London Belongs to Me

by Jacquelyn Middleton

  “Considering what you went through with your ex, I couldn’t possibly pass judgment. A surprise like that is never easy.” Mark smiled warmly but didn’t make eye contact as he swirled his spoon in the steamy broth.

  “But still. I should’ve known better. I was…inappropriate.” She chewed a small bite. If the increasing burn in her cheeks was anything to go by, they must’ve been scarlet red. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

  “I’m not.” He looked up with a smirk, and a twinkle in his eye.

  Alex exhaled, her cheeks relaxing into a wide smile. Mark enjoyed their kiss! The desire to clear the table of plates and bowls with a single sweep of her forearm and leap across to meet his soft lips, short-circuited her thoughts. Hungry café patrons carting trays stacked with cookies, coffees, and sandwiches, squeezed between tables and behind Mark’s chair, creating an undulating wall between them and the restaurant. So tempting. If only they weren’t at work…

  Mark’s eyes lingered, inviting her closer. He rested his hand on hers, its warmth passing through her body like an electric current. “Lex, you know I like you, and I was wondering––”

  A tall, thin woman with light brown skin snaked behind Mark, swishing her shiny long black hair away from her face. In a single motion, she crouched down and dropped her slender fingers over his eyes. Mark flinched, his tender clasp of Alex’s hand forsaken.

  “Hey, Keegan. Guess who?”

  His eyes masked, she twisted around and planted her plump lips on his mouth. When he squirmed, she released him, her fingers trespassing through his hair. With a satisfied smile, she swooped into the neighbouring chair.

  Alex’s eyes bugged out of her head. Who the hell was this?

  Mark wiped her gooey red lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand, his wide eyes betraying his embarrassment.

  The woman rambled between breaths. “I’m so glad I found you! That part? The indie flick—it’s mine! If you hadn’t worked my shifts, I would’ve missed the auditions. Thanks, babe.”

  “Oh…” Mark didn’t know where to look. “I didn’t think I’d see you today. Weren’t you off filming an advert?”

  “Nah, the director’s sick. It’s been put off until next week.”

  Mark hesitated, then placed his hand—the one that was just holding Alex’s hand—on the smoocher’s back. “Alex Sinclair, meet Naomi Khan. Naomi, this is Alex.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you,” said Naomi.

  Alex’s eyes darted from the brazen gatecrasher to Mark and back again. This girl was a total stunner, so exotic looking and friendly—so friendly that she placed her hand on Mark’s upper thigh. Alex blinked several times to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks. Nope. Actually, did Naomi’s hand just slide further towards his crotch? Alex’s stomach curdled. This chick wasn’t subtle at all.

  “Naomi just got back from a ten-month gig with the touring production of Kinky Boots,” said Mark, shifting in his seat. “Alex’s a playwright from Florida. You visited Florida, right?”

  “We did. Performed in Miami. Extremely generous audiences. I loved it there,” said Naomi.

  Alex bit her cheek. Great—so why didn’t you stay there?

  Naomi faced Mark straight on. Her enviable breasts strained against her tight red top. Come to think of it, this girl would make the perfect Victoria’s Secret Angel; striking, tall with long slim legs…a total nightmare.

  “I can breathe easy now. I had to see you. Sometimes you’re impossible to find, Mark…” Naomi beamed and abandoned his thigh to play with the hair above his temple.

  Alex slumped back against the banquette and pushed her sandwich away.

  “I’m chuffed it worked out.” Mark glanced at Alex and moved slightly so Naomi’s hand could no longer fondle his swept back locks.

  The actress grasped her non-existent stomach. “I’m starving. I should’ve eaten before my shift.” She helped herself to a spoonful of Mark’s soup. “Mmm, love its crispy noodles. Alex, you should try this. I bet it tastes much better than—what is that? The cheese sandwich from the kiddie’s menu?”

  Alex wrapped her arms around her stomach and offered a tight-lipped smile.

  “Lex has food allergies; she has to be careful,” said Mark. “And the kids’ menu’s really good, actually. Don’t knock it until you try it.”

  “You were always partial to a cheese butty.” Naomi stood up, unfurling her skinny jean-clad legs. “I’m due upstairs in the Terrace Restaurant. I wish they’d stop stealing us Long Bar staff. I prefer working down here with you.”

