I wake up in my bed, still fully clothed, with a print of last night’s make-up on my pillow. Christ, I hope it looked better than that on my face.
Jazzed as I am (my hangover too) that someone is cooking something that might bring me back to life, I really hope it isn’t Ben or James. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they both had a great night. Ben must have, because we shot zombies for hours – he even gave me his gamer tag, so I can add him – and I know James did because the walls are not that thick here.
I stretch out, occupying every inch of my bed that I can, almost basking in the fact that I got to sleep in it on my own. That’s sad, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t think it’s sad, I didn’t want to share my bed with Ben, but I’ll bet JJ has something to say about it. She’s so confident, so strong, so sure of what she wants. I think the key difference between us is that while she might not want to settle down, I don’t want to settle – and they’re almost opposite concepts.
I should get up; this is my home after all. I should go out there and face them. Or at least grab a sandwich. I’m sure without the tempting smell of breakfast drifting in, I’d be more inclined to go back to sleep until I was certain the coast was clear.
I get out of bed, whip off my dress and throw on an oversized T-shirt and pair of baggy trackies that used to be Andy’s, before I stole them from the wash. Actually, come to think of it, this is one of his T-shirts too. What? There’s no one out there I want to impress.
I look in the mirror as I pass it. Okay, fair enough, I might not want to impress anyone, but I don’t want to scare them either. I’ll grab a face wipe, see if I can’t take off just enough of last night’s slap to make me look half decent (or half human, to give myself a more realistic goal).
I’m relieved when I see that it’s JJ cooking, and that she’s on her own. Her make-up from last night looks untouched and, honestly, she looks unrealistically good in what she’s wearing. She’s got Andy’s dressing gown on, falling off one shoulder to reveal her bra. She looks like she’s modelling something. I don’t know if it’s sausages or lingerie. Or something that combines the two…
She’s humming to herself as she prods at the contents of the pan with a spatula.
‘Tell me that’s for me and not lover boy,’ I say, plonking myself down on a stool at the kitchen island where she’s cooking.
‘Oh please, he’s long gone,’ she replies. ‘Men don’t get breakfast, they get sent home. This is for us.’
I can’t help but chuckle as I unscrew the bottle of orange juice that’s already waiting on the worktop. For a split second, as I watch the juice flow into the glass, I think about what a fantastic host JJ is… until her comment about giving men the boot replays in my head; oh, and I remember that this is my flat.
She looks me up and down with suspicion.
‘So? Did you have fun with the other guy?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ I insist.
‘Yeah? What did you do?’ she asks.
‘We… conquered a military base together,’ I admit. Well, I could lie, say Ben banged me from dusk to dawn – but I don’t actually know what time she kicked him out.
‘I like to think I’ve tried everything once, but that’s a new one to me,’ she says with a perfectly straight face.
‘It’s a game,’ I reply.
‘I’m not here to kink-shame, Whit. I love a good game.’
I’m still not so sure if she’s joking.
‘It’s a video game,’ I tell her through a laugh. ‘Andy and I play it all the time. Anyway, we had fun.’
‘Okay, but Andy is your friend, this guy?—’
‘This guy was your guy’s friend,’ I interrupt her.
‘I’m just saying, if you treat love interests like your boy bestie, don’t be disappointed when they stick you in the friend zone,’ she continues.
‘I’m yet to find that disappointing,’ I reply.
‘You need to loosen up,’ she tells me.
‘Maybe you need to tighten up,’ I reply.
She shoots me a look.
‘So to speak,’ I quickly add. ‘Be more uptight, I mean.’
‘Oh, yeah, sounds fab,’ she says as she violently butters the bread.
