Ha! Good comeback. I couldn’t beat it, so I ignored it and focused on the positive. “Last week you two were practically inseparable. This week you’ve downgraded her to just a date.” I winced sympathetically. I might not want him doing better than me at the whole dating thing, but I had a newfound sympathy for people struggling on the dating scene. “That’s like a girl saying ‘maybe’ instead of ‘no’ when a man asks for a second date. ‘Just a date.’ She won’t be returning your calls soon. She’s practically dumped you.”
He stared at me, shaking his head. “Only in your world. In the real world, where people say what they mean, just going on a date means just going on a date, in this case for dinner. Nothing more. Nothing less.” He collapsed the ironing board, making a huge amount of noise. How could men make the most mundane household task so loud? “Don’t wait up. The mood you’re in today, you need all the sleep you can get. Also, drop the whole doll reference thing; it’s not kind to Barbie and it’s getting old.”
“Fine.” For now. “You go enjoy your date with Gollum.”
He glanced at his watch, then pulled on his shirt. “Okay, I’ve got a couple of minutes before I have to leave, so I’ll bite – why Gollum?”
“You know, Gollum from Lord of the Rings, ‘precious’, the hunt for the ring…?” I felt the tension build as he waited for an explanation. “She’ll have you up the aisle, your ring on her finger, before you know what’s hit you.”
Everyone knows it’s against the rules to laugh when someone makes fun of your girlfriend, but he did it anyway. Take that, Babs.
“If she’s Gollum, that would make me Frodo and you Merry… I always thought Frodo and Merry had a special relationship.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Whatever.” I shrugged off the warm dip in my belly at the idea of having a special relationship with him… Not that it was a Mark thing. It’d just been so long since I’d had a special relationship with anything that wasn’t made from plastic that I’d probably feel the same way about having “fun” with anything that didn’t require Duracell to get turned on. He watched me expectantly. The silence stretched awkwardly. I struggled to fill it. “You do have one thing in common with a hobbit… big, hairy feet.”
Weak.
Stupid.
Lame.
He was obviously feeling generous (or running late); either way, he didn’t pull me up on my lame joke, just joined in. “Well, you know what they say about men with big, hairy feet?”
“They shed on the upholstery?”
He laughed, pushed to his feet, pocketing his wallet, and headed for the door. I trailed after him, standing on the front step like a 1940s housewife waving her man off to war.
“Your hair’s sticking up, Coco.” Mark brushed a hand over my hair, smoothing it down and leaving a shower of goose bumps in its wake. I slapped his hand away, unimpressed by the clown reference. Why couldn’t I be effortlessly glamourous with blonde hair, big boobs, and no hips, a la Barbie? My mum wouldn’t have to advertise for a date for me then.
He cupped the back of my head. I struggled to pull a breath in.
My heart was hammering.
Was I… having a… panic attack?
I’d never had one before, but what else could it be? Asthma? I was breathless. There was no way my heart was hammering at his touch. I deflected with sarcasm. “It’s windy outside, Einstein.”
“Hmm, so I see.” Ignoring my slapping, his hand slipped down to straighten my dressing gown collar, slipping inside to brush against my hammering pulse. “Your skin’s cold.”
I shivered.
Was I responding to him sexually?
What was wrong with me? An allergic reaction. That was it. He’d used some sort of aftershave earlier. I thought it smelt great at the time, but obviously not. I needed to get rid of him before I went into anaphylactic shock. My protective instinct kicked in and I deflected. “It’s not getting any warmer standing out here in the porch. I thought you were on a tight deadline for your dolly date. Why don’t you save the slick moves for her?” What the hell was I saying?
“Your body appreciates it, honey.” He smoothed a newly calloused thumb – his much-heralded (by him) badge of honour from sanding and varnishing the living room floor – over my pulse point, proving my lie. “It’s just obviously going to take a little longer for your stubborn mind to catch up.”
I couldn’t catch the breath to respond to his ridiculous statement. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Heavy metal poisoning?
