London Belongs to Me

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  “No, no raging.” Freddie crinkled his nose at Lucy, reclaiming his pint. “I think Lex should accept his apology and move on. Being angry, stewing over what happened? Don’t. Grudges cause wrinkles—scientific fact. And ulcers. It’s not pretty, any way you slice it.”

  “Seriously, Freddie?” Lucy’s curls bounced against her shoulders with each shake of her head. “She shouldn’t accept his apology. He’s a pig and—”

  Alex jumped in, holding up her drink. “All I want to do right now is get drunk. Become numb.” She scrunched into her chair and swallowed the remaining liquid in her glass.

  “Fair enough.” Freddie shrugged. “I do think it says a lot how he came all that way to make peace with you. That’s a pretty expensive apology. You’d only do that if you still loved the person…”

  Alex buried her face in her hand.

  Lucy scowled, smacking his arm. “Not helping!”

  “Just saying.” Freddie winced.

  Mark weaved through a cluster of theatregoers and placed a tray of drinks on the small table in front of his friends. “Get these down you. Final round before I cash out my shift.” His eyes took in Alex, then shifted to Lucy. “What’s on tap for this evening?”

  “We should stop somewhere for a bite.” Lucy glanced sideways at Alex, who tossed back her second drink, downing it in two gulps.

  The blonde coughed and clasped her throat. “I don’t need food, just another one of these.”

  Her three friends exchanged wide-eyed looks.

  Lucy mumbled to the guys. “The booze isn’t helping. She’s a small thing. She can’t keep this up.”

  Mark brushed Alex’s shoulder. “I haven’t eaten all day. Share a pizza with me? I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “And then dancing, yeah?” Freddie winked at Lucy. “Good music, throwing some sweaty shapes on the dance floor…”

  “I love the name of this place—Zippers. It’s soooo funny!” Alex hiccupped between giggles and slurped another JD and Coke.

  “Gay clubs have the best names. I’m glad you approve. And I’m happy you’re dancing up a storm, not sobbing in the bogs.” Freddie shouted over Donna Summer’s I Feel Love.

  Alex looped her arm around his neck, forcing him to hunch over. “The music’s so good. It’s just like the disco playlist Robbie made me a few summers ago.”

  The DJ mixed into You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) by Sylvester, its beats taking control of Alex’s hips. “Oh my God. I love this song! Robbie used to play it all the time.” She shoved her empty glass into Freddie’s hand and squeezed past an army of fit looking men, taking her place in the centre of the dance floor.

  Freddie sat back down in their booth. “Do you think there’s a chance her brother might be gay? I mean, his choice in tunes? Think about it.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes and yelled to Freddie. “She should’ve eaten more than one slice. She’s out of control.”

  “Aw, bless. She needs this. Let her sweat it out. Look, they adore her,” shouted Freddie.

  Alex fluttered her skirt and grinded against two shirtless guys with glistening six-packs. Strobing lights lit up the trio in pulsating splashes of gold, blue, and red.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her.” Mark laughed and knocked back a shot of sambuca. He slipped through the flailing arms and gyrating bodies on the dance floor.

  “And I’ll get more drinks in.” Freddie bounced to his feet and around a group of guys in leather gear.

  “Not for Lex…or me,” Lucy shouted, guarding their booth.

  Mark zigzagged his way to Alex, but found himself sandwiched between two well-groomed men wearing dark skinny jeans and black shirts unbuttoned to their waists.

  “Alex,” he hollered. “All right?”

  “Mark!” She laughed with eyelids at half-mast and flung her arms around his neck.

  “How ’bout we sit the next one out?” asked Mark, dabbing perspiration from his forehead. “I think you could use some fresh air.”

  The first notes of Robyn’s Hang with Me flooded the dance floor. “Ooh, not yet. You’ve got to stick around for this one, Mark. Sing it with me!” Alex brushed against his chest, inhaling him in and swaying her hips provocatively to the beat.

  Mark leaned in closer so she could hear him over the pounding sub-bass, his lips grazing her cheek. “Just this one, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Alex stopped mid-beat and pressed her lips against Mark’s soft pout. He raised his hands in protest before dropping them slowly to rest firmly on her waist. Alex pushed her damp body into Mark’s, her grip tightening behind his neck as she parted his lips with her tongue. If only she was wearing heels—his hair wouldn’t stand a chance.

