Oh. Right. I try not to be cross. But what’s Sadie like? Is she prettier than me? I bet Sadie isn’t direct and challenging. Or over-bubbly.
I’m beginning to think he’s disappeared off to see Sadie. The texts seem to have stopped. She probably gets several kisses on her texts, not just one.
‘Okay. Sadie’s given me the number of the guy she uses, said he was good at sexy-seductress stuff. N x’
‘You told her!!!’
Oh my God. The swine! Now Sadie knows he’s been enlisted to help out poor desperate dating disaster me. Is he going to tell everybody? I want to send an emoticon that says ‘I will kill you’ but can’t find anything even close, so send a devil face instead.
‘Chill. Said my sis was after a new sexy style, she mentioned him, I said yeah but can he do sexy? She kicked me and said, “what the fuck do you think mine is?” She also said “since when do girls ask for their brother’s help?!” I think I’ve been dumped, solves the problem of her thinking we might get serious! But I did get the hairdresser’s number first. Here it is. N x’
‘I am impressed at your devotion to the task, and the sacrifice. R x’
‘Not a problem. She was a bit scary, as in “can I move in?” scary, not scary like you. We’d only had one date! N x’
‘You always have to spoil it, don’t you? You’re supposed to say I was worth the sacrifice! R x’
‘Always!! N xx’
I think I better stop texting. So instead, I call the hair stylist and make an appointment; apparently if Sadie recommended him then he can squeeze me in on Wednesday.
Noah has sent another text, seeing as I didn’t reply. It consists of three crying with laughter emoticons and no kisses. Phew! Two kisses had definitely been scary.
‘Hope you’re not doing anything too drastic? I like your hair as it is! N x’
‘You’ll have to wait and see! R x’
‘Tousled, bed hair?? Nx ’
‘Red, pixie cut? R x’
There is a long pause. He’s obviously trying to think of a suitable not-too-crushing response.
‘Anything would look good on you! N x’
‘You charmer, you! Might get matching nails as well! R x’
I am smiling stupidly. It’s a long time since I can remember smiling at a text from Robbie. Although, ‘can you get more shaving foam, please?’ doesn’t really give you the warm and fuzzies, does it? Although, thinking about it seriously, I can’t remember a smile-inducing text exchange at all.
‘Isn’t it the first thing a girl does when she’s dumped, you know, go for the new-me look? Not that I really know. I’ve never split up with anybody before. R x’
Obviously that’s one upside of staying with the same guy – no unexpected expenses. Downside is you turn into a stay-at-home frump.
‘Oh yeah, so I’ve heard. I mean, I tend to go out and buy a new T-shirt when I’ve split with somebody. N x’
‘You must have a helluva lot of T-shirts.’
I add a crying with laughter face and grin.
‘What can I say? I like T-shirts, you can never have too many! N x’
Tuesday
‘Meet me for lunch in half an hour, across from your place? N x’
Strangely I have missed Noah despite the texts (not that I’d inflate his ego further by telling him) and am stupidly pleased at the prospect of seeing him again. Winky emoticons are not the same as seeing the real thing: the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners, the laughter that dances in his eyes. One grin from Noah and I seem to feel so much better about myself. No last-minute doubts about having my hair restyled and lifted from the boring but safe sameness I’ve seen every time I look in the mirror since I was at school. His chuckle warms me up inside and the way he looks at me makes me feel I can do (almost) anything. Even find a date.
Or it could be the fact that I’ve been told the window display at the shop needs doing and I’ve finally been trusted to do it again, so I’d be pleased for any excuse to get out of here for a bit.
The boss has insisted on Bea doing the window since my near disastrous Valentine’s Day love-you-to-death style showcase. Did I not mention it? Robbie did his runner two weeks before the big day.
Well, anyway, I wasn’t in the mood for hearts and flowers exactly, and I bet there are a lot of other people who aren’t. So, I went for an alternative approach. You have no idea how many books are about crimes of passion, vampire kisses, and love lost.
‘Fucking hell, Rosie, are you off your head?’ Was Bea’s reaction. ‘This says love me to death. Nobody wants to be given their lover’s heart literally!’ she yelled, holding up a book with a particularly gruesome cover.