Early onset menopause?
“Behave yourself whilst I’m gone.”
I snorted at his parting comment and gentle shove back inside the flat. I stood staring at the door, scuffing my toe against the doormat, looking around my flat before wandering aimlessly into the living room, feeling… abandoned? Irritated? Jealous?
The warm, melty feeling in my tummy had disappeared along with Mark, leaving an increasing sense of loss and annoyance.
I slumped onto the sofa, picked up the remote control, and started channel-surfing, struggling to understand why I was so pissed at him for going out if I wasn’t jealous. Which I wasn’t. I couldn’t be.
Okay. So maybe I was just upset, because it wasn’t fair – I was the one who was supposed to be dating, not him. I was trying really hard… Sort of… Well, I was turning up and putting myself out there. So, it didn’t seem fair that he got dates when I didn’t, and he was just coming along as protection in case of axe murderers.
Chapter 9
Do you believe in love at first sight…or do I have to walk by again?
“What’s up?” Mark looked up from his position lounging on the couch watching TV, as I slammed the front door, kicked off my heels in the hall, and stomped across the living room towards the kitchen.
“Bad day,” I muttered, shrugging off my suit jacket and dumping it on a kitchen stool. Normally I was anal about putting my clothes away, but not today.
Eyes narrowed, Mark moved towards the breakfast bar, watching me closely. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and a skin-tight navy t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. “What happened?” I shrugged, focused on getting my food. “You going to be okay?”
“Yep, when I’ve eaten until I can’t move and then slept for twelve hours.”
“Do you know how bad for you that is?”
I ignored him again. After grabbing the ketchup and a tray, I dumped the contents of the bag onto my plate and peeled back the paper, adding sauce to the chips. “Breathing is bad for me, but it’s still necessary to survival.” Just like chips, chocolate, and various other comfort foods.
He eyed my plate covetously. “How about you share your fries and tell me why your day was so bad?”
“No. You’re going out for dinner with plastic fantastic. Again.” I winced at my jealous tone, hoping he’d missed it. I continued hoping to distract him with my issues. This was his third date with Barbie, his second in three days. “I’m an accountant. It’s March, and the National Audit Office has decided the end of the financial year is a great time to audit us.” I crammed another chip into my mouth before picking up my plate and stomping through to the living area and slumping down onto the sofa with my plate on my lap, chewing and talking. “My computer crashed at eight thirty this morning, and apparently the IT department has twelve working hours before they have to do anything… twelve hours.” More chips, more chewing. “I sat twiddling my thumbs all day, because I had a five o’clock meeting. The bastards sent their assistant to cancel at four fifty-five. He brought a colour printout of my Underground dating poster and asked me to autograph it.” Which everyone else in my open-plan office thought was hysterical.
“That’s pretty shitty,” he agreed, sinking down onto the sofa beside me. “Maybe this will cheer you up.” I looked at him expectantly. “I was online this morning and came across an advert for a local country band who are looking for a female singer.” He continued before I could shut him down. “Don’t sa
y no out of hand. I noted the details down and stuck it on the fridge in case you’re interested in auditioning.”
“Thanks, but I’m not some starry-eyed kid anymore.” Unfortunately. “I might not like my job, but I do like having my own flat and eating.”
“You can be sensible, bill-paying Kate Turner during working hours and hot country singer KT Turner at night and on the weekend. Live your dreams. You don’t have to repress yourself to fit some dull mould you think will make your mother or father happy.” His gaze held mine. “You only have one life. You can’t change your past or change your fuckwit of a father’s decisions. So, just be you and take every opportunity you can to be happy.”
The silence stretched. A scary, tense, churning feeling burned in my chest and tummy. “I can’t…” I couldn’t deal with this right now.
“Okay, honey. You know where it is if you want it. The auditions aren’t for a few weeks, so you have time to think about it.” He squeezed my hand. “Now, tell me what else is up. It can’t all be work.”
“How about I was advertised for dates in the largest city in the country, on one of the busiest public transport networks in the world, and I only got five offers.”
