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On Lucy’s orders, Alex shifted, but jutted out a hip in protest. “He’s having second thoughts, isn’t he? I blew my chance. Otherwise he’d be here.” She nudged a tray of sausage rolls along the counter.
“Mark likes you! He’ll be here. Stop stressing. You’ll laugh about this at midnight. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you. I hope you’ve got some condoms in your bag, lady.”
Alex bit down on a slight smile. “I do, actually. Freddie made sure of that.”
“You slapper!” Lucy winked. “Stop worrying. Think about the fun you’ll be having later.”
Freddie bounded over, dolled up in a secondhand black tuxedo, a crisp white shirt, and a dapper bowtie. “Whatcha talking about, chickies?”
“Were you spying on us, Mr. Bond?” Lucy set down her empty wine glass. “We’re discussing Alex’s not-so-secret plans for Mark tonight.”
“Poor guy’s gonna be begging for mercy. I bet that’s why he’s late. He’s girding his loins.”
Alex smacked him playfully in the stomach.
He grabbed both friends by the hand. “C’mon, enough counter-surfing. The accountant from Pret’s setting up his portable karaoke. We must have a go.”
“Fredd-ie! Fredd-ie! Fredd-ie!”
The chant overtook the flat as the half-cut guests beckoned their host to be the first to take the mic.
“Me? Oh, go on then. Let’s have a little Into the Groove, shall we? My Madonna anthem. Hit it.”
“This should be good,” said Lucy, donning a pointy New Year’s hat.
Several other guests followed with renditions of songs by Oasis, Ed Sheeran, and Rihanna. The accountant from Pret did a spot-on impression of Drake—dad dancing and all—much to the crowd’s howls of amusement. Lucy took her turn, waving her arms to the heavens in a peppy version of You’ve Got the Love by Florence and the Machine. While at the mic, she caught Alex’s optimistic facade crumbling with each passing verse, her dull eyes staring at her phone.
Lucy hauled her friend towards the microphone.
“Alex is dying for a turn.”
“No, Lucy—c’mon, don’t make me do this…”
“Oh, you’re doing this. Anything to spare another moment of watching you moon over your phone.”
Alex scowled at her friend and whispered to the accountant from Pret. She grasped the microphone tightly. The music to When Will I See You Again by the Three Degrees filled the room. She didn’t need the screen prompt. She knew all the lyrics by heart.
Lucy elbowed a sweaty Freddie. “How apt.”
• • •
By five minutes to midnight, most of the partiers had clambered up to the rooftop deck of Freddie’s building, waiting to catch the fireworks launching at midnight from a distant pier near the London Eye. Squished and jostled, Alex sulked at her phone. The thin straps of her dress slipped down every time her body shuddered under the late night chill.
Lucy nudged the straps back up. “Why didn’t you wear your coat?”
“I thought Mar—someone would be here to keep me warm,” she said, wiping her nose.
“He still has a few minutes.”
“Face it, Lucy. He’s not going to rush in at midnight and kiss me. That only happens in romantic comedies. I’m not Bridget Jones.”
Freddie pushed his way through to his friends, a glittery party tiara nestled in his hair. “Sorry. Just had to make sure that Moriarty was safely stowed in his carrier. Fireworks give him the willies.”
He couldn’t ignore the glum expression on Alex’s face. “Don’t pout, darling. I know it’s not the same, but I’ll kiss you at midnight.” He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and covered her quivering shoulders.
Alex’s phone pinged, lifting her scowl and sending her pulse on a tear. Her eyes flew downwards to the Facebook messenger app notification.
‘Happy New Year, Lexy. I hope this year’s everything you want it to be. Much love, Devin xo’