‘Well that’s how I feel! And I think you’ll find that is somebody’s liver not heart.’
‘Eurgh.’ She dropped the book. ‘I am off to find something pink!’
So anyway, my first attempt has to make up for the last one. I must not fail, which is a bit daunting. Coffee with Noah will be much less of a challenge.
Wow, who thought I’d ever say that?
‘An hour, I’ve got some spines to dust. R x’
‘Sounds sexy, want to try it out on me? N x’
‘You’re chuckling! Must be the sex god on the phone!’
‘Don’t call him that!’ I shake my head at Bea. ‘Haven’t you got some books to tidy or something?’
‘It is him, isn’t it? You go all girly when he texts you.’
‘No, I don’t!’ I don’t, honestly. ‘He’s just funny.’ He makes me smile; he makes me feel all warm and happy.
‘Yeah, and then some. You know what they say about a man who can make you laugh! You keep that chastity belt on your knickers locked, girl!’
‘Shush!’ I wave her away, but a little niggle of unease teases at my heart. I fear my chastity belt is not as firmly attached as it should be. It is in danger of slippage.
How can I miss somebody so much? I need to find a real boyfriend quickly, one that is steady and reliable. One who I can work with and live with, and love in the way I loved Robbie.
Without the irrational head-over-heels hormonal side.
That’s a slightly depressing thought actually: losing Noah’s corny jokes and naughty sense of humour. And dirty grin. And the way my heart kind of flips when I realise he’s on the phone. And the way he can bring goose bumps out on my arms just by staring steadily at me in that ‘I can see everything in your head’ kind of way.
It’s a bloody good job he is still dating the Sadies of this world. Women who are happy (well maybe not happy, but happy to go along with) that he will never commit. He will never fall in love. Because he doesn’t want to.
I admit he’s not just like my dad, he has lots more positive points, and he does care. But that makes him more likeable, more dangerous – because he still is like him in some ways. I’m not daft, I know you can’t change a person.
We are too dissimilar; we want totally different things in life and all his flirting is just that. Flirting. He can’t help himself. I can’t let him get under my skin and into my heart – and I’m really worried that he’s starting to.
***
I needn’t have worried about any possibility of my relationship with Noah taking a wrong turn, because the first thing he says when I sit down in the café is: ‘I’ve got the number of a brilliant nail salon if you’re interested! You said you were thinking of getting them done?’
‘How do you know it’s brilliant?’ I say suspiciously. ‘You don’t get yours done, do you?’
‘No.’ He grins. I imagine if he did decide to get a manicure, he’d get away with it.
‘Don’t tell me.’ I hold up a hand, ‘Sadie’s back!’
‘Nope. This was Helen.’
‘Who’s Helen?’
‘Keep up, Rosie! I went out with her last night.’
‘Sadie?’
‘Definitely gone.’
‘What is it with you and women?’
‘I like them.’ He grins.
‘A lot.’ My stomach does a little dive. Okay, I know he’s not the man for me – but right now he’s reminding me of that other man in my life. Dad. Just when I was starting to think that he isn’t actually much like him at all. ‘Can’t blame me, can you?’
‘But you don’t stick with anybody.’ I give him my disapproving look. ‘How can you know what somebody is like if you don’t hang around and get to know them?’ I suppose the one big difference is that he’s not actually being unfaithful, but why can’t he just be more, more, well … Not more like Robbie. Maybe it’s easier to say why isn’t he less like Dad?
‘You’ll get lines if you frown like that!’
‘You can’t distract me that easily.’
‘Look, Rosie.’ He puts his menu down carefully and looks me in the eye. ‘I know your dad is a bit of a shit—’
‘I never said that!’
He puts his hand over mine. ‘You didn’t have to. I’ve seen the effect he has on you every time he gets in touch! Look, Rosie, I care about you.’
‘Huh.’ I scowl.
‘You’re cool, you’re cute, but I reckon you might have some,’ he pauses and studies me for a moment as though he’s unsure whether or not to carry on.
‘Go on.’ I say stiffly. ‘Hit me with it. I’m immune to personal insults.’
‘No, you’re not.’ His tone is soft. ‘And you shouldn’t be. You also shouldn’t have these trust issues with men. We’re not all the enemy. Give us a chance.’
‘I don’t have trust—’ I’m getting hot under the collar, and practically bristling.
‘You—’
‘Can’t you just be nice?’
‘Look I’m trying to be.’ He looks slightly indignant. ‘I’m always nice!’
‘No, you’re not. You can’t call my dad a shit!’
‘He’s not exactly nice and supportive, is he?’ he says reasonably. Then leans forward. I scowl. ‘Anyway, the point here is, I’m not your dad. I’m not married, I’m not offering commitment, I just like women, I like having fun, and I like to date. Okay? It doesn’t make me enemy number one, just not the man for you. We’re all different, Rosie. I’m not the enemy, I’m just a guy with his own reasons for doing what he does, and I don’t need you to judge me.’ His steady gaze is a bit unnerving, so I look down at my own menu. He puts a finger under my chin. There’s a minor tussle while I try and keep it down and he tries to make me look at him, but the power of his finger wins. ‘Okay?’
‘Fine.’ It’s not fine though. He’s right, I shouldn’t be judging him. I just wish he wasn’t like he was. ‘So, what are your reasons?’
‘What?’
‘For being like you are! All this,’ I wave a hand, ‘not, not …’ his words come back to me, from when he was selling his services at being brilliant at chatting people up, at first dates, ‘not being so hot at second dates, or third dates!’
‘It’s the way I rumble.’ He shrugs. ‘Not everybody believes in happy-ever-afters, Rosie.’
I raise an eyebrow.
‘I’ve just, just,’ he hesitates as though he doesn’t know whether or not to say anything more, ‘I realised it wasn’t for me a long time ago, Rosie. Love is fine until it goes wrong, until you lose it, isn’t it? So sometimes it’s just better not to …’ He stops talking.
‘Get involved?’
‘Yep.’
‘Hmm. Fine.’ He’s got a closed look on his face. There’s an awkward silence. It’s not nice. We’ve never had awkward silences. ‘Why did you want to see me?’ I say grumpily. I’m unreasonably cross with him which is silly. It’s none of my business. ‘Not just about nails?’
‘Thought having a bit of fun wouldn’t do you any harm.’ He says the last bit under his breath, but it seems to resound round the café.
‘I heard that, I know how to have fun!’
‘Sure.’
‘I do.’
‘You just need to loosen up a bit.’
‘If I loosen up any more I’ll be on my back!’
‘Exactly!’ He grins cheekily and I can’t help myself, I smile back.
‘You’re so annoying at times. I was trying to stay grumpy with you!’
‘I know, on both counts. Like to keep you on your toes.’
It’s almost a cosy moment, but the waitress chooses this moment to gate-crash, which is probably a good thing.
‘Which pizza do you recommend?’
‘Depends how odd you are.’ She is the first woman I’ve met who seems immune to Noah’s charms. She is staring at the table, not at him.
‘This one? Bit of everything?’ He’s not giving up.
‘Oh my God, you must be kidding me? I am so not a fan of cross-cultural contamination on a pizza, putting Mexican chilli right next to American hotdog is like gross.’
‘But Mexico is next to the States,’ he says reasonably.
Our waitress rolls her eyes. ‘But there are borders, yeah?’
‘Have you never heard of fusion?’
‘Fusion? I’m not some kind of nuclear scientist! Look dude, I just want …’
‘Fusion food. Forget it. What do you fancy?’ He looks at me and I don’t know if I dare say.
‘Well, I, well you’re not exactly selling …’
‘Selling?’ She looks from me to Noah and back again, then shakes her head. ‘I’m not some kind of waitress man, I just wanted to borrow the salt.’ She points. ‘If that’s okay?’
Noah nods, and looks uncomfortable, and apologises. A lot. It’s quite cute actually. I smother my giggles in a napkin as she walks off shaking her head.
‘I’ll just have a Caesar salad I think.’ We’ve got over the tiff. We’ve got over the dangerous ‘moment’. We’re back where we should be. Mates.
‘Maybe you should throw in a gym session.’
