“It’s not that I still fancy him.” If I say that out loud to my best friend, I might start to believe it myself. But instead of agreeing with me, she gives a disbelieving snort.
“Babe, this is me you’re talking to.”
“What?” It’s all I can manage, since I’ve never given her any hint that a secret, infuriating part of me has never got over him. But she knew?
“Even when you were dating Jon, and what’s his name before him, it was still Will you talked about most of the time. You don’t need to be a brain surgeon to figure that one out.”
“I didn’t talk about him that much.” My protest sounds hollow because I have the terrible feeling she’s right. Horror skates through me. “You don’t think anyone else knows, do you?”
By anyone else I mean, obviously, Will. Because that would just be beyond mortifying.
“No. But then they don’t know about that night, do they?”
True. But I’m not talking about my family, because I’ve been super careful about keeping my hookup a secret. My brothers always turned a bit Neanderthal whenever they met any of my boyfriends. Although it was more of a running joke than anything else, I don’t think they would’ve found me being with Will funny. The last thing I needed was them giving me grief over it.
Panic claws through me as I trawl through everything that happened yesterday. And today. I don’t think I betrayed myself. “I’d seriously die if Will knew.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Brooklyn gives my clenched fingers another comforting squeeze. “Unless you jumped his bones while you were having lunch,” she puts totally unnecessary emphasis on those words, “he won’t have a clue.”
“It’s not as though I intend to do anything about it.”
“Why would you? You’re not seeing him again. Are you?”
I tap the straw against the rim of my glass. “I saw him again today. You’ll never guess. He’s been doing the gardening for my dad.”
“That’s weird.”
“He enjoys it.”
“Whatever.” She shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“We might be getting together again next week.” And this is what I need to talk to you about.
“He asked you out on a date?” She sounds enthralled.
“What? No.” Why did she jump to that conclusion? “It’s really stupid. He paid for my lunch, and instead of just letting it go, I told him I owed him one.”
“So, you asked him out on a date.”
That word might’ve crossed my mind at the time, but that doesn’t make it true. What am I thinking?
“Haven’t you forgotten something? I’m not dating anyone until after I graduate.”
She makes a scoffing sound. “There’s dating, and there’s dating. I’m not suggesting you get serious or anything. Just a bit of fun before you go back to Uni.”
“With Will?’ I double check, because I doubt there’s a definition of dating that could cover that.
“Why not?”
“I can’t believe you’re even asking me that. Just because I still think he’s hot doesn’t mean I want to get burned again.”
“You won’t get burned.”
I must admit, it’s kind of tempting.
Are you completely losing it? That’s the worst idea I’ve had since kissing him under the mistletoe.
“Not going to happen.”
“The thing is”—she points her straw at me—“you might want to think about getting him out of your system once and for all.”
She can’t be serious. “Are you saying we should be fuck buddies?”
“Why not? I bet you anything he’d be up for it. And the important thing is, then you’d get more than one night’s memory of him. Not being funny, but you know, he was your first. I think it kind of warped things for you.”
There’s no way I’d ever sleep with him again, no matter how badly my body wants to. It’d be a disaster. I’m supposed to be getting over him, not on top of him.
Graphic memories of when I did just that flood my traitorous mind, and I swallow a groan. As first times go, mine was pretty damn spectacular. If he’d been a selfish prick and not given me three orgasms that night, it would’ve been a lot easier to relegate him to a below average, never-to-be-repeated one-night stand.
My logical brain knows this.
It’s a shame my primitive instincts don’t.
Chapter Five
Will
Early Sunday evening I let myself into Mum’s apartment and come face-to-face with Jeremy Jones wearing a black silk something that barely covers his arse.
“Will. Great to see you, mate.” He nods but doesn’t make the mistake of trying to give me a buddy hug. I might have to accept my mother’s dating the guy, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Or him.
And not just because he’s twenty years younger than her.
That’s totally the reason, so shut the fuck up.
“Cynthia, sweetheart,” Jeremy calls, which sends rusty nails scraping through my brain. He’s only a few years older than me.
They’re leaving for a four-month cruise Down Under first thing in the morning. Even though she hasn’t had a second stroke since that one at Christmas a couple of years ago, it’s always in the back of my mind. Especially since she refuses to discuss it with anyone.
But at least there’re doctors on board. It’s not like she’s roughing it.
Although she sold the family home in West London after Dad died and moved to a luxury apartment on the banks of the River Thames, it still feels strange visiting her here. I miss that rambling house with its massive garden more than I ever thought I would, but at least here there’s a full concierge service so if anything did happen when I wasn’t around…
Don’t think about that.
I march by Jeremy and go into the reception room, with its view of Tower Bridge through the floor to ceiling windows. The sleek, modern furniture still reminds me of a show home, even after nearly three years. I don’t know why she sold most of the stuff she and Dad had collected over their marriage. Why didn’t she just put the lot into storage?
“Darling.”
