Man Crush Monday

by Kirsty Moseley

  I nod in agreement and get to work on devouring my breakfast. I’m not exactly a good cook, so things like this are only ever eaten in restaurants. “It was a great idea, you coming over here last night.”

  He smiles and watches as I take the last few bites of my food before reaching over to take the tray from my lap, setting it on the floor with his plate. I suck my teeth with my tongue, my eyes raking over the muscles in his back as he leans over.

  When he turns back to me, I crawl over to him.

  “Jared, you look like a Greek god, screw like a porn star, and cook like Gordon Ramsay. So, here’s the million-pound question. … how come you’re still single?” I raise one eyebrow, waiting for his answer.

  He laughs loudly, and I throw my leg over his, sitting on his lap, straddling him. His hands immediately grip my hips as his eyes meet mine. I rest my hands on his shoulders, waiting for the answer. It was a genuine question. Why on earth has this guy not been snapped up already? How has he made it to twenty-eight without someone “accidentally” getting pregnant, so he would be forced to marry them?

  When he realises I’m waiting for an answer, he sighs and shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t really have the time to date. For the last few years, I’ve just been focussing on my career. Plus, I guess I’ve just never met the right person. My last girlfriend, if you can even call her that”—his eyebrows pull together in a frown—“we were together about six months. Let’s just say, I’m pretty sure she liked spending the money I earned more than she liked spending time with me,” he explains.

  I scowl at that. She was clearly an idiot.

  “What about you? How come a girl like you is still single?” His nose brushes up the side of mine as his arms wrap around me, and he lies back, pulling me down with him. My stomach tightens in anticipation of the promised naked time. “You’ve never met the right person either?”

  “Oh, I met the right person,” I reply as Jared rolls, so he’s on top. “He was marriage material. We talked about a future with a little house on the river. Kids. We promised to love each other forever.”

  He stops the exquisite kisses he was peppering against my throat. “Who is he? I’m gonna fuck him up.”

  I burst out laughing at the growl in his voice. He pulls back, and his eyes become suddenly curious as they meet mine.

  “What happened?” He looks concerned now. A frown lines his forehead as if he’s waiting for some sad, grim ending.

  I sigh dramatically. “His dad landed a job in America. His whole family just upped and left one day. He didn’t even write to me. I was six when I experienced my first heartbreak.” I dramatically shake my head.

  A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, and I swear his shoulders loosen at my joke. “That’s rough. Poor little six-year-old Amy.”

  I grip my hand around the back of his head and arch into him. “Enough talking now.”

  He makes a little groan in the back of his throat as his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s hot enough to scorch the sheets.

  nine

  I climb out of Jared’s car and look up at his building. I know it’s expensive because of the design. The building is curved, glass-fronted, and sleek. It screams high-end.

  “This is where you live?” I ask, looking around with wide eyes.

  His hand closes over mine, and he nods. “Yeah, I’ve been here about a year. I used to live alone here, but six months ago, my brother asked to stay for a few nights and never left.” He playfully rolls his eyes.

  I let him lead me into the building, and we stop outside the lift, Jared nodding a greeting to the concierge as we pass him. This building is in glaring contrast to mine; you could fit my whole flat in the communal entrance alone. As we step into the lift, he turns and kisses me. Even though we not long ago got dressed and we’d had sex twice already this morning (including a particularly hot shower scene that I am sure to mentally revisit every time I step in there now), I feel my body melt against his. I can’t get enough of him.

  The door pings open, and he breaks the kiss, looking down at me with a smile on his face as he brushes my hair behind my ear. “Come on then. I’ll be as quick as I can, and then we can go out and do something fun.”

  I nod and follow him to his front door.

  As we step into his apartment (because in no way can this be called a flat), I gasp at the sheer luxury of it. I’ve never seen anything more stylish in real life. It’s slick, elegant, shiny, and sophisticated. This place is Jared all over. Although I knew it would be classy and well designed, I didn’t expect the lounge to be quite so modern. It’s open plan, like mine, but instead of mismatched, cheap clutter, his is filled with comfy-looking sofas and polished hardwood floor. His kitchen is sleek white gloss and marble tops, but the best thing about his apartment by a clear mile is the wall of curved glass and wraparound palladium-style balcony outside that looks out onto the communal gardens.

  “Damn. Nice,” I grunt, my eyes fixed on the view outside.

  Jared laughs quietly. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” he replies, curiously looking around. “Doesn’t look like my brother’s home. He usually dumps his keys and wallet here.” He motions towards the empty sideboard in the small hallway. “Theo, you home?” he calls. When there’s no reply, he turns to me and shrugs.

  I gulp, unblinking. “If you have this place, why are we staying at my poky little flat tonight? We could get drunk on your balcony, under the stars.” I point to it, my mouth open in awe. I would kill for a balcony.

  We already agreed that Jared would stay over at mine again tonight, so we could go out together.

  He snorts and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t want to hang out here tonight. My brother will be here; we’d get no privacy at all.”

  “Oh. I definitely like the privacy,” I agree.

  He laughs and leans down, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “Make yourself at home. I’ll just quickly change and pack some fresh clothes for the morning, and then we can leave.” He shrugs out of the suit jacket that he wore to work Friday and then his clients’ night out last night.

  I nod, and as Jared disappears through a door, I take my chance to nose around. I head to the bookshelf first, seeing lots of the titles I’ve seen him read on the train. I run my finger down the spines before my eyes flick over the ornaments and knickknacks set on the sides. I grin when I get to his nerd shelf. There’re all kinds of statues there—collectable, expensive ones by the look of them—ranging in size. Most of them are Marvel, and I look wide-eyed over them. They’re amazing. There’s everything from Ghost Rider through to Iron Man doing the snap. I want them all.

  I force myself to keep looking. I want to take as much opportunity to learn about Jared as I can. On the wall in the lounge, there are two large movie posters in frames hanging from the wall. They’re instantly recognisable, and I grin at the nerdiness of them. One is Back to the Future, and the other is an original Star Wars poster. As I step closer, I notice that they’re signed by Michael J. Fox and Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford respectively.

  My mouth drops open. “Wow.” I’m totally geeking out.

  Swallowing the awe, I turn and cast my eyes around. His apartment is a typical boy fashion—all designed for practicality. There are no fluffy cushions on the sofa, no photos of his friends or family, no unnecessary trinkets that they just “had to have” on a visit to IKEA or Dunelm. There are no personal touches at all other than the few collectable statues and the posters.

  Frowning, I head to the coffee table. A sketchpad lies open with a handful of pencils on top of it. I look back behind me and cock my head—he’s still in his bedroom—so I pick it up and peruse through. The sketches are fabulous, all different types of things varying from comic book characters, animals, trees, right through to a rough sketch of Tower Bridge and The London Eye. I flick through in awe of his talent. I’ve seen him scribbling in this notebook before but never really had the opportunity to look through it. I revel in it.

 
; When I hear him coming, I set the sketchbook down and head to the window, looking out over the view. He likely wouldn’t want me to have looked through that, as drawings are sometimes personal. I feel the smallest pang of guilt for looking, but in my defence, he shouldn’t have left it out for me to see if he didn’t want me to.

  He comes back in, carrying a black sports bag. His body is covered in worn jeans and a white T-shirt. He throws a stylish brown jacket over the top. “Come on then, gorgeous. Let’s blow this joint,” he says, holding out his free hand.

  “Your place is amazing,” I gush, threading my fingers through his.

  I secretly hope I get invited to stay here one day. I’m intrigued by what his bedroom might look like. My mouth waters as I imagine the scent of his bed, and I get a pang of longing to sink down and get tangled with him in his sheets.

