And the ache between my legs.
Still, I’ve chosen to think of the good aspects of the evening. Those broad shoulders and honed abs, and the way his body moved over mine. I might have chosen not to dwell on his swift and callous departure, but there are some things I haven’t been able to stop myself from thinking about. From recreating in my mind’s eyes in the dark.
It’s a question of reframing the evening, I think.
We had sex, the kind of mind-bending, thigh-shaking sex you only read about in books. Or maybe watch. Porn has its place, let me tell you. And can I recommend a female-centric subscription calledFast Girls. Beautifully curated stuff—stuff that makes you feel like you need a cigarette after just watching. In a manner of speaking, at least.
‘At least you’re cat-sitting in movie style.’
‘What?’ Heather’s voice pulls me from my musing, smutty and otherwise.
‘Notting Hill, darling. Home of William Thacker and Anna Scott.’ She affects an RP accent, a bit like the Queen. Maybe even posher.
‘Who?’
‘You know, Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts? Starring as? The eponymous movie and all that?’
‘Oh. Yeah. That.’ I cross my legs and wince, the graze on my knee still causing me a few twinges. But I refuse to think about whisky for medicinal purposes or soft breath on my skin.
‘Are you cold?’
‘No. Why?’
‘You just shivered. Anyway, I was talking about Notting Hill. That vibrant London hamlet, the place of greenery and space. Of grand porticoed terraced houses and streets painted the pastel colours of macarons.’
‘Notting Hill. The place ordinary people can’t afford to live.’ At least, not people like me. It’s not like I come from an impoverished background; my dad is a dentist and my mum a teacher. But there are very few twenty-two-year-olds living in their own homes in the city of London. Rentals and flat shares are my immediate destiny unless I decide I can offload this ring.
‘But at least you get to live there for a little while. Well, at least until your little pussies get their real mummy back.’
‘Never ever say that word again.’
She laughs as I scrunch up a page of my notebook and throw it across the office in the direction of her desk. Unfortunately, Jorge gets in the way as he makes his tenth pilgrimage to the tiny communal kitchen. But when the boss lady is away, the drones will play, I suppose. Though according to Heather, Jorge barely even looks at his computer since Olivia, our boss, got hitched. Jealousy, we both guess.
As far as marriages go, Olivia and Beckett’s was sudden, and if I’m honest, a little strange.
‘Meanwhile,’ Heather continues, ‘I’m stuck living at the arse end of nowhere, waking at the butt-crack of dawn just to get into the office.’
‘I can’t help that I’m miles away.’ I try my best to drive her into work—and home—but it’s just not possible at the minute. ‘You know I go where the agency sends me.’ Honestly? I think I’d go to Timbuktu to get away from my parents as they prepare for an acrimonious divorce. ‘At least you’re getting paid for going into the office.’ She was supposed to be interning this summer just for the experience, but somehow, she’s wrangled an hourly wage from Olivia. ‘Better cold hard cash than being paid in praise.’
‘Yeah, money does make the coffee runs easier to deal with.’ She slides a disgusted sort of look in the direction of Jorge, her office nemesis. Actually, as far as opponents go, he’s not a very challenging one. More a stroppy, flouncy, big girl’s blouse of an adversary.
Ah, the tricky tasks of the intern. Actually, that’s not fair. Heather’s understanding of social media and the algorithms that drive them is pretty astounding.
‘No, that doesn’t suit me.’ Both our heads turn to the echoey sound of Olivia’s voice, and the click of her heels in the stairwell. As she arrives in the open-plan, warehouse-style office, her brows are pinched in a frown. ‘I’m not particularly interested in that right now.’ Brows aside, there’s little need to guess who she’s talking to by both her tone and the flush in her cheeks ‘Yes, well, you know where you can ram that suggestion. You don’t? Where the sun doesn’t shine,darling.’ And with that, she hangs up the phone, her expression like Pawdry Hepburn with the cream.
She is literally the strangest newlywed person ever. Anyone would think she doesn’t like her hot AF husband.
‘What are you smiling about?
‘Me?’ she replies innocently, pushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. ‘Why, nothing.’
‘Sell that somewhere else.’ I return my attention to my keyboard. ‘I’m not buying it.’
‘Yeah, we’ve seen that evil villain smile somewhere before, haven’t we?’
‘Probably on my husband,’ Olivia mutters as she looks down at her phone. She pauses suddenly, one hand on her cheek. ‘Maybe I’m turning into him?’
‘No, boss babe. That’s dogs.’
