Iwake up the morning of Christmas Eve Eve, the night after the best party I’ve been to since starting university, with a big smile on my face. I think I still have my makeup on from last night and I’m still in the white negligee I wore to the party, mostly because it smells like Harry Forest, and I wanted to sleep with his scent wrapped around me. We ended up staying in his room for two hours and he proved to me that achieving orgasm after orgasm after orgasm was really just a mind over matter thing.
Harry seemed pretty confident that we’d be seeing each other again but I’m not so sure. I didn’t take any contact details from him, and I also feel it’s best to keep away. He’s definitely the kind of guy I could see myself falling hard for and I’m not sure that’s what I’m looking for right now. Probably best to stay away and if it’s meant to be, our paths will cross again when I’m ready to find a forever someone. Even as the thought crosses my mind, a shiver racks my body in rejection of the idea.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table and I roll over to pick it up, tapping the screen to see a message from an unknown number with a photo attachment. I frown, opening the screen and reading the message, initially confused by what I’m seeing. In the photo, there’s a girl I don’t know, she’s only about fifteen years old and sat in the back of a car, seatbelt over her chest, her lips rolled inward as she sits awkwardly. On her shoulder, is the sleeping head of an older guy. It takes me a few blinks to recognise him as the guy dressed as a reindeer and egging Harry on during our game of beer pong. Jake…something. He’s obviously fast asleep, mouth open as he uses the poor girl as a makeshift pillow. It’s what’s resting across his chest that has me sitting up in bed. My purple satin gloves form a cross over his heart.
UNKNOWN:I hope you know I have officially taken your gloves hostage. If you ever want to see them again, you will message me at least once a day until we can meet again.
So many questions. But none important enough to stop the goofy smile stretching my lips.
ME:How did you get my number? And why are you taking my gloves hostage? What did they ever do to you? And who’s the girl?
UNKNOWN:Well, aren’t you just full of questions? I asked Abby to ask Tia and she gave her your number. Abby then held it for ransom until I gave her Jake’s number. The girl is my little sister, Nel. I’m afraid the gloves are just collateral damage. You’re the key to their survival, Angel. Make sure you meet my demands.
This stupid smile is actually starting to make my cheeks ache. Before responding, I save his number to my phone, having a strong feeling I’ll be using it in the future.
ME:And why exactly do you want me to message you every day?
FROSTY:Last night you told me I don’t know you. I want to rectify that.
ME:So, what? You just want me to message you random facts about myself for the foreseeable future?
FROSTY:Sure. Or maybe I’ll ask you something specific and I’ll expect a reply. Or the gloves get it.
ME:You know, those gloves were about £4. I could just get another pair.
FROSTY:Aw, come on now, play the game. It’s fun.
ME:Fine. But I want proof of life everyday too.
FROSTY:Deal.
When I’m on the train home, another photo comes through on our chat. This time, my gloves seem to have their own seat at a table laden with lunch food. Someone has put googly eyes on them, each pointing in a different direction and there’s ahalf-drunk glass of wine in front of them. I snort so loud the guy in the seat opposite looks up from his book with a start.
The next day, Christmas Eve, while I’m out to dinner with my parents, a photo of my gloves at a pub, same googly eyes and now stickers in the shape of lips have joined them. They’re actually on hands this time, one each being held up by Harry and Jake, who are pulling silly faces behind them, pints of beer lined up in front of them. It makes me smile, biting my lip as I put my phone back in my bag.
“What has you smiling?” Mum asks with a conspiratory grin.
“Nothing,” I say, probably too quickly.
“That’s the kind of smile a boy would be responsible for,” she singsongs.
I roll my eyes and refuse to say anything more.
At midnight on Christmas Eve, my phone rings, I’m not asleep but close to it, so it takes me a few moments to answer.
“Hello?”
“Angel.” The liquid heat of his voice pours into my ear and down into my chest, blooming to warm up my entire body.
“You better be in hospital or jail to be calling me this late, I need my beauty sleep you know.” I keep my tone stern, but I’m sure he can still hear my smile through the line.
“Are you saying you want to be my emergency contact?” He’s cocky. I hate cocky, but his cockiness tugs at my lower belly and sends a pulse between my legs.
“I’m saying there better be a good reason you’re calling, or I’m hanging up and won’t send you any fun facts tomorrow.”
“Do you mean later today?”
I look at the glowing green numbers on my alarm clock on the bedside table and see that it’s gone twelve. “I guess I do,” I say with a yawn.