  An over-enthusiastic dancer slammed into Mark’s back, breaking their kiss.

  Mark caught his breath. “You okay?”

  Alex giggled and playfully slapped her hand over her mouth. Warmth crept across her cheeks, her whole body tingled. “I feel dizzzzzy.”

  “How many have you had?”

  “Not enough,” said Alex, biting her lip. “C’mon, Mark. Play with me.” She grabbed hold of his t-shirt with both hands and started to peel it upwards from his low-rise jeans, exposing a trail of dark hair climbing towards his belly. “You like me, right?”

  Mark swallowed. He nodded and clasped onto her hands, lowering their progress. “Yes, Lex. I like you. But I think you’ve probably had one too many.”

  “You taste like candy…licorice…” Alex slurred into his chest. “You’re my weakness…”

  He gently pulled her into his arms, guiding her off the dance floor while making sure she didn’t stumble over dancing feet or discarded beer cans. “I think this is the booze talking, lady.”

  Her knees buckling, she waved a stern finger. “No. Freddie said getting Legolas would help.”

  Mark cracked up. “You mean getting legless…”

  He picked her up and carried her the final steps towards the booth where Lucy and Freddie chatted. She clung on to Mark’s shoulder like a rescued kitten, tucking her head into the nook of his neck. Once seated, the room flung itself into a stuttering spin. Alex wouldn’t release her grip. Her short skirt lay rumpled, exposing her panties and sheer tights. Mark smoothed the skirt down with a single sweep of his hand.

  “Ah, so funny…mmmm, kiss…finally…” mumbled Alex.

  Lucy jumped up. “Is she all right?”

  “Well, someone is,” laughed Freddie. “Nice lipstick there, Keegs.” He motioned to his friend to remove the burgundy smudge that overwhelmed his lips and part of his stubbly chin.

  Mark flashed a cheeky grin and wiped his face with his free hand. Alex remained glued to his shoulder, rendering his right hand useless. “She’s fine. Drunk, but fine.”

  “Mark, really…how could you?”

  “C’mon, Lucy. I’d never take advantage.” He pointed at his lips. “She pounced on me. I’m the perfect gentleman.”

  Freddie leaned across the table. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that just a little bit.”

  Mark grabbed his pint and raised a roguish eyebrow at his friend.

  Lucy collected Alex’s bag and coat, and her own satchel and trench from the booth.

  “That’s enough excitement for tonight. Time to get this little one home to bed—alone.”

  “I mean it. I’m never drinking again. Even my hair hurts.” Alex shoved her greasy bangs out of her bloodshot eyes. A chalky tablet fizzed in a glass of water on the table.

  “Famous last words. Until your next ex shows up unannounced.” Lucy yanked on a chair, causing it to squeal across the lounge’s hardwood floor. Alex winced and snapped her eyes shut.

  “I can’t believe you made a move on Mark last night. Well done, you.”

  “God, how will I face him? He’ll think I’m a slag.”

  “The girl with a single notch on her bedpost? I doubt it.”

  “Aw, Lucy. You didn’t tell him that I’ve only slept w
ith one guy, did you? Oh, that’s attractive. I’m practically a nun…”

  “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. But he might blame your shameless hit and run on the booze. If you really want in there, you should tell him how you feel—sharpish.” Lucy bit into a piece of white toast slathered with marmalade. “Or miss your moment.”

  “If I wasn’t drunk, I’d never have flown at him like that. God, I didn’t grab his ass…or…did I?”

  Lucy chuckled into her mug of tea.

  Alex swiped her phone’s screen. “I guess I could text him? But he hasn’t texted me. Is that a sign? I wonder what that means?”

  “It means nothing. Mark’s terrible with texts. Drives Freddie crazy. When was the last time you texted him and got a response?

  “I always get a response.” She stared at her phone as if telepathy would make him get in touch.

  “You’re the only one, then.” Lucy shrugged. “Don’t tell Freddie.”

  Alex began typing as Lucy crunched through a crust. “You haven’t been sending him sexy Snapchats, have you?”

  “Can you chew a little quieter?” Alex held her head. “You sound like a beaver chipping away at a log.”

  Lucy glared. “Did you just text him?”

  “No. I was going to…but…I don’t know what to say. What should I say? Lucy, help me—”

  “Never mind that.” Lucy yanked the phone out of her hand, setting it on the table. “Gimme details. The snog. How was it? Were tongues involved? Hands? Did he show any signs…you know, pitching a trouser tent?”

  Alex blushed. “That kiss. I felt it everywhere. That I do remember. I wish we didn’t get interrupted, to see where it could’ve led. Imagine, greeting the morning…with him, all naked and irresistible.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered closed, her eyes succumbing to visions of rumpled sheets and eager lips, his toned stomach and…

  Alex’s phone buzzed, shocking her back into the room. She snatched it quickly, checked the screen and then dropped the phone in her lap.

  “I was all over him, wasn’t I? He’ll think I’m a tease.”

  “He won’t.” Lucy paused mid-chew. “He’ll realize you’re keen. Nothing wrong with that. Personally, I think that kiss was long overdue.”

  Alex sampled the foamy water, now a murky orange colour. She stuck out her tongue and blinked. “Blech. That’s disgusting! So, guess who just sent me a friend request?”

  “Go on then. Is it one of those hunky gays you were grinding against?”

  “No. Devin.” A half-smile flitted across her face.

  “Ugh, I would delete that sucker. Send him a clear message to piss off,” said Lucy.

  “Maybe later.” Alex slid her phone into the pocket of her robe and inhaled deeply.

  “What are you waiting for? Rip off that bandage. Let it hurt. Be furious. And then forget about him. He’s such a shit, showing up like that.”

  “I can’t just erase him from my life.” Alex rose slowly to her feet, and gripped onto the back of her chair for balance.

  “I thought you already had.” Lucy shoved her crumb-filled plate away.

  “I can’t ignore what happened in the past,” said Alex. “I thought I could…coming here, putting an ocean between us. Out of sight, out of mind, right?”

  She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “But that distance disappears when you hear a song you both loved or get caught up in a random memory. And then the moment fades like an old photograph, and the distance settles in again. Seeing him here, though…stirred up so many buried feelings. It brought back all the happy times—and the bad ones.”

  “And that’s why I’m so pissed at him. He’s opened up all those old hurts. Doesn’t he know to leave well enough alone? I don’t get why you’re not raging at him.”

  “Part of me is. I hate what he did to me. I hate that he showed up—and just when Mark and I got closer. It makes me feel…conflicted. And confused. But I’m handling it in my own way. Not everyone wants to start a world war like you do.” She smiled at Lucy.

  “If you let this arsehole get in the way of potential happiness with Mark, I will never speak to you again.”

  Alex rubbed her bloodshot eyes. “And I’m supposed to be the theatrical one.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Alex’s first tour on Monday didn’t start until noon, so she left her desk and went downstairs to check out the Long Bar. The supervisor and a delivery guy were shifting beer bottles. No Mark. She played with the scooped-neck of her knitted burgundy dress. Friday’s kiss and the possibility of seeing him today kept her awake last night, teasing and tormenting her; the ache for him still constant, it warmed her like a fever that wouldn’t break…

  Where was he?

  Back in the office, she pushed aside her spreadsheets and dedicated the rest of her morning to social media monitoring. She grabbed her charging phone. No texts. No photos. No joy. She hadn’t received any texts all day Saturday or Sunday either. Now that Monday had arrived, shouldn’t there be a funny message from Freddie about her slobbering over Mark or a cheeky hello from the snogging victim himself? Her screen stared back at her, blank.

  Maybe Facebook offered some clues. Freddie last posted on Friday morning—before their night out—and Mark’s page hadn’t been updated for several months. Alex knew every photo, every comment by heart. What would it hurt to scroll through again? Go on, just a few minutes. His taste in pop culture made her swoon every time: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Roman Holiday (scooters!), Before Sunrise, Franz Ferdinand, Snow Patrol, The 1975—Tom Jones? That one always made her chuckle; she meant to ask him about that.

