A laugh escapes me as I reach the end of the path, feeling like victory is mine. I give him a wink before turning to continue my commute home, only to crash into a solid body.
Strong hands land on my shoulders to steady me, and I look up promptly, ready to apologise. The man is in his late forties early fifties judging by his black hair that’s turning silver around the edges, and wearing a black suit and tie. He removes his hands from my shoulders as quickly as he put them there but doesn’t move to allow me to pass. I look back to Mason. He is smiling at us, and it’s knowing, cocky, victorious. My gaze swings back to the man blocking my exit, instantly narrowing when I catch him giving Mason a nod.
The man looks down at me with amusement in his eyes. “Hello, I’m Vinny.” He offers me his hand. “I’ll be driving you home today.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell him, annoyed at his statement. “I’m happy walking. Thank you.”
I try to remember my manners and reluctantly shake his hand whilst it’s still outstretched. This isn’t his fault, after all.
“Nina, please, it’s either I drive you home or him.” He raises a bushy brow, tipping his head over my shoulder, but I refuse to look back at him. “It really isn’t safe for you to be out on your own at night,” he says with genuine concern.
I huff as I feel my resolve starting to slip. “It’s not safe for me to be out alone this late, but it’s safe to get into a car with a man I’ve never met, who somehow knows my name?” I question, ever defensive.
“As I said, it’s either me or him,” he states, horns blaring in the distance. The sound vibrates off the alleyway’s walls. It’s like the angry motorists are screaming at me to get into the car. It makes it hard to think.
“Well, I’m definitely not going with that asshole.” I sulk, crossing my arms as I give in.
He turns and opens the door to the Audi that’s sat at the curb. “I wouldn’t either.” He winks, giving me a warm smile.
Okay, maybe I like this guy.
I slide into the back seat of the car and fasten my belt, refusing to look to my right, knowing Mason will likely be watching me.
Thankfully, Vinny doesn’t say a word on the way home. We arrive at my building without me having to direct him, which only frustrates me more. Who is this man, and why does he know so much about me? Mason knew where I worked, too, although I think I mentioned it to Charlie and Elliot on Friday night. Maybe he asked them.
I lean over to open the door, but Vinny stops me, his voice commanding that I listen. “He means well, love. He’s not a bad bloke.”
Our eyes lock in the rearview mirror, my hand frozen on the handle. Maybe Mason isn’t a bad bloke. Perhaps it was an unfortunate choice of words on his part—that I can believe. But it doesn’t take back the hurt those words caused.
“Thank you for the lift home,” I say as I push open the door. Vinny nods his head, not saying any more as I exit the car.
It’s easier to forgethimthan the words he spoke to me. They seemed to penetrate me deeper—stuck quicker.
The girls are already seated at The Elm when I arrive. It’s a quirky little café on Oxford Street. We try to meet when our lunch breaks allow it, but with our ever-changing schedules, it’s hard. Lucy is a fashion designer, and Megan is a columnist for a women’s magazine.
Sliding into the bench seat, I grin as I watch the girls speak animatedly between one another. I only catch the tail end of what Megan is saying, but her words have my eyes bugging out in surprise. “A picture of his damn cock!” she exclaims as she stares super close to the phone in her hand.
“Oh, Jesus, what now?” I groan, my shoulders dropping. “I don’t know if I can deal with any more penis this week.”
“Hugh thinks he’s huge,” Megan roars with laughter, thrusting the phone out at me. Stupidly, I take it, peeking down at the screen.
I lean my shoulder into Lucy, a hand grasping my chest. “He did not send you a dick picture!” I can’t control the laughter that leaves me.
“Uh-huh, he thinks what? That I will be sad I’m missing out on—” she screws her face up in disgust at the phone— “that?!”
Megan wipes the corner of her eyes with a napkin, trying to recover from her laughing fit, as she asks, “Why is he even messaging you? He ended it.”
“He’s been messaging since Sunday evening. He says he wants to meet.”
“You’re not considering it, are you?”
She looks at me as if I’m crazy, but I already know she will give him every opportunity to be ‘Mr Right’.
“No! Of course not. He can do one. I’m so over him,” she states, resolute.
“Good, you’re too good for the likes of Hugh,” I tell her, plucking the menu from between the salt and pepper pots.
Megan stands to get the coffees when the barista signals they’re ready, and I’m thankful that the girls have already ordered for me. Flattening my hands to the steaming mug, I bring my hot chocolate to my lips and take a sip of the sugary liquid.