“Four,” he corrected, unhelpfully. “And there would have been more if you hadn’t deleted your message account after your date with John.” I shot him a death glare again. “What?” He held his hands up. “I’m just proving I’m listening and I care.”
“Of course I deleted it. All it gave me was prank calling kids, the offer of a free makeover, a runaway–”
“Hang on. You met him in the pub after your first date. So technically he was a pick-up. Not a date from the advertising campaign.”
“But he said he approached me because of the adverts.” I took some more chips. “I forgot my stalker. I don’t want to forget Stalker John. After all, he can’t seem to forget me.” Mark muttered something I didn’t hear, but I was on a roll, so I didn’t ask for clarification. “Then there was Claire… The way things are going, I’m thinking about taking her up on the offer. She can’t be worse than any of the men.”
He stroked my hair, cupping the back of my neck, fingers massaging my scalp. I sank into the warm comfort, my eyes closing. “Stick with it, honey,” he said. “Dating’s fun. You’ll see. You just have to let your guard down. Show your soft centre.”
“Hmm.” Wait! What was I doing cuddling into him? I jerked forward, dislodging his hand. “It’s not fair.” I jabbed a greasy chip in his direction, “You’re only supposed to come with me to make sure I don’t get jumped by some weirdo. Instead, you’re getting more dates than me. Thanks to the Barbie doll.”
He failed to suppress a smile, but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
So, I was jealous.
So what!
Six chips, one mouth. I managed to make the maths work and achieve a personal best, shoving them all in.
He stared at me, slowly blinking as the silence stretched. Finally, the seriousness of my situation must have sunk in. “Okay, honey. You just sit here and relax with your dinner. I bought a bottle of wine earlier that will go great with fish and chips.” He got up off the couch and padded across the kitchen in sock-clad feet, grabbing a bottle from the wine rack.
I was so depressed. I just wanted to go to sleep and wake up to a new day. But if I went to bed now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours. I’d spend the whole night stewing over all the reasons I was desperate and dateless. “Did you get a Merlot?” I called after him.
“Would I buy you anything else?” He walked over in his confident, loose-limbed, and, yes, sexy way.
I grabbed desperately for the glass of wine he held out. Our fingers brushed and a shiver raced over my skin. Great, I must be getting some bug. Just what I needed. My heart hammered. Palpitations? I pressed a hand to my chest. Arrhythmia? Heart murmur?
Mark watched me, eyes intent, a sly smile tipping his mouth. I glared back, daring him to comment. He didn’t.
Smart man. He dropped back onto the sofa beside me. His thigh pressed mine. His arm lay on the back of the chair, strong fingers immediately going back to my hair, sifting through the strands. “Things will be better at work next week and you’ll wake up and see the man of your dreams soon enough.” Again, he fixed his eyes on me. What was with the sly looks?
I took a gulp of wine, letting the smooth, rich liquid slide down my throat. My eyes sank closed as I savoured the flavour. I took another sip and sighed. “Easy for you to say. Rich people never have trouble getting dates.” Wine sloshed over the rim of my glass as I gestured. I rubbed the spillage into the dark blue upholstery with my thumb.
“Money doesn’t solve everything. Rich people worry, too.”
I laughed.
“They worry people only want to go out with them because of their money.”
“But people still go out with them.”
“You’ve had a bad couple of dates, but the KT I know and love wouldn’t let that knock her.” I gave him a narrow-eyed stare, waving my now-empty glass in front of him. His hand wrapped around mine, steadying it as he refilled my glass. “Barbie was saying just last night–”
“What the hell. Are you talking about me with Barbie?” I didn’t give him time to respond. “If she’s so great, why aren’t you squatting at her place instead of mine?” I was getting fed up of him dropping her name into the conversation. This must be like the third or fourth time he’d brought her up this evening…
Actually, maybe that was me thinking about her. Maybe he’d just mentioned her that once, but that wasn’t the point. The point was she was still there, all skinny blonde perfection, hovering in the background, making me feel…less. I bet she didn’t eat chips or drink wine.
