One in a Million

by Lindsey Kelk

‘It seems as though I won’t be going home anytime soon,’ he said gravely. ‘And I can’t take him to my brother’s house because he’s allergic. Until I resolve my housing issue, I was hoping he could perhaps stay with you? It does rather seem as though the two of you have bonded.’

  He looked so sad, it was all I could do not to throw down my toast and wrap him up in a huge hug. But the thought of touching him had turned into something else and a hug wasn’t just a hug any more. I wanted to comfort him and I wanted to keep a considerable distance at the same time. I wanted to brush his hair out of his eyes but I was afraid to even raise my hand from my side. Everything had become a contradiction.

  If my brain had been an app, it would have quit unexpectedly.

  ‘As long as he makes peace with his litter-box situation, I don’t see why not,’ I said, keeping my tone as light and carefree as possible and overthinking every word that came out of my mouth. ‘And please tell him not to watch me getting dressed, it’s creepy.’

  Sam brushed his own hand through his own hair and I flashed back to the grey, early morning light of the dawn when I had laid on my side, staring at his face as it faded from black and white and into glorious Technicolor.

  ‘I’ll provide everything for his upkeep, of course. I wouldn’t expect you to pay for anything,’ he said. ‘But it really would be a tremendous help.’

  ‘It’s a yes from me,’ I said, suddenly very warm. The skin on my neck began to itch. ‘Three yeses, Wellington is through to the next round.’

  We stood on opposite sides of the breakfast bar and ate in silence. Sam finished his toast first and took a long sip of water from one of my red wine glasses. He didn’t know where the water glasses were.

  ‘And I will of course replace your settee,’ he said, after dabbing at his mouth with a piece of kitchen roll. ‘You’ve been so kind to me, Annie. I can’t apologize enough for my imposition.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I said, reaching out for the glass of water he had poured for me and trying very hard not to knock anything over. ‘Accidents happen, that thing was long overdue for an upgrade.’

  ‘I insist,’ Sam replied. ‘It’s the least I can do, considering everything you’ve done for me in the past few weeks.’ He looked down at his hands, the corners of his mouth downturned. ‘And all for nothing. What a waste of your time.’

  ‘Not for nothing,’ I said, reaching a hand across the counter but stopping just short of his arm. ‘It’s never a waste to spend time with friends.’

  He didn’t look up but I saw the line of his mouth straighten a little. Not quite into a smile but it was something to see him become even a fraction less despondent.

  ‘Friends,’ he said at last with a loud clap. ‘Right. Enough dillydallying. I’m sure you want to get dressed for work.’

  I looked down at my jeans and T-shirt.

  ‘I am dressed for work,’ I replied, pulling nervously on the ends of my ponytail and wondering what was wrong with what I was wearing. ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘Quite.’ He pushed his glasses up his nose, cleared his throat and quickly turned to move our plates into the sink. ‘Ready when you are then.’

  ‘While infatuation was once considered a sign of valour, in today’s world a crush can be, in turns, fun, exciting, distracting and heartbreaking. Just thinking about the object of your affection causes a release of the chemical phenylethylamine which speeds up the communication between nerve cells and triggers the release of dopamine. The dopamine is what causes the feeling of bliss you so closely associate with your crush. At the same time, norepinephrine is released, stimulating adrenaline production. together, these three chemicals act as amphetamines, a kind of loved-up speed, which temporarily creates an addictive high, or a crush.’

  I stood in line for a coffee, pretending to read emails on my phone but really, I was hoping Dr Johnson, host of my favourite podcast, Live Life Love, could talk me out of whatever madness my hormones were dishing up.

  ‘The effects of this high usually lasts anywhere from six months to three years. At which point the couple either decide to stick with each other and make things work or move on, chasing a new high.’

  Great, I thought, pushing my fingertips into my temples. So anywhere from three months to six years from now and I’d be totally over it.

  ‘If you’re trying to end your crush,’ Dr Johnson went on. ‘You need to avoid spending time with the person you’re making heart eyes at. Oxytocin, a pituitary hormone linked to human bonding, is triggered by the initial release of dopamine but increases with exposure and is especially enhanced by physical contact. So, if you want to end this crush sooner rather than later, no touching!’

  So what she was saying was, spending twenty-four seven with a person followed by a night in bed together was also a bad idea. I inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly. Good to know.

  At least boyfriend bootcamp was officially over, even if the results had been wasted on Elaine. There was no real reason for me to spend another second with Dr Samuel Page now.

  ‘How did things go with Sam last night?’

  I jumped as Miranda tapped me on the shoulder and replied with forced surprise. ‘Sam? Last night? Why would I have been with Sam last night? What are you talking about?’

  Her left eyebrow slid slowly upward.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked. ‘Weren’t you helping him make dinner for his girlfriend?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. That.’ It felt like a lifetime ago. ‘Um, that didn’t go very well.’

  Mir’s left eyebrow kept on climbing higher and higher.

  ‘Turns out his girlfriend has a new boyfriend,’ I explained. ‘Which put something of a kink in the plan.’