  Mark stood up, giving Naomi a tentative parting hug.

  She grabbed the Irishman, smooshing her chest into his, a sheet of paper couldn’t squeeze between them. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow on my break?” Naomi flipped a glance over Mark’s shoulder. “Lovely to meet you, Alex. See you ‘round.”

  Her perfect ass sashayed towards the lobby, collecting admiring looks in its wake.

  Alex felt like she had been shoved off Tower Bridge. “Old friend?”

  “Kind of…” Mark rubbed an eyebrow. “We sorta went out.”

  Alex gulped. “Oh.” Her suspicion realized.

  “We hooked up a few times. She dropped me like a brick a year ago when she landed the touring Kinky Boots tour.”

  The blonde held her breath, trying to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest and dive-bombing the cold floor.

  “I didn’t hear from her until two months ago, just before she came home. She needed a gig, so I suggested she try here. It’s a great place if you need time off for auditions.”

  “I bet…Do you help all the girls you know get jobs here?”

  Mark’s eyebrows scrunched. “All the girls…?”

  Alex shook her head, unable to look at him. “I’m so dim. I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend.”

  “I don’t. Not now. Naomi’s just a friend.”

  She’d heard those three words pass an actor’s lips before.

  “Really?” Alex scoffed. “She’s very hands-on. Friends don’t usually stroke each other’s thighs.”

  Mark leaned forward, attempting to bridge the gulf growing between them. “Naomi, she’s—” His arm caught the lip of the bowl, splashing hot soup into his lap. He jerked upwards. “Shit!” His hands scrambled across the table for napkins.

  Alex snatched her wallet and scooted out of the banquette. “I’ve got tour prep to do.”

  “Lex! Wait.”

  Her eyes began to sting. She rushed through the café doors and out to the riverfront.

  Alex signed off on her last tour, grabbed her coat, and slipped into the ground floor ladies’ toilets. She hid in the farthest stall.

  Mark had called three times since lunch. She listened to his messages:

  ‘Lex, where’d you go? I’ve been to your desk and searched every floor. Come see me at the bar, okay? Bye…’

  ‘Hey, Alex. It’s four thirty. I know your next tour doesn’t start until five. Call me before you start?’

  ‘Lex, my shift’s finished. I’m sat right now in your writing spot. It’s just gone six thirty-five. I’d really like to talk…’

  She frowned. The onslaught of messages could only mean one thing—guilt. He’d probably keep calling until she answered, or worse—he’d call Freddie and get him to find her; the fewer people in the mix, the better.

  Watching Naomi in action, it was clear her designs—not to mention her hands—were all over him. How could she compete with Sex On Legs? Or trust him? How do guys say no to someone so obviously ‘up for it’? Especially someone they’d slept with before.

  She fanned her burning cheeks. It was foolish to think that Mark wouldn’t be enjoying female company. Just because she wasn’t into hook-ups or dating multiple people didn’t mean that he wasn’t. But sharing Mark with another woman? She couldn’t do it. As much as she fancied him, she couldn’t subject herself to the insecurity of another love triangle, the wounds from the Devin-Taylor entanglement raw again, thanks to his r
eappearance Friday. She’d cared deeply once, and it had nearly destroyed her. Perhaps it was too soon to get involved with anyone, anyway.

  When the loo emptied, she abandoned her stall, blotting a damp paper towel over her forehead. She reapplied her smudged eye makeup.

  Get it together, Alex.

  She took a final deep breath before exiting the washroom. Maybe Naomi’s epic timing earlier was a good thing. Since accepting the tour guide job, her writing had taken a backseat; all her free time here, devoted to Mark. Well, not any more. Time to wake up. Time to let him go. After all, unlike Devin, Mark was never hers to begin with.

  She strode up one level of stairs, then another. On the landing leading to the second floor, she paused to catch her breath. Her heart beat loudly in her ears, blocking out the anticipatory buzz rising from tonight’s theatregoers on the ground floor. A shadow stretched down the stairwell from above, blanketing her head, then her shoulders.

  “Hello, stranger. I hoped I’d find you here.” Mark grinned sheepishly as he hopped down the steps towards her.

  His hair looked particularly hot tonight. Silky. Thick. Fluffy. What would it be like to grab fistfuls of it?

  Alex swallowed and shook her head, erasing the image. Her hands trembled. She tucked them under crossed arms, hiding the evidence. “Sorry for leaving in such a rush earlier.” Her eyes flitted to his chest. “I…forgot. My supervisor, she wanted to see me before my last tour.”

  Mark cleared his throat, his tone playing along. “Is everything okay now? Did you get it sorted?” His lips stretched into an impish smirk.

  “I did, thanks.” Alex glanced at his puppy dog eyes and then quickly diverted her gaze to the safety of the floor. She couldn’t look at his eyes, lips, or that hair or else she’d stray. “Look, Mark, I didn’t say everything that I wanted to say at lunch.” She feared he could hear her heart pounding through her dress.

  His face lit up. “Neither did I. Sorry for the interruption. I was going to a—”

  Alex cut him off. “On Friday night, seeing Devin made me all nostalgic. You were there. I was drunk and…the kiss was a mistake; it didn’t mean anything.”

  He shook his head, a concerned frown darkening his face. “…I don’t think you really believe that.”

  “Putting you in an awkward situation like that wasn’t fair to you. Or Naomi ….”

  Mark stepped closer, his reassuring hands reaching for hers. “Lex, you’ve got this all wrong—”

  “No, I don’t.” Alex kept her arms crossed and backed up, the heel of her shoe scraping against the cement wall.

  “I have a ton of writing to do, so I can’t have another night like last Friday. I keep getting sidetracked…It’s got to stop. Writing’s my priority—”

  Buoyant voices bent around the stairwell’s corner, drowning out Alex’s words. Three, four—six theatre patrons emerged into view, their light-hearted conversation drying up at the sight of Alex sloped against the wall and Mark, his lips only inches away from hers, resting his hand above her head.

  The interlopers increased their pace, disappearing up the stairs.

  Mark closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

  She could breathe him in. So close. Close enough to kiss.

  Alex’s voice cracked. “Best to forget about the other night so we can both…move on.” Her stomach churned like the Gulf of Mexico in a hurricane.

  Mark swept his hair off his forehead. “Alex, I fully support your writing, you know that…don’t do this. Let’s go somewhere private to talk—”

  Her eyes stung as his words fell to the floor, rejected. She raised her voice. “I said we need to move on. Can we drop it. Please?”

  Mark rubbed his hands over his face. When they fell, he shifted backwards with a nod, but his dull eyes and slumped shoulders contradicted that assent. He scuffed the floor with his boot. “Sure. If that’s what you really want.”

  “Please don’t say anything to Freddie or Lucy. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

  Resting his hands on his hips, he tipped his head back, glancing at the ceiling. “Okay.”

  “Goodbye, Mark.”

  Head bowed, Alex squeezed past him. She rushed down the stairs as fast as her shaking legs could carry her.

  On the journey home, Alex dried her tears, her mind and heart pulling in two different directions. Her thoughts lay tangled like a string of Christmas lights, while her heart felt hollowed out, a mere shell left behind. Turning onto Henshaw Street, the local kids were playing soccer on the road. She could relate to their deflated ball, kicked to the curb again and again. With a heavy sigh, she dodged around the erstwhile Ronaldos and Rooneys. There was no turning back—she’d get her head down, lock her heart away, and write through the pain. Full stop. She quickly closed the flat’s red painted door on their joyful shouts.

  “Hey, sunshine, good day at work?” Freddie cleared plates and cutlery from the table. The tomato-y aroma of spag bol saturated the flat.

  “Don’t you ever eat at home?” asked Alex.

  “Ooh, a bit harsh. Someone’s got the hump.”

  Lucy strode in from the kitchenette. “Was the Tube delayed at Lambeth North again? I’d be pissed, too…hey, did you talk to Mark?”

  Freddie abandoned the table clearing and plopped down on a chair. “So, where’s he taking you on your date? I want all the gory details.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Why not?” asked Freddie. “I know he likes you. He was going to ask you out.”

  “I wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I only have time right now for my first love…”

  Lucy crossed her arms. “Bloody Devin? Fuck—I knew it!”

  “Not Devin, Lucy. Writing. It’s time to knuckle down. No diversions. No distractions and definitely no booze or boys.”

  “How boring,” said Freddie.

  She shook her head. “I’ve also got Dad’s cheque to think about. He’s put so much faith in me. I can’t let him down. London’s crazy expensive—and that money’s not going to last forever—”

  “But what did Mark actually say?” asked Lucy.

  “Nothing much. He didn’t have to.”

  “Well, if you blurted out that shit about ‘distractions’ and ‘boys’, you probably scared him right off,” said Lucy. “You two could’ve been great together. I’m blaming you if it’s awkward at the play next weekend.”

  “If I know Keegs, he won’t give up easily. When he fancies someone, he’s patient and persistent,” said Freddie.

  “Don’t start writing your best man speech just yet, Freddie. Well, not for me and Mark, anyway.” She mumbled under her breath. “Maybe for him and Naomi.”

  Lucy’s ears pricked up. “Who’s Naomi?”

  “Naomi? Naomi Khan? She’s back? That’s weird. Mark hasn’t mentioned it.” Freddie shoved his glasses back up his nose. “Hmm. I thought she would’ve latched onto some rich bloke in the States, never to return.”

  “Somebody tell me. Who’s Naomi?” asked Lucy.

  “Remember that actress? Mark’s co-star in that Simon Stephens’ play, a year and a half back? The one at the Royal Exchange in Manchester?”

  Lucy stared blankly at Freddie.

  “Legs that don’t stop, big boobs, beautiful light brown skin? Half French, half Indian?”

  “Oh, God. That one. Yes, I do.”

  “That’s Naomi,” said Freddie.

  “Well, that Naomi is back and has her claws into Mark,” said Alex.

  “I doubt that,” said Freddie. “She moved on the moment she boarded that flight to New York last year. Sure, he was flattered. Who wouldn’t be with all…that. It was hot for a spell, a right bonk-a-thon…I didn’t see Mark around for weeks, but they quickly fizzled out. She’s got bigger targets in her scope than Keegs. And it didn’t take him long to figure that out, either.”

  “Didn’t look like it this afternoon at the National. She practically unzipped his jeans right in front of me,” said Alex.

>   “Fuck. I thought he was better than that. God, all men are pigs,” said Lucy.

  “Ahem. Not all of us, sweetie.” Freddie picked up his phone. “Look, I’ll text him. Find out what the hell’s going on.”

  “No! Don’t.” Alex yanked her hair off her forehead. “I’m serious, Freddie. Don’t. He’s been a distraction. I didn’t come here to find a boyfriend.”

  “But if you’re really devoting 100 percent of your heart to writing, Lex, why are you blinking back tears? I think you doth protest too much, my darling.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired. I’m starving. And I’m behind in my writing. Stop assuming I’m upset about him. I’m not.” She pounded upstairs and slammed her door.

  Lucy turned to Freddie. “And I’m Beyoncé.”

  Twenty-Eight

  That night, Freddie and Lucy clashed over what to do. Freddie pleaded with Lucy— “just one text to Mark, go on!”—but Lucy stood firm. Two cups of tea and a packet of biscuits later, she’d won: Alex needed time and distance from Mark—not to mention Devin—to write and to heal her heart; she also needed their united support, more than ever. Alex had been panic attack-free since her move, and Lucy wanted to keep it that way.

  Tuesday through Thursday, Alex couldn’t keep tea or toast down. She didn’t fight Lucy’s suggestion of calling in sick and stayed bundled up in her bedroom, writing in between naps and sprints to the toilet. She blamed a dodgy chicken burger late Monday night for her digestive unraveling, but she didn’t fool anyone.

  Lucy occasionally knocked on her flatmate’s bedroom door to check if she needed crackers or water, but got shooed away every time. When Alex fled to the toilet, she’d sneak in to leave behind a banana or a sports drink, worried that her friend was plunging further into dehydration and desperation. She knew Alex would kill her if she ever caught wind of her snooping, but Lucy took a moment to scroll through the screen on the open laptop. Page upon page of writing met her intrusive eyes. Lucy smiled at her discovery. The taps in the bathroom squealed their alert, so she tiptoed out of the room and back downstairs.