‘Why?’ I pull my stomach in involuntarily. Not that the flabby muscles are really listening; they quiver a bit then relax back into their normal positions. ‘Are you saying I look fat?’ I fold my arms and manage to cram a fair bit of indignation into my voice, because if I want floppy bits, what’s that got to do with him? ‘That’s chauvinistic,’ I count off on my fingers, ‘patronising, rude—’
‘And not true.’
‘I’m not fat?’ I look at him suspiciously. This is tricky, trust is in the balance: if he says no he’s smooth talking, if he says yes then …
‘I didn’t say that. What I said was that it’s not true that I was saying you looked fat. You assumed that part.’
‘So you do think I’m fat? Chubby? Over rounded? Well built?’
He holds up a hand. ‘Woah, woah, woah.’ Then heaves a sigh of relief when I stop talking. ‘Can we rewind here. You look fine, perfect even, squishy in the right places.’
‘Squishy?’
‘Though I’d know better if I could put my hands on—’
‘No hands!’
‘Purely for research. Look, before you bite my head off again and feed me to your young, the gym is about confidence. Not wobbly bits.’
‘Confidence? We’re back to that.’
‘No escape from it! Because that’s all dating is about. Love yourself and the whole world will join in.’ He waves his hands expansively. I think the whole world, well the female side, had joined in with him. Apart from the waitress that wasn’t a waitress. She was more interested in salt.
‘Hmm. So dating isn’t about sex, power and money?’
‘No, that’s what life is all about, not dating! The gym isn’t just about toning up though, it’s about stamina.’ He winks.
‘Don’t you ever stop thinking about sex?’
‘Who said I was thinking about sex?’ My face heats up faster than you can blink. ‘And it’s a great place to meet hot guys, chat over the bench press.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Try out your chat-up lines while you’re eyeing up—’
‘Seriously? You’re mad! How can you eye up anyone when you’re going through hell? I don’t chat and exercise.’ He’s seriously over-e
stimated my fitness levels here – talk and exercise? Pffft. ‘Anyway, that rewind thing, can we do it again. Why are we here?’
‘So I can see your lovely face, hear your …’
‘Noah, concentrate! Nails! We’re here to talk about nails, not sex and workouts.’
He sighs. ‘Sometimes you can be such a let-down. Okay, nails. Here you go.’ He hands me a business card. ‘Now can we talk about—’
‘No!’
‘The gym? Honestly you have a mind like a sewer. Won’t you at least think about it? On your day off?’
‘Sure.’ I nod. But I might be telling a little white lie. Tomorrow is my day off, and I’d much rather have my nails done, in fact I’d rather have a Brazilian wax and my eyes poked out than try and master talking, breathing and pounding a treadmill all at the same time. Lethal.
‘Great.’ He grins. ‘Better get back to work I suppose! Love your top by the way, is it new?’
It is. His words make me preen. Then I remember, it’s all in a day’s work for him.
Wednesday
‘Surprise!’
‘This has to be a nightmare.’ I blink my bleary eyes. I must be losing the plot. I’ve blamed late night cheese for Noah’s appearance in my dreams; cheddar can’t be responsible for the fact he’s on my doorstep.
‘I know you’re pleased to see me really. Are you going to let me in, or shall I stay on the doorstep and yell ‘wow Rosie, that was the best sex I’ve had for years’ at the top of my voice, then stagger off down the street?’
‘Don’t you bloody dare.’ I grab the front of his top, drag him in and glance furtively up and down the street. It does not look good, a man on the doorstep when I’m still in my PJs.
‘Oh my God I had no idea that pyjamas with rabbits on could be so sexy!’ He groans, and I suddenly realise I’m clutching him to me, so shove him away.
‘They’re cosy!’ I glare at him. ‘And they’re not rabbits, they’re dogs!’
‘Really?’ He leans back in to peer more closely, rests one hand on my scantily clad waist and the warmth of it burns straight through. It’s like he’s found direct access to the deepest part of my body and I seem to be melting. And fizzing. And a little bit scared and far too excited. ‘Stop it!’ I think I might have leapt rather over-dramatically into the air, like a rabbit.
The First Date: A heartwarming and laugh out loud romantic comedy book that will make you feel happy Page 12