  ‘I bet he is kinky,’ she said, slapping my bum lightly. ‘It’s always the quiet ones.’

  My cheeks turned pink at the thought of it. Stupid norepinephrine.

  ‘He was very well behaved last night, can’t say the same for Wellington.’

  Someone hadn’t fancied doing his business in a foot spa so he’d done it in Sam’s shoe instead. It was an incredibly targeted dirty protest, there was no way it was a mistake.

  Miranda added a muffin and a croissant to my latte order and carried them over to one of the little round tables next to the window. ‘OK, I need all of the details. One, what do you mean he was well behaved last night? And two, who or what is Wellington?’

  ‘One, it’s a long story and we have a pitch to talk about and two, Wellington is a cat,’ I replied, tearing into my croissant. ‘Sam’s cat and my new flatmate.’

  Mir looked utterly incredulous. Or as incredulous as it’s possible to be while inhaling half a croissant in a single mouthful.

  ‘How come I’m only hearing about this now?’ she demanded. ‘This definitely feels like something that should have been texted to your best friend in real time. What happened with the girlfriend? What did Sam do? How come you went back to your house? Where did he sleep?’ Mir bounced her palm against the tabletop. ‘I am a details person, Annie Higgins, I need details.’

  ‘We know his girlfriend has a new boyfriend because we saw her mounting him in their living room,’ I explained. ‘And no one wants to see their ex mid-shag, do they?’

  Miranda shook her head and bit into her muffin, giving the kid from behind the counter a thumbs up as he delivered our coffees to our table.

  ‘And then I took him back to mine. We’d also liberated his cat, the aforementioned Wellington, so we couldn’t very well go anywhere else. Most pubs in London are not cat-friendly, you know.’

  ‘Double standards, bloody full of dogs,’ Mir replied, covering her mouth as she spoke. ‘So you had a little sleepover party? With Sam and his cat?’

  ‘Sam made me an excellent cheese toastie, we had a drink and then we went to sleep,’ I said, fiddling with my necklace and leaving out the whole part with the dancing and the bit where I realized I was maybe, possibly a little bit in love with him. ‘And then we got up and came to work. That i
s the end of the story.’

  ‘Don’t ask me why but I’m almost positive you’re leaving something out,’ she pressed. ‘You’re doing that twitchy thing with your necklace. Show me on the croissant where he touched you.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I said, leaning forward to press my leg down with my forearm. ‘You’re more handsy than he was.’

  ‘Only because I sleep in the same bed as you,’ she replied, peeling the paper wrapping off the bottom half of her muffin. ‘Unless he’s Mr Tickle, he’d have struggled to get his mitts on you from the living room.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  This time both eyebrows shot upwards.

  ‘Annie, where did he sleep?’ Miranda asked.

  ‘Please, please, please, please, please don’t make a big thing of it,’ I said, knowing it was a complete waste of breath. ‘But he slept in my bed. With me.’

  I waited for Mir’s reaction, expecting something approaching nuclear levels, but instead she calmly sat in her seat, picking at the remains of her muffin and saying nothing.

  ‘He’s too tall for the loveseat. He tried to sleep on it but the leg broke!’ I exclaimed. ‘And I couldn’t make him sleep on the floor, could I?’

  Mir continued to chew in silence.

  ‘Really?’ I said, too impatient to wait for a reaction. ‘Nothing?’

  Miranda templed her fingers and considered the information.

  ‘What’s the point in me saying anything if you won’t admit that you like him?’ she replied. ‘If you want to carry on pretending, that’s fine. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces, regardless. It’s OK, I get it, I like him too.’

  ‘You do?’ I said, an unattractive streak of jealousy tearing through me before I could stop myself. ‘What about Martin?’

  ‘Not how you like him, you numpty,’ she clarified, a massive grin cracking her face at the horror on mine. ‘I like Sam in the same way I like Wotsits and videos of baby goats on the internet, I don’t want to bone him. He’s a very nice man who objectively happens to be very handsome and have an excellent bottom. You like him the way I like Martin and Ryan Reynolds and Ed Sheeran videos.’

  ‘You know it’s weird that you use them as porn, don’t you?’ I said, narrowing my eyes as she shrugged.

  ‘The heart wants what the heart wants,’ she replied. ‘Speaking of which …’

  ‘Morning, ladies.’ Charlie sauntered over, three coffees stacked on top of each other. ‘Plotting world domination?’

  ‘As always,’ Mir nodded. ‘Trying to caffeinate yourself to death?’

  ‘Big pitch,’ he said, resting his chin on the lid of the top coffee cup. ‘Fuelling the troops. Did Martin talk to you about our party Friday night?’

  ‘Party?’ Miranda looked at me, confused, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘We’re having a summer party,’ Charlie elaborated. ‘Wilder, I mean. But everyone in the building is invited. It’s on the roof this Friday.’

  ‘He didn’t mention it,’ she muttered, not very happy about the fact.

  ‘We’ve got a pitch on Monday,’ I replied, keeping my eyes on my own coffee cup. ‘So we’ll probably be working late.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame.’