“I called her when I was getting the wine and cancelled. I’m not sure you should be left alone tonight.”
No way did he ditch a night out with Barbie to sit on the sofa watching me eat fish and chips and get pissed. “She ditched you, huh? Now you’re trying to save face.” Poor Mark; whilst we were slobbing at home, she was probably off at some posh charity event giving money to save starving children or lame dogs. No doubt she’d helped a blind, crippled little old lady cross the street on her way there.
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “If you really want to meet someone, you have to make an effort, get yourself out there, and shop around.”
“And the Barbie doll would know all about that.” I was fed up of him (me) comparing me to Babs and finding me wanting. “She looks like quite a few people have tried before they bought and been glad they kept the receipt.”
“Jealous?”
I flinched. Was I falling into that trap where women bitch about other prettier women to make themselves feel better? No, no. I wasn’t going to doubt myself. She truly was awful, in that fake way men fall for and women see straight through.
“I’m only with her until you come to your senses and admit you’re mad for me.”
I rolled my eyes at his half-arsed attempt to make me feel better and pushed his feet off my new coffee table.
He smiled oddly. “Right, how about you stop sniping at Barbie and we can cut back and relax.”
Maybe he was right. I stared into my glass, looking for inspiration. I wasn’t sure how deep I dived into the glass in my search, but by the time I looked up, he had opened another bottle of wine and his feet had settled back on my coffee table.
Maybe it was the wine, but I was feeling a little mellow. It wasn’t work that was getting me down, it was this whole forced-dating thing. I felt crappy and inadequate. My mother had paid to try and get me a boyfriend and failed. The only positive in this whole dating disaster was that Mum had been quiet for the last few weeks and was letting me just get on with it, albeit with her henchman (Mark) spying on me.
Not that she’d lost interest. I’d got a text from her earlier. “According to Mum, ‘That nice Peter Cain boy has moved home. Apparently, he’s done well for himself, but is divorced and is
feeling kind of lonely.’” I had no idea why I offered this information up to Mark.
I stared down at my half-empty wine glass in confusion. Had he slipped me a roofie? Was this one of those in vino veritas moments? Did I want him to see that he wasn’t the only one with a romantic liaison on the horizon?
Blue eyes narrowed, focusing on me. His head tipped to the left and a muscle clenched and released in his jaw. “Yeah, well, before you get too cosy with the guy, you should ask why his wife dumped him. He was a slimy bastard at school, and I doubt he’s changed much since then. He wasn’t that high up the evolutionary scale.”
Wow, I guessed they hadn’t been BFFs then. I sighed again, staring into my wine. Just my luck the guy was a loser. I held my glass out, wiggling it to get Mark’s attention. “Now the digital poster run has ended, she’s trying to set me up with her friends’ reject sons. I’m only amazed she hasn’t tried to foist you off on me yet.” I snorted, nearly spilling my wine. “Maybe she’s saving you as a last resort.”
He jerked, snapping the cork in the bottleneck. “Shit! Thanks for the compliment, KT. Fuck it.” He cursed, using the end of the corkscrew to force the remainder of the cork back into the bottle. I was too far gone to care about the quality of the wine anyway. Alcohol content was all that mattered.
I ignored the little bubble of guilt at his hurt tone. He was over six foot of muscled man and dating Little Miss Perfect. He didn’t care what I thought. He was just playing it up for effect.
“She’s wearing me down,” I said. “It’s like I’m a pebble on the beach and Mum’s matchmaking is the continuous pounding of the waves.”
He laughed, rolling his eyes at my brilliant simile – or was it a metaphor… or analogy…? Who cared?
“What does that make me?” he asked.
“The irritating sand in my knickers.”
“It wouldn’t be irritation you were feeling if I was in your knickers.” He laughed and topped my glass off. “Are you trying the old treat-’em-mean-keep-’em-keen tactic on me, KT?”
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