  He smiles and heads for the door, tugging me alongside him. “It’s a nice day. Instead of bowling, how about we do something outside?”

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask, happy just to do anything where I spend time with him.

  He smiles down at me. “I have an idea.”

  I sigh at how romantic this is. I’ve lived in Cambridge for the last five years and sampled many of its attractions … but I’ve never been on a punt before. When Jared hops down into the small wooden boat and turns to hold his hand out for me, I grin from ear to ear.

  “This was a great idea,” I congratulate, slipping my hand into his as I cautiously step down into the boat.

  I laugh as I stumble, and Jared has to catch my waist to hold me steady.

  We settle on the padded green seats, his arm around my shoulders, my hand on his knee, as the driver guy steps onto the back and pushes us off from the side, using what looks like a huge wooden pole.

  The slow, lazy float on the river is breathtaking, and I’ve never really appreciated how pretty my city is until now, seeing it from the boat. Jared sits at my side, and we chat about the buildings, the trees, the stunning views. When some swans and ducks glide over and poke their heads over the side of the boat, Jared is ready with the purchased seed and hands it to me. It’s then that I decide this is the best date I have ever been on.

  After the chilled boat ride, we agree on a picnic and find a secluded spot by the river in the shade of a willow tree. He was right; it is a nice day. Although it’s nearly the end of September now and we’re in the very last dregs of summer, it’s still warm. The sun is bright, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Perfect picnic weather.

  “So, what else are you planning on doing with your two weeks off work other than visiting your family?” he asks, forking in a mouthful of his chicken salad.

  I shrug noncommittally. “I don’t know. Sleeping in mostly. Maybe a bit of decorating. Binge-watching Netflix. Nothing specific. I just haven’t taken any time off all year and had to book some, or I’d end up leaving it too late and losing my holiday entitlement.”

  He nods, chewing on his food, his eyes thoughtful. “Sounds nice. I can’t remember the last time I lay in and didn’t have any plans.”

  “You should pull a couple of sickies and come binge some Netflix with me,” I joke.

  One side of his mouth quirks up into a smile. “Maybe I should.”

  I swallow my squeal of delight. I would love that. The eye contact holds for longer than necessary, and I feel my insides thrum with happiness. The air around us is thick with the sexual tension, and he looks away just as I’m about to unceremoniously toss my sandwich and jump him on the bank of the river with all the ducks and swans watching.

  “My job has been hectic lately. I’m definitely owed some lieu time after last night,” he says, rolling his eyes.

  “Have the Japanese clients gone home now or …” I ask. When he nods in answer, I tilt my head to the side, intrigued. “What is it you actually do that you had clients come over from Japan to meet with you?”

  He blows out a big breath and scrunches up his nose. “It’s pretty boring.”

  I shrug, moving until I’m sitting cross-legged and facing him so I can give him my undivided attention. “I don’t care. I want to know.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Okay, so say you’re a company and you have a million pounds you want to sink into advertising to grow your business.”

  I raise an eyebrow at the figure, but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, as if he’s used to working with sums that large on a daily basis.

  “So, you’d come to me as the advertising strategist and tell me about your business and what you hope to achieve through advertising. I then take that information and go away, researching your business and businesses similar to yours. I’ll check market trends, see what’s working and what’s not. I’ll see where investment ads of your product type are making the most impact for the lowest price—that’s called return on investment. I then combine all that information and create a recommended portfolio of where I think your money will be best spent and who to target based on their likelihood to buy the product. After you agree on the portfolio, I then liaise with our marketing and art departments to create the graphics and materials, slogans, copy—everything we need. Then, my team and I implement the ads and serve them, checking progress in real time, tweaking and amending to make sure they’re fulfilling the proposed potential. It’s tough but rewarding. I love it.”

  Throughout his whole speech, I watch him, more than a little impressed and proud of him. His job sounds incredible and hard!

