Mental note to self: no kissing mates in Dubai.
‘I can’t. Honestly, I’m done in.’
Hand still on my wrist, he lifts the phone back to his ear and with a curt murmur, he ends the call. As his head turns to mine, I’m reminded of a turret on a tank. ‘What’s your rush? Is it that guy, the one from the hotel?’
So much for a drink-induced lack of memory. I pull my wrist away.
‘That’s none of your business.’
A frown creases his brow as though attempting recall. ‘Did you stay back at the hotel after we’d left?’ His frown morphs into an expression of surprise, like he can’t believe what he’s said.
‘And that’sreallynone of your business. Just leave it at that, yeah?’
I leave with his apologies following me through the door.
Wobbling indignantly along the corridor, I recognise I’m also a teeny bit drunk. Three martinis make Kate well on the way to wasted, which totally excuses misreading the kissing thing, I hope.
Note to self: European-style goodbyes don’t always translate well into other languages.
And three martinis also make Kate thirsty, or hell bent on a bit of a bender, so once back in my flat, I open my last bottle of red. Pouring myself a large one, I head to the sofa and grab the remote for the idiot box. But I’m antsy, my mind too busy to pay any attention.
How bloody dare Matt! He was such a tool. Fricken’ men, where the hell do they get off... other than the obvious places.
Second note to self: men can be complete arseholes.
The liquid gleams like blood in my glass as I stare into it, my head continuing to swim with angry thoughts. Matt’s behaviour and old news from home, such that it was, are uncomfortable reminders of the promises I’d made to myself.To protect myself. But how is it that, even as cross as I feel, my every second thought is of Kai? Of how, last night, I’d stepped out of myself for a moment, out of my comfort zone. How right it felt. Could I have done that with anyone else?
Closure. That has to be it, a sort of primal thing. And like Niamh said, getting under a new man to prove I’ve moved on from the old. Okay, slightly drunk and incredibly horny closure, but my reasoning is sound, right?
Maybe I should dig outReading without Heaving, or whatever it’s called. Reread a few chapters. Once I’ve finished my wine.
In the dark, I come to, my face plastered against the sofa cushion, an empty glass cradled to my chest. My phone is ringing. Wincing, I switch on the kitchen light, mentally preparing some choice vocabulary additions for my mum, just in case. I have two missed calls from Australia, along with the current one.
‘Kitten.’ This one husky word pulls taut invisible strings inside. If voices were a flavour, I’m sure Kai’s would be caramel. And despite earlier abstinence plans, I find I don’t mind being referred to as a feline by this man. ‘You do know the thing you’re holding to your ear is calleda mobilefor a reason, or are you avoiding me?’
I can almost hear his rancorously raised eyebrow down the line.
‘No, I like talking to you. You’re a pretty cunning linguist,’ I say with a giggle, then replay the statement in my head, surprised the words came out coherently.
‘Cunnilingus?’ Enunciated slowly, the word rings with salacious intent. ‘Are we talking dirty again?’
I don’t have a response. In fact, I can’t think beyond his mention of cunnilingus. The effect on my body is disconcerting, my knees requiring that I sit down.
‘I didn’t say that,’ I eventually answer, albeit a little breathlessly.
‘Don’t spoil my fun, I’m allowed to imagine.’ He laughs, the rich, seductive sound vibrating down the line.
And I like that he’s imagining. In fact, right now, I’d like to audition for a starring role in those thoughts. That I don’t answer doesn’t seem to put him off his stride, the words rolling down the line and straight to my lady-parts.
‘You’ve been on the sauce and that’s something I don’t need to imagine. Your face flushed with wine, lips plump with the taste of it... Tell me, did you enjoy a girly liquid lunch or are you drinking alone now? Drowning your sorrows and thinking of me, perhaps?’
‘I’m not lonely,’ I answer, realising this as true. Dubai hasn’t allowed me to be.
‘I thought you might be missing me.’ Forlorn. It’s like a sweater that doesn’t fit.
‘I had sundowners. Martinis.’ No need to mention the half empty bottle propped next to my arm. ‘Dirty. Like you.’Crap. Did I just say that out loud?
‘And you like that, do you?’