I swing around as Mum slowly makes her way toward me. It’s the only lingering aftereffect of her stroke. Not that anyone would guess the reason. They just think she’s slowed down a bit, even though she’s only fifty and looks as though she’s just stepped out from the pages of one of her Vogue magazines.
The way she’s always looked, for as long as I can remember. Except that morning when I found her lying on the floor and I thought she was dead…
Chills skate over my arms, and I suppress a shudder. I’d never been so fucking scared in my life.
“I’m so glad you could pop in to say goodbye.” She gives me a kiss and holds my hand for a moment. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Me, too.”
When I was a kid, I hated the way she and Dad overprotected me and micromanaged every aspect of my life. As I got older, I knew it was because they couldn’t let go of the nightmare months when I’d fought to survive in the neonatal ICU. It didn’t help my competitive streak when they decided to delay a year before letting me start school. But the compulsion to push myself, to prove I was as good as any of my peers despite my rocky start to life, dominated my existence. Somehow, I still managed to live life on the edge and get my adrenaline fix without them ever finding out about it.
We sit on the sofa, and Jeremy disappears. I give her an update on what’s been happening at work, even though it’s basically the same as every other week I’ve worked there since taking over Dad’s position as CEO.
But she and Dad built the investment bank up from the ground years ago. I get that it’s hard for her to let go. Even though she’s returning to the company part time in the New Year, she’d still be working around the clock if not for her stroke.
And I’d be in the wilds of Wales, where every day would be an adventure, clinging to the side of a mountain or standing wa
ist deep in freezing water, and loving every second of it.
It’s still going to happen. Just a few years later than I pictured when my mates and I planned our futures after Uni.
…
Will
It’s Monday night, and the urge to get out of my flat is buzzing under my skin like a swarm of wasps. The best thing about living in the heart of the city is it’s close to loads of major clubs. The nightlife rocks.
Hell, it was only the Saturday night ritual of getting hammered in a top London club, and the anonymous sex with girls who didn’t want anything serious, that got me through after the break-up with Jenna.
I scrub my hand through my hair and pace the hall, which is the length of the flat but not nearly long enough to ease the claustrophobia clawing through my body. I got over my ex a long time ago, but the clubbing became a habit. The only way I’ve survived the last few years stuck in an office is because I party hard at weekends. It’s my release valve.
Keeps me sane.
Not that I went out on Saturday night. Don’t know why it didn’t appeal. But I couldn’t get Mac out of my head.
Still can’t.
Another endless week stretches ahead until I have my monthly long weekend in Wales, and before I can stop, I punch her number on my phone.
What the fuck am I doing? Just because she agreed that she missed us being friends doesn’t mean she wants to see me again. Except her laugh’s been haunting me all day, and I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me in her garden yesterday. Reminded me of that Christmas when we danced together and forgot all the reasons why it was such a bad idea to cross that friendship line.
Won’t be making that mistake again. Even if I want to.
“Will?” She sounds as though she can’t believe I’ve just called her. “Everything okay?”
No. I just lost my mind because I wanted to hear your voice again. “Have there been any developments with Jake?” Mentally, I give myself a high five. How’s that for quick thinking?
“I would’ve called you if there were any problems.”
I smirk, even though she can’t see it. “No, you wouldn’t.”
She lets out a soft huff, and I can imagine her rolling her eyes. “Why did you really phone me?”
That’s Mac. Cuts straight through the bullshit. If she can, so can I.
“Do you want to go out for a drink?”
The silence is deafening. Why did I think this was a good idea? And then she speaks. “Why not? Where?”
I riffle through my memory for the name of one of her local pubs. It’s been a while since I’ve hung out at any in Notting Hill. “The Swan?”
Mac strolls into the pub about fifteen minutes after me. Even if I hadn’t been looking at the door, I would’ve known she’d arrived by the way all the guys’ heads turn in her direction.
She’s wearing black jeans and boots, and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. She catches sight of me, and her smile lights up her face.
I give a silent groan. This is Mac. Friends-only zone. Stop fucking staring.
There weren’t any tables free, so I’m propping up the end of the bar, and I back up, so she has room to squeeze in next to me. In her boots, she’s only a couple of inches shorter than me, and her long black lashes frame her blue eyes.
This is a mistake. You know that, right?
There’s no way I’m having a conversation with myself, least of all about my screwed logic in asking her out tonight in the first place. I catch the bartender’s attention and glance at Mac. “What’re you having?”
“Scotch.”
I give the order, aware that she hasn’t taken her gaze from me. “What?”
“You preempted me.”
“I what?”
“I owe you one from Saturday, remember?”
“Thought you were joking.” Although I’d hoped she wasn’t, especially when she agreed she missed the way we used to hang out together.
“Yeah, I was at the time. But then I thought about it. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Even though it’s too early in our renewed friendship to play the word games we used to, I can’t help myself. “Is that a trick question? Because I can think of a couple of things that might fall into that category.”
“Only a couple?” She smiles at the bartender and takes her drink. “You’re slipping.”
“Give me a break. It’s been a while since anyone’s put me under the spotlight.”
She gives a silent laugh and takes a sip of her drink. “Don’t tell me your social life’s come to a screaming halt now Lucas’s moved to Spain.”
It made an impact, but not as much as she probably thinks. “Lucas is my oldest mate. He’s not my only one.”
“That’s good to know. It’d just be sad if you were sitting all alone in your flat every night.”
I snort with laughter. “Seeing as I work late most nights, you can swap flat with office and you wouldn’t be far off.”
She rolls her eyes, and it’s obvious she thinks I’m joking. “I used to think you couldn’t exist without endless partying.”
“You’d be surprised.” Not that her comment is completely unjustified. I’ve done my fair share in the past.
“You obviously have hidden depths.”
I’m not sure if she’s taking the piss, now. “Is that an insult? Just so I’m clear.”
She laughs. “You’re really out of practice, aren’t you? You never used to ask me that before.”
“And you didn’t answer the question.”
“I don’t know how you think hidden depths can be an insult. If anything, it’s a compliment. In fact, you should write that down. I don’t give out compliments that often.”
“It shows.”
“Ouch.” She narrows her eyes at me as she tries not to smile. Goddamn, I’ve missed hanging out with her, and I only just stop myself from brushing back a stray curl that’s escaped her ponytail and fallen across her cheek.
Don’t fuck things up this time. And rule number one is no touching.
“You’re not exactly an expert at it, either,” she says.
“I’ve had my moments.” Not that I can remember any of them. Not when all I can think about are Mac’s beautiful blue eyes, and how damn hard it is not to take her hand. I take a quick gulp of my pint, but it doesn’t drown the memory of how amazing that one night we shared was.
Stop thinking about it.
“Lucas settling down with Violet hasn’t got you looking for a girlfriend, then?”
A girlfriend? Where the hell did that come from? “I don’t do commitment.”
Not anymore. Tried that once, and look what happened. I enjoy being single. In any case, I’ve way too much stuff to sort out with my career. Casual relationships without any expectations of more are all I want.
“I wasn’t suggesting you find a girl and move in together.” She takes another sip of her drink and gives me a considering look over the rim of her glass. “Just… You know. Seeing the same girl more than twice.”
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“Are you telling me you do date?” She sounds amazed, and I’m not sure why it rubs me the wrong way.
“I’m a serial dater.”
She gives a fake shudder. “You know that’s nothing to brag about, don’t you?”
“I’m not trying to hide anything. What you see is what you get.”
“You must admit, when it comes to girls, you’ve the attention span of a gnat.”
I don’t want to talk about other girls with her. Which doesn’t make any sense, seeing as it’s solid proof we’re back to how things used to be between us.
Except things will never be the same, the way they were before that night we slept together. And although I’ll never cross that line again, there’s a crazy part of me that doesn’t want her thinking I have the emotional depth of a gnat.
Not sure why that stings so much.
“That’s harsh.” I’m not even
joking.
“Hey, it’s not my fault if the truth hurts.” She smiles, obviously waiting for my smart retort, but for once I have nothing. Because I have the insane compulsion to tell her she’s wrong.
You’re not seriously going to tell her about Jenna? No one outside Uni knew about us. Not even Lucas.
Don’t even think about it.
Too late.
“Truth is, I dated the same girl for over six months, my last year at Uni.”
Shock flashes over her face. It’s almost funny. “You’re kidding.” Then she sucks in a sharp breath. “You’re not, are you?”
I shrug to let her know it’s no big deal. “You just told me I had hidden depths.”
“Yes, but I had no idea about this. It’s like…why didn’t we ever meet her?”
“It was just a Uni thing.” We hung out together all the time. She loved doing crazy, fun things, and I assumed we’d always be together.
Never assume anything.
“Oh.” She’s obviously still processing my confession, and I take a long swallow of my beer. Why did I think this was a good idea? I should’ve kept my mouth shut. “You both decided to, um, end things?”
“Something like that.” It was nothing like that. When my dad had his heart attack the week I left Uni, and I needed her support the most, she told me she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment.
It was more than a punch in the gut. She damn near broke me.
It was only Mac’s friendship that helped me get through that time. She didn’t know about Jenna, but she understood how shitty it was to lose my dad. I didn’t need to explain anything. She’d already been through it all with her mum.
“Is she the reason why you don’t get serious with girls?”
I should’ve guessed Mac would jump to that conclusion. Doesn’t mean she’s wrong, does it? There’s no reason not to tell her the truth. “Yeah. You could say that.”
There’s a strange, watchful expression on her face, and I’ve had enough of raking up the past.
Ask her a safe, friend-zone question. “How’s your day been?”
I sure won’t win any prizes for originality.
“Oh.” She avoids my gaze and shifts against the bar, as though my question made her uncomfortable. Or maybe it was my subtle-as-a-brick shift in conversation. “It was good. You know Brooklyn’s mum is manager at Hartley Court, the care home?”
Not So Happily Ever After Page 4
