as she heads in to find a seat in the already-packed train.
I smile at her, and then my eyes wander down the platform, searching him out. It’s five minutes until departure, and Jared hasn’t made his appearance yet. It is definitely his week to travel to London—I keep a little secret code on my calendar of when his weeks are. I had two weeks off work, and then he wasn’t due last week, but this week, he is. I’ll admit, I didn’t mention anything to him about those train rides and how I fell desperately in love with him and his dorky ways before he even noticed my existence. Heather and I agreed it was best to just pretend it never happened unless he brought it up first; she said I’d look less like a crazy stalker then.
When he still doesn’t make an appearance, I frown and wonder if I’ve gotten my days muddled. I saw it on my calendar this morning though; I am sure of it. The little MCM scribbled in the corner of the box with today’s date next to it. I went through the whole rest of the year one drunken night, not long after the little girl and the magic show, and marked all of his weeks onto it, so I could count down to seeing him again.
Suddenly, with one minute to spare before departure, I see him. He’s speed-walking towards the last carriage of the train, sidestepping around a slow walker. My eyes rake over him. He looks a little less put together today, a little less neat than the usual pristine guy I’m accustomed to. His jacket is undone and hanging loose, there are no crisp edges to his shirt, and his tie is a little off to one side and not the perfect, neat Windsor knot I’ve seen him fuss with in the mirror for ages until it is just right. Whatever this meeting is for in London every other week is obviously, decidedly more casual than his usual day-to-day job. He looks smart still, just not the impeccable, professional man I’m used to seeing.
He climbs aboard the carriage at the opposite end of the long train to me, just as my walkie-talkie announces it’s time to make last-moment checks before the doors close.
I do my checks and then signal that we are ready to leave and step onto the train, locking the doors. When we’re safely moving, I head out of the room at the end and start my ticket collection duties. As predicted in my morning briefing, the train is unusually busy today, crammed full of people who spill out of the carriages and into the corridors. We’ve been forewarned that there is some sort of huge convention in London today, so we expect extra passengers, but my bosses didn’t predict it to be this rammed; otherwise, there would have been another conductor assigned to help me.
I work my way through the train, collecting money, punching tickets, and dodging people who sway dangerously in the aisles. It takes me so long to work my way down the train that we are almost at London by the time I get to the last carriage. A few people have gotten on and off along the way, the crowd thinning a little, but mostly, the train is still packed.
I can see Jared; he’s in the corridor right at the end, near the toilets. He’s leaning against the wall, knees slightly bent, briefcase settled on the floor between his feet, one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket, the other holding his phone as he scrolls through something with his thumb. My legs are trying to force me to abandon my job and go to him, but I hold my ground and perform my duties.
As I get closer, my excitement builds. He doesn’t look up as I serve the last few people, and I silently reflect on how nervous I would usually be at this time. Approaching Jared (or my crush, as I called him back when I didn’t know his name) is always the highlight of my fortnight but also the most nerve-racking too. It is an oxymoron how I’d be so excited yet so scared of the moment when I approached him.
Now though, as I serve the last person and step into the corridor with him, pressing the button to close the door behind me so we’re on our own in the cramped little space, he looks up and smiles. My heart melts.
“Morning,” he greets cheerfully, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his prepurchased ticket.
I step forward, my eyes latched firmly on his face as I gently push the ticket out of the way and press myself against him, feeling every inch of his hard body against mine, not even caring that people could see us if they craned their necks and looked through the glass on the partition door. Jared’s body stiffens as his eyes meet mine, and he sucks in a ragged breath through his teeth.
“You look so perfectly fuckable.” My words echo the ones he growled at me that very first night.
His lips part, and I see his eyes widen fractionally before I quickly lean in and kiss him hard. He doesn�
��t react immediately; instead, he seems a little taken aback as his hands find my waist and hold me still. My hand goes up to the back of his head as I kiss him again, moaning in the back of my throat.
When I pull back, one of his eyebrows rises, and his whole posture screams shock. I grin. He probably didn’t expect me to be so forceful at my workplace; Jared is extremely professional like that.
“Whoa,” he mumbles, his eyes flicking down to my lips again before coming back up to my eyes.
His tongue traces his bottom lip, and I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.
When my walkie-talkie crackles to life, announcing that there are two minutes until the final stop, I tilt my head towards his, my lips brushing his teasingly as I speak, “I’ve only got two minutes. You’d better make them count.”
This time, when I kiss him, he responds, immediately kissing me back, pulling me closer to him as his teeth nip at my bottom lip. When his tongue strokes mine, I taste coffee and toothpaste. I moan into his mouth as his hand slides down my back and settles on my rear, squeezing gently as I step between his legs. My thighs brush against his in a delightful way that reminds me of how he holds me at night—one leg thrown over me, trapping me against him in a warm, delectable Jared sandwich. Things are getting hot as my skin flushes with pleasure, and my hands slide up his chest and inside his jacket, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt.
“Amy?”
“Amy, are you there?”
“Amy!”
I blink, the spell broken as I pull back from the kiss and open my eyes, coming back to reality as I realise my walkie-talkie is screaming at me. I gasp, noticing the train is literally coming to a stop at its final destination. My eyes widen in horror.
“Shit!” I gasp, wrenching myself from Jared’s arms. “I have to go.”
I turn and jab at the button on the carriage door, seeing people are out of their seats already, bundled around the exit doors, fingers poised over the Open Door button—unknowing that they won’t open because I’m at the wrong end of the train, making out with my boyfriend, instead of being where I should be, ready to press the Lock Release button.
Man Crush Monday Page 11