  Alex sighed. She checked her email for the eighth time that hour. Nope, nothing except a promotion for geeky t-shirts at Red Bubble. She jumped between Instagram, WhatsApp, Snapchat, and Twitter, but her friends were all AWOL there, too. Why so quiet? Was a zombie apocalypse raging outside, or did her friends deem her too delicate to discuss Friday’s wacko events? Maybe her behaviour horrified her entire social circle? Oh God. If no one wanted to talk about it, she must’ve made a massive fool of herself—again.

  One tweet stole her attention…a What’s On Stage post about five up-and-coming playwrights being showcased in an ambitious London-based workshop starting in December. She clicked quickly on the link.

  Smiling confidently from the webpage in a beautifully staged black and white headshot…Olivia. Her bio listed her accomplishments, her BA in playwriting, blah blah fucking blah…

  Alex’s fingers scratched at her computer’s touchpad, only slowing down when a certain word rolled into view—suffragettes. No need to read further.

  “Cow.”

  Her phone pinged with a text from Harry:

  ‘Hey Alex! Missing you ‘round here. Hope all’s well. Msg me when you can. H x’

  She ignored it and opened a tour schedule spreadsheet.

  At quarter to two, Alex dropped off a tour in front of the National’s bookshop and hurried across the lobby to Kitchen. The high-pitched growls multiplying in her stomach needed muzzling, pronto.

  Her eyes flew around the room, pouring over each table and every customer holding trays in line. Still no sign of Mark.

  She had arrived at the conclusion that apologizing was the right thing to do, even though she didn’t want to apologize at all. The desire to kiss him had haunted her for weeks. Why should she be sorry? If only Mark would proclaim that their impromptu snog left him craving a repeat performance—then she could skirt ‘sorry’ altogether.

  But what if he didn’t enjoy it, if he was annoyed, or worse—grossed out? She would deal with her embarrassment and go back to hiding her true feelings. She was getting rather good at it.

  She grabbed a cute ladybug box that housed a kid-sized cheese sandwich on white, and a Pepsi, and joined the queue to pay.

  “What’s for lunch?” An Irish lilt floated over her shoulder.

  His warm breath on her neck made her nerve endings sizzle. Found him! She scrunched her eyes and spu
n to face him, the pleated skirt of her dress whirling close behind.

  “Wow. Fancy.” He stepped back, taking in her outfit with approving eyes. “Are you just back from having cocktails at The Ivy?”

  Alex smiled. “I didn’t think you were working today.”

  “Yeah.” Mark leaned in. “Scheduled every day this week, actually. But I’m hoping to get a call back this week. That TV series I was telling you about? I’ve read lines for the producer and director twice already. I think the third time might be the charm.”

  “Fingers crossed. Not that you need any luck. I’m sure you’re perfect for it.” She babbled and squeezed her cola can.

  Mark grinned as the line shifted forward. He rested his hand on her back just long enough to nudge her ahead. “I wanted to check up on you yesterday, but my phone fell out of my pocket on the trip home Saturday night.” He rolled up the cuffs of his black button-down. “Luckily I had the early shift yesterday, so I could spend the rest of the day getting a new one sorted.”

  Her gaze slipped between his eyes and his lips…searching for a sign…

  “Next, please.”

  She placed her lunch on the counter with a fleeting nod to the cashier. Mark stepped up beside her, pulling out his wallet. “Let me get this. And could you add an Asian Vegetable broth, too, please?”

  “You don’t have to pay for mine.”

  “I want to.”

  Alex fiddled with her wallet’s zipper. “Thanks.”

  Mark picked up the ladybug box. “That’s not another cheese sarnie, is it? I’m going to start calling you Mouse.”

  She giggled and playfully smacked his arm. A silly grin crept across his face as he handed money to the clerk.

  Alex chose the cozy banquette against the wall. Mark sat on the white chair across from her.

  “It must have felt like a marching band pounding through your head on Saturday morning. You drank us all under the table.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.” Alex popped open the ladybug box. “I’m swearing off booze. My behaviour at the club…I’m surprised you’re still speaking to me.”