  I playfully purse my lips. “So, you’re responsible for those ads I see on Facebook and Instagram?”

  He lets out a laugh that makes my insides flutter. “Guilty as charged. But I don’t just do ads on socials though; sometimes, it’s TV adverts or radio, event sponsorships, supermarket end caps, billboards, bus stops or the underground. Depends on the product and target audience. And budget, of course.”

  “Impressive. And the Japanese clients?”

  “They’re trying to break into the UK market with some of their technological gadgets.” He skirts around, giving no details.

  “And you’re not allowed to talk about it,” I guess.

  He chuckles. “And I’m not allowed to talk about it,” he confirms. “What about you? Are you living your dream job on the trains, or is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

  “It’s hardly a dream job, but it gets me out of the house and pays for my Dr Pepper addiction,” I joke. “When I was younger, I actually wanted to be a continuity editor. I even got a media studies A level in preparation.”

  He raises one eyebrow. “And a continuity editor is …”

  I pick a blade of grass with my free hand and roll it into a little ball between my fingers. “You know when you’re watching a movie and the camera changes angles, you suddenly notice someone’s drink that was half-full is now full again?”

  He’s watching me, interest clear on his face as he nods in understanding.

  “That’s what a continuity editor’s job is. Basically, I thought I would just get to watch movies all day and point out the mistakes. Imagine my disappointment when it turned out that there was more to it than that. Dream crushed. There wasn’t anything else I was ever interested in, so I just started applying for full-time jobs. I bounced around from job to job for a while, but I quite like this one. I get to chat with people all day, so there’s that. It’s a bit boring and repetitive though.”

  He laughs and reaches for my hand. “Oh, well, at least you have a couple of weeks off you can enjoy before you have to go back. So, tell me about your mum and dad. What are they like?”

  “Just my mum. My dad isn’t around. Mum lives with my nanna.” I chuckle and drop my eyes to my sandwich, picking at the lettuce inside and throwing it on the grass behind me. How do I describe my mum to someone who has never met her? “Mum’s … a character.”

  One of his eyebrows rises, and his head cocks to the side. “Uh-oh, what does that mean?”

  I laugh and press my lips together.
“She’s into some out-there stuff.”

  “Like?” he prompts.

  I wince a smile. My mum is like Marmite; you either love her weirdness or hate it. I happen to adore her very soul. “Like astrology, tarot cards, palm reading—all that kind of stuff. That’s what she does for a job actually—a fortune-teller.”

  “Like one of those gypsies with the crystal ball?”

  I almost choke on air and playfully elbow him. “Don’t ever let her hear you call her that. And no, no crystal ball. She’s very good. People come from all over to get a reading from her. I’ve seen her predict loads that have come true.”

  He seems a little lost for words as he looks at me curiously, and I get the impression he’s checking to see if I’m making it up.

  “Seriously?”

  I laugh and nod. “Yes, seriously.”

  “Does she talk to ghosts and stuff?”

  Jared looks slightly disbelieving, but I don’t mind. I’ve had my whole life with people giving me that look when I talk about my mum.

  “No, she’s not a spiritual medium. More like reading the signs and general feelings. She senses things about people. My nan used to do it too, but she said she was sick of seeing into the future and wanted to retire to live in the now.”

  He laughs at that. “So, it runs in families?”

  I shrug. “Supposedly, but I don’t have the gift. I got all the dorky weirdness without the talent.”

  I smile awkwardly down at my sandwich and wonder if I’ve just scared him off. A lot of people find this kind of stuff weird and hard to accept. I’ve lost boyfriends before who thought I came from a crazy farm. But to me, this is my normal.

  His lips press together in a thin line as he thinks about something. Finally, he says, “And what would your fortune-telling mum think about me, do you think?” He scoots closer to me, his arm casually slipping around my shoulders as he tips his head back and closes his eyes, basking in the sun.

  I grin because he’s clearly not fazed. “Well, what star sign are you?”