“I set up another date,” I blurt out.
“When? Where? What’s the plan?”
Wow, she’s more excited than me.
“Tomorrow, four o’clock and we’re to bring our passports.”
The line goes quiet. I thought she’d be squeaking in delight, she takes any opportunity to put her passport to use.
“Let me call you back.”
Before I can answer, she hangs up on me and I sit stunned. In all the years we’ve been friends, she has never hung up on me. The sooner she spills the beans on her and Michael, the better.
The phone vibrates, and it is Gab’s texting me.
‘I’m in. If Michael asks it’s not till the day after tomorrow. Don’t ask, I’ll explain when I see you.’
I type back, okay.
Plugging the charger in my phone, I make sure my alarms are set for the morning and lie down.
As I try and fall asleep, my excitement grows for my next date.
Chapter Nine
“This will probably be the best date I go on, and it’s not even mine.”
I roll my eyes at Gabriella and try to see where we are going as the car whizzes by endless fields.
“Paris. Can you believe it?” she continues.
“I can’t actually, but let’s just wait until we’re there before we fully believe it,” I suggest.
It took me a long time to learn not to believe everything you read or everything you’re told. He told me he was taking me to Paris when I sent my address for his driver to pick us up. This could be a flop, just like Jacob and especially like Ross and I hate that I’m going into this already expecting the worst. The sooner I forget about Ross, the better I’ll feel and the better this upcoming date will be.
“I packed us a spare set of underwear, a toothbrush each and my makeup bag in case we become stranded.”
I turn to her and cock an eyebrow.
“Seriously, Gabs?”
“You’re lucky Michael’s passport expired, or he’d be here too.”
“I’m surprised he’s letting you swan off to Paris with a stranger.”
“He doesn’t let me do anything, and besides, I told him it was tomorrow. Anyway, we’re not together and he doesn’t have a say what I do.”
“Oh, come on, he doesn’t hang around these dates for the fun of it. He does it for you, you must know that.”
She ignores me and stares out the window, classic Gabs. As soon as she doesn’t want to talk about something, she doesn’t, but when I don’t want to talk about something, she full out hounds me till I spill the beans.
“I know that you know that Michael likes you more than a friend, and we both know you’re hiding behind these dates for some unbeknown reason to me, just so you know.”
And then that’s that.
The conversation comes to an end when the car drives onto an air field. The plane isn’t a big one and doesn’t look like it will fit many people on it.
“Is this it?” Gabs snorts, unimpressed.
“I’m sure it’s better than flying normally,” I say, trying to humble my friend.
Brody Wright is waiting at the bottom of the stairs onto the plane. He looks, from here, to be in shape. His hair is dark and on closer inspection, doesn’t have a fleck of grey in it. His dark eyes roam my body and then over at Gabriella who is hanging back with her god damn camera.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” he smiles and goes to shake my hand. A hand shake, what’s that all about? Once my hand is in his, he thrusts me forward and he’s kissing both my cheeks.
His cologne is strong and screams arrogance. His suit is sharp and seems to be expensive. He steps back, quick to let my hand go and holds his other hand out for me to walk onto the plane first.
Inside, there are four chairs for the passengers and of course, enough room for the pilot and co-polit.
“It’s not a jumbo jet but it beats traveling with screaming kids and all the like,” he booms.
His voice fills every inch of the plane as he sits down opposite me and buckles himself in.
“Is this yours?”
His laugh is louder than his voice and I can’t stop myself from raising my eyebrows. I really must get a grip on my facial movements every time he does something that creeps me out.
“I wish, no, it’s not. I hire it when I’m travelling, I’m well off but not rich enough to own a plane,” he says, like I’m stupid for asking. I hate when people do that.
“One day I’ll buy a plane, and hopefully, it’ll be bigger than this,” he snorts.
“I don’t know, I would be happy to own a plane at all.”
“Yes, well, some people like more than others.”
Some people are greedier than others, I think to myself, but force my mouth to smile across at him and not bite back.
“So, what do you do to be able to hire a plane for a date?” I ask pushing on.
“I dabble on the markets.”
I steer clear asking further questions. Dabbling and markets, one, dabbling sounds dodgy, and two, markets sound boring. I can’t work this man out on first impressions.
“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself.”
“I’d rather know more about you,” he throws back at me.
I tell him the basics that aren’t online and everything I don’t mind a stranger knowing. My job, my favourite book, where I was born, those kinds of details.
“So, you live in a one bedroom flat in London?” he asks in case he heard wrong and he did.
“No, I live in a bedsit so it’s just the one room, but I have a separate bathroom, but that’s nothing to write home about.”
Bless him, he’s trying his hardest not to full out judge me. I glance at Gabriella and she’s failing to hide her amusement.
“Oh, I, well, it looks like we’ll be landing soon,” he stutters, changing the conversation.
I don’t know why he’s bothered, he must know by now he will never get an invite to come around.
