Ignoring him, I draw an arrow to the cock part.
Bailey is looking highly amused. God knows what he’s thinking. But to me, the word is pretty obvious. I wait as he mutters various word combinations under his breath: ‘Door cock?’ ‘Person penis?’ ‘Shut cock?’ Then he yells, ‘Shuttlecock!’
‘Yup!’ I show him and everyone else the card.
Bailey whoops in glee. ‘That was really clever, Holly! I love you so much right now,’ he says, popping the card at the back of the pile. ‘Our turn again.’
My heart skitters sideways. Did he just say ‘I love you’ in front of everyone?
Bailey busily rolls the dice while Moira mutters under her breath, ‘She could’ve just drawn a shuttlecock and a badminton net.’
I try not to react outwardly, but inside, I’m awash with different emotions. Surely, it was just a throwaway comment? Nothing to get worked up about. Bailey’s just absurdly competitive when it comes to board games. He’d say that to anyone if he was winning. But I notice Sarah is smiling broadly. She gives me a sly wink, as if to say ‘You’re in there, girl. Just don’t fuck it up’.
Chapter 22
By the time the evening rolls around, I’ve decided Bailey being in love with me is ridiculous. We hardly know each other. It’s based on oxytocin, nothing more. I’m tempted to just brush what he said under my emotional carpet. There’s already a lot of other junk under there, so one more ambiguity won’t matter.
But it still niggles. He can’t just say stuff like that without me questioning it. Why shouldn’t I ask for clarification if I’m unsure what’s happening with us? Kirk’s suggestion that I take more control of the situation resonates with me. Why not apply it to this? I need to start taking emotional responsibility rather than just blindly accepting my fate. I’m not a child anymore. I do have some power over my life—why not state plainly and firmly what I want?
So when Bailey and I are in bed, I gently float the subject ofus.
‘What happens when we go back to Edinburgh?’
He doesn’t answer for a bit. ‘Work, I guess. I’m rostered on at the hotel for New Year’s. How long have you got off?’
‘Just until after New Year’s.’
‘We’d better make the most of it then,’ he says, rolling towards me.
I place a hand on his chest. ‘Bailey ...’
‘What?’
I struggle to find the right words. ‘Um, I kind of need to know where this is going.’
Yikes, that sounds like I’m thinking about marriage and kids. I back-pedal quickly. ‘I mean, should I be handing in the notice on my flat?’
Shit, that’s worse! Now it sounds like I want to live with him.
‘I really like you,’ says Bailey slowly. I wait for him to elaborate, but that seems to be it. An awkward silence brews, and tension builds in my chest as I realise that this might only be a Christmas fling.
‘I thought ... what you said during Pictionary.’
‘What did I say?’ He sounds genuinely confused. ‘Sorry, I’ve got a crap memory at the best of times. Remind me.’
‘Ah, that’s cool,’ I mumble.
‘Maybe we both need some time to think about what we want?’ he says with a yawn. ‘We can talk in the morning?’
‘Sure.’ I turn over and lie there, rigid, with blood pounding in my ears. Oh my god, itwasjust a throwaway comment. Thank fuck I didn’t state plainly and firmly what I want. He would’ve shot me down in flames!
Our conversation keeps me lying awake for hours, blinking in the darkness. If I had my way, I’d silently pack up my stuff, nudge Crumpet awake, creep downstairs, and be out the front door so fast I’d only be a memory.
But I’m in the middle of nowhere.
It’s an hour’s drive to the nearest train station.
And it’s winter.
