‘Urgh.’ It’s my turn to toss a pen back at her. ‘Stop!’ I eye Cleo and Violet across the open plan office and will Bonnie to shut up.
‘Okay, how about, “still obsessing over Cillian’s Supersoaker 3000”?’
I roll my eyes. ‘It was more like a Supersoaker 10,000 if you want to get technical. The man is gifted.’
‘So, he has the equipment.’ Bonnie wiggles her eyebrows, ‘But does he know what to do with it?’
‘Oh yes.’ My eyes drift to the window. Dusk decorates the sky in bright pinks and deep purples. The Christmas lights twinkle outside like millions of tiny shooting stars illuminating Grafton Street.
‘Oh no!’ Bonnie leaps out of her seat and over to my desk where she perches on top of a stack of new sign-up forms. ‘You’re getting all dreamy-eyed thinking about Mr Suave Suit Guy’s six-inch subway.’
‘Stop with the freaky euphemisms, will you? And his name’s Cillian. He can never know I’ve been stalking him from afar for the past year.’ I snap my focus back to her. ‘And I’m not dreamy-eyed, I’m bleary-eyed. It’s different.’ I pinch the bridge of my nose and blink hard. ‘It was a late night. Much alcohol was consumed.’
‘Much spunk more like!’ Bonnie grins wickedly.
‘Enough!’ I exhale a defeated sigh. ‘Ok if you must know, you’re right. I can’t get Cillian out of my head, even though I know it’s not one bit healthy. He was just so …’ I shrug and steal my friend’s frighteningly accurate description, ‘Dreamy.’
‘I knew it! You’ve never had casual sex in your life. You don’t even know how to.’ She stands, smooths her skirt down and takes my hand, tugging me upwards. ‘Come on.’
‘Come on where?’ I glance at the clock. It’s three minutes to five. I still have a mountain of sign-up forms to get through, thanks to Nate’s viral videos last night.
‘We’re done for the day. I’m taking you to the Christmas market. I have an hour before my date with James.’
Date’s probably not the right word. Hook-up probably more accurately describes what Bonnie and James do, but who am I to judge?
She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. ‘Let’s go find some mulled wine and music to distract you from the divorce daddy.’
I don’t want to be distracted. I want to dissect every fleeting touch from last night. I want to divulge how he kissed my forehead so tenderly when he thought I was still asleep. How he traced tiny circles on my back. How his steely eyes turned to hot molten lava when he was inside me.
There’s a tenderness about him that I wouldn't have deemed possible. But he said it himself, he doesn’t do love. He doesn’t do fairy tales and forevers.
Bonnie’s right. I need to get out of here before I drive myself crazy. It is what is. A mutually beneficial pretend relationship, with sex that happened to be mind-blowing.
Earth-shattering.
Life-changing- for me at least.
I stand and grab my coat from the back of my chair. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
Bonnie claps her hands together with glee and turns to Cleo and Violet. ‘Do you ladies want to join us for a glass of mulled wine?’
Cleo and Violet glance at the clock and then at each other. ‘We’re right in the middle of something here. Think we’ve found another A1 match.’
A1 is the best match a couple can score, based on their interests, aspirations, perfect first date, family history, and dating history. It’s rare to get an almost identical sign-up form. Which is why we call it an A1. The only danger is the couple could be too similar, which is why we send out a second, more personal questionnaire before even considering matching them up. We’ve had six A1s over the past year. It’s early days, but five of those couples are still together.
‘Amazing!’ Bonnie squeals. ‘Well, if you want to join us afterwards, we’ll be mooching around the Christmas markets with a vino in hand.’
‘Sound.’ Cleo gives us the thumbs up and Violet grunts, her nose still buried in the paperwork in front of her.
We step out into the chilling air, our breath pluming before our faces following the heat from the office. Grafton Street is bustling with commuters and tourists alike. Carol singers line the cobbled walkways crooning festive favourites. Shop window displays showcase intricate holiday scenes, elaborate decorations, and festive arrays of gifts for loved ones.
Bonnie links my arm as we soak in the dazzling lights illuminating the way to the glittering wonderland at St Stephen’s Green.
Cabins flank the manicured lawns in a rectangular configuration. In the centre is a flashing display of illuminated snowmen, Santa on his huge sleigh guided by the reindeer, and Rudolph at the helm. The Ferris wheel towers in the starry sky in the distance, right next to the ice rink.
‘Remember your mam used to take us every single year when we were kids?’ Bonnie reminisces in a wistful tone. Her own mother passed when she was only five. Penny Jackson tried to fill that void as much as possible. Bonnie spent more time in our house than her own. Which is where she learned that sexual liberation is healthy, and where she harnessed the ability to read me like an open book.
‘It was one of the highlights of the year.’ A pang of something tinges in my stomach. Nostalgia maybe.