This is so awkward.
He sits in his seat and spends the rest of the flight glancing at his watch and looking out the window.
I sit drumming my fingers on the armrest and Gabriella, bless her, ends the recording promising to start again when we land.
I haven’t had a cigarette in a couple of weeks now and I’m craving one when we land and step down off the plane.
There is a car waiting on the tarmac and it makes me think he does more than dabble.
Gabriella is offered the front seat and Brody opens the back door for me and I slide in and across the back seat. He follows suit and slams the door shut behind him.
The car glides away from the airfield and I half turn to him.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”
His first genuine smile lights up his face and it transform his appearance.
“A couple of years ago, I was in Paris on business and a client took me out to dinner. Well, I fell in love with the place and I go back every time I’m here. If you don’t fall in love with the food, there’s something wrong with you.”
And that’s why he said he’ll cut out ten grand if I’m not blown away. It’s sort of cute to see someone so passionate about something, but at the same time, it’s a bit much to assume I’ll feel the exact same way as him. For starters, I’ve never tried French food, I might not even like it, from what I’ve heard, it’s all snails. They like their wine though, so at least I know I’m safe there.
“When we walk in, would it be okay if I held your hand?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, trying not to be closed off and sceptical.
He takes it as permission to reach over and grasp my hand right this moment.
“This is going to be an evening you will never forget, I promise you that,” he says before earlier thoughts of him being a murderer resurface.
I catch Gabriella’s eye in the side mirror and she heeds my warning to cut and run at a moment’s notice if I say.
&
nbsp; I side glance Brody for most of the journey, and an hour later, the car is coming to a stop on a busy street and I take in the scenery around us. It’s so very French with its beautiful buildings and the obvious language being spoken around us. Brody keeps hold of my hand and Gabriella mouths, genuine, and I remind myself I did ask for a genuine experience.
It’s still a little early compared to when I usually eat dinner but I’m willing to go along with his plans to romance me. The restaurant is so fancy I know he does more than dabble on the markets.
One handed, I adjust my dress straps. I’m glad I wore a nice dress as I look around and everyone is dressed just as fancy as the restaurant itself.
His hand leaves mine and he slips his arm around my waist, his hand landing on my hip.
“Good evening and welcome. Are we wanting a table for two?”
I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am, I steal a glance at Gabriella and she too is looking at the hostess like she has a problem with us. Her white shirt and black skirt are nothing special, but her mousy brown eyes and her soft looking brown hair framing her heart shaped face screams she is rocking the natural beauty look and probably doesn’t even know it. Yet, her attitude isn’t as beautiful as her appearance and her English accent isn’t as French as I was expecting.
Perhaps I should stop expecting so much, it’s getting me nowhere.
“For three,” Brody answers and I smile up at him and I find myself doing it because somehow, I know it’s pissing this woman off.
“Why don’t you take a walk around and record how fancy this place is while we’re being seated,” he says to Gabriella.
I nod my head telling her I’ll be fine, it’s not like he can do anything to me in the middle of a restaurant this size.
His hand falls from my hip and reclaims my hand. As we follow the hostess, my mouth falls open as he openly watches her arse sway from side to side in her black skirt.
Unless something extraordinary happens between now and the end of this date he owes me ten grand for a charity of my choosing.
He makes a scene pulling my chair out for me and makes a bigger deal sweeping his hands over my shoulders once I’m seated.
The hostess drops three menus on the table that she collected on our way over to the table and leaves us to it.
“How rude,” I mutter.
“She’s actually really nice.”
My eyebrows shoot up, nearly hitting my hairline in surprise and I’m not the only one, he’s surprised by his own admission and shoves the menu up to hide his face like a child.
“Excuse me? How well do you know her?”
I know he said he’s been here many times before, but that doesn’t excuse him knowing her moods, this is screaming for me to run out of here.
“Oh, I, she.”
His stuttering ends on a sigh and he leans back in his chair and seeks her out over by the bar.
“Please, just tell me what’s going on,” I snap.
I’ve had enough now and after Ross’ attempt to use and humiliate me, I’m not in the mood to rush into another similar situation.
“We’re about to eat some fine food, that’s what’s going on.”
Even as he speaks his eyes are searching her out.
“Please tell me she isn’t your wife.”
“Oh no, I rejected his proposal because he’s self-absorbed, selfish and the thought of spending the rest of my life with him repulses me.”
I turn in my seat and the hostess has tears rolling down her cheeks, contradicting her words.
Brody stands and drops the napkin onto the table, the hostess takes a step back and I’m find myself in the middle of their breakup? Their argument? Possibly their sick and twisted game to get at one another? I have no idea anymore and instead of being angry with him for bringing me into this, I catch Gabriella’s attention and she slams her gobsmacked mouth shut as she records every second. I jerk my chin for her to come sit at the table and she gladly walks over and settles in next to me.
Turning fully in my chair, the hostess is still stuck in her eye lock with my date and I click my fingers to get her attention.
“We’d like to try everything on the menu, our mutual foe will cover the bill since he dragged me into his petty games with you,” I say, and then turn to him. “It’s the least you can do, don’t you agree?”
All I get is a small head nod as he keeps his eyes on her. “And when we’re done, we’ll be driven back to the airfield and taken home, won’t we?”
“You can take him with you, I don’t want him around me.”
Raising my eyebrows, who does she think she’s dealing with.
“After what he’s done, he can do what he likes, he has been all this time, but he isn’t coming back with us.”
“Enough.”
The man in question speaks up and moves around the table, not towards me but closer to the hostess.
“What is it going to take to show you I want to be with you for the rest of my life?”
“Clearly not bringing another woman to where she works,” Gabriella snorts and I roll my lips to smother my smile.
“She’s nothing to me, I brought her here to see how you reacted and you lied when you said you didn’t love me, I saw the hurt flash in your eyes when you saw me holding her hand. Stop lying to me.”
He goes to hold her hand, but she swats it away and takes another step back.
“I heard what your business partner said, and I heard you agree,” she snaps back but she’s losing her bite.
“He’s not my partner anymore and I never agreed with him, never. I love you, how could you think any different after everything we’ve shared.”
This time, when he moves closer, she doesn’t back off. She places her hands on his chest and leans into him.
“I love you, too.”
His head dips and his lips land on hers, not caring everyone in the restaurant is staring at them.
Considering he’s meant to be romancing me, I’m bitter rather than feeling warm and fuzzy.
“I’m going to need a bottle of champagne, the most expensive one you have too,” I call out. Surely one of the waiters or waitresses will get me a drink.
“Yes, we should celebrate,” Brody hollers, picking the love of his life up and spins her around.
“Fuck your celebrations, me and my friend are getting drunk on you, and I’ll wait for you to write me that check you promised.”
The cheeky prick digs around in his inside jacket pocket and pulls out the check which is already made out to me for ten thousand pounds.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this but I would’ve done anything to get her back, she’s my life. I’ll cover dinner, my driver will be at your disposal and you must be back at the airfield for seven.”
He hands the check over and then before I can put it away, the two of them are leaving, under protests of the manger yelling at her.
“As-fucking-if,” Gabriella sighs. “I think you were better off with one-night stands.”
So, do I.
Chapter Ten
“Excuse me, could you please stop here. I can make my own way home.”
The driver pulls over and I can’t wait to escape the car. I said I’d let Gabs know I’d made it home, so I send her a quick text letting her know I’m going for a drink. I need a large wine and a long bath to wash away that date, and then I need something to help me figure out why I felt nothing. Even before being the third wheel.
The pub is busy for a Wednesday and I slip onto the last available stool at the bar.
David walks over, smiling, showing his brilliant white teeth, and throws a towel over his shoulder. I first came in here on his first night working the bar, he told me it was a temporary thing and I told him I’d move on before he did. Ten years on and we’re both still here.
“What can I get you, Remi?” he asks, and I sigh.
“A large red, very large, actually, can I drink from the bottle?”
“I’ll
get you a glass, we like to try and keep it classy here,” he winks and goes off to get my drink.
Yanking my gloves off, I shove them in my bag and dig out my purse. The best day this pub and I have shared is when they started using card machines. The amount of times I had to make a run, drunken and sober, to a cash machine because I had drunk my way through my cash was too many times to keep count.
“Do you want me to run a tab tonight?” he asks, coming back with my glorious drink from the gods.
“It’s okay, I only plan on the having the one.”
It’s at this point when I slide my card across the bar when something, or more like someone, pushes up beside me.
“I’ll get this.”
Leaning back to get a good look at the guy whose American accent sounds like smooth whiskey, I’m taken aback for a few short seconds. It’s the guy from the other night.
His hair is in a messy, but styled, state. The dark brown strands fall around his stone coloured eyes and his perfectly pink lips pull up into a smile.
“Um,” I choke out, getting myself together.
“Jasper,” he cuts in, holding his hand out for me to shake. Another handshake?
“Remi,” I reply, and then die a little when we make contact. I catch the hint of a tattoo snaking out from his wrist onto his hand and find myself wondering if that’s the only one. Internally slapping myself, I pull my hand away from his and hand over my card to David.
“And you don’t have to pay for my drink, in fact, I’ll pay for yours.”
There was a time, when I was much younger, much, much younger, when I instinctively stuck with the same guy all night if he brought me a drink, I felt I had to. Those days are long gone, and I never accept a drink first, expectations are made once you accept their offer.
“By all means, but I’ll get the next.”
“The next? What makes you think I’ll have more than the one with you? In fact, what makes you think we’ll drink these ones together?”
I’m totally messing with him and I’m enjoying watching him trying to work out how to take me.
Not Another Lonely Christmas Page 5