  I could tell without looking up he was disappointed. I felt a pang of guilt and bit my lip, concentrating on my croissant.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll make it up for one drink,’ Miranda said quickly with a dazzling smile. ‘See you there.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said, a smile appearing in his voice. Charlie was so much easier to read than Sam, every thought that ran through his mind was displayed on his face for the world to see. Why couldn’t my stupid hormones have latched onto Charlie instead? ‘And don’t think I’ve forgotten about our bet. Do you think I’d make a good YouTuber?’

  ‘Sure,’ Mir replied sweetly. ‘But I wouldn’t think you’ll have time to manage a channel. I’m assuming you’ll have to take on a few more projects when you’re paying our rent as well as your own.’

  ‘See you Friday night,’ he said, laughing as he walked away. ‘Bye, Annie.’

  ‘So, where are we on the pitch?’ I pushed my cup to one side, ignoring Charlie and resting my arms on the table. Miranda looked back at me, gone out.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ she replied. ‘You’re trying to change the subject to work right now?’

  ‘We’re not talking about Sam,’ I reasoned, picking a piece of pastry out of her hair. ‘And we’re not talking about Charlie. Which only leaves work, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No, actually, it doesn’t.’ She stood up abruptly, any trace of a smile vanished from her face. ‘There’s what’s going on with me, what’s going on with Brian, the new series of Love Island. There are a million other things, Annie. Try to remember that from time to time.’

  ‘Mir!’

  I watched her walk off in a huff, silently reprimanding myself for being such a tit. There was never any point in running after Miranda when she was mad, she needed a moment to cool down, especially when she was right. I was putting so much energy into my job, my bet and my boyfriend bootcamp, I’d developed tunnel vision and completely forgotten about everyone else.

  ‘No wonder the cat likes me so much,’ I whispered in horror. It was so much worse than I realized – I wasn’t just crushing on Sam, I was turning into him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Thursday, 26 July: Eight Days to Go

  9,532 followers

  There were only eight days left in our bet.

  Eight days to find the other ten thousand followers.

  Thanks to a friend at Instagram, we’d been able to get @TheHipHistorian verified but, unfortunately, he wasn’t able to drum up any imaginary people who cared that Hitler’s nephew William served in the US Navy. Personally, I thought it was fascinating but there was no accounting for taste, especially when reality TV’s first family kept churning out babies and naked selfies to disrupt my algorithms. I was this close to the end of my tether. Had I really got myself into an unwinnable bet?

  Between coming up with clever @TheHipHistorian posts, editing videos, keeping up with our clients, slaving away over the SetPics pitch and soothing Miranda with BFF drinks the night before I had so many balls in the air, my life was starting to look like a particularly aggressive game of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Everyone was desperately busy, so much so that even Brian jumped when Sam appeared, pressed up against the meeting room window at the end of our morning catchup meeting.

  ‘Annie, you did a really good job on that boy’s makeover but you’ve got to work on his manners,’ Brian said, hand to his heart. ‘If he carries on creeping around like this, I am going to shit myself and he’s getting the dry-cleaning bill.’

  Mir, Brian and the interns picked up their stuff and filed out of the meeting room, trotting down the hallway to our office space. Hiding my sweaty palms up the sleeves of my jumper, I smiled brightly as I scooped up my things.

  ‘I was wondering how Wellington is doing,’ Sam said, following me back to my desk. Miranda and Brian sat at their desks but I could tell they were fully tuned in to the conversation.

  ‘He’s great,’ I said, swinging my hair around before peeling it off my lips. Attractive. ‘Best flatmate I’ve ever had. Apart from the scratching, the peeing and the shitting everywhere.’

  Even after I’d furnished him with the finest litter tray and scratching post a cat could ever want, Wellington decided his favourite place to sharpen his claws was on the back of the armchair and his absolute favourite place to take a dump was under my bed. Preferably in the middle of the night when I was sleeping and right under the centre of the mattress, making it as difficult to get to as possible. Not once had he even considered using his litter box for anything other than burying the scrunchies I kept in the bathroom to hold back my hair when I washed my face.

  ‘He’s anxious,’ Sam stood by my desk, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘I’m sorry. I can arrange to get the carpets cleaned.’

&n
bsp; It was the sexiest thing a man had ever said to me.

  ‘I haven’t got carpets, but thanks,’ I replied, brushing my hair behind my ear. And then flipping it out. And then brushing it back. ‘No carpet for me. I’m all about the hardwood floors.’

  Behind me, Brian coughed and spat water all over his desk.

  ‘How’s the pitch going?’ Sam asked, tapping his fingertips on the top of a lightbox that used to say Content London but now, thanks to Miranda, said something obscene instead.

  ‘It’s going well,’ I said, heart pounding at the thought of working for SetPics. ‘I think it’s going well. We’re figuring it out. It’s hard, it’s good but it’s hard. We really, really, really want to get it just right but we’ve never done anything this big before so it’s tough, you know? I keep going over the ideas and it’s like, what can I do to make sure it’s perfect? And I don’t know and—’

  Sam’s eyes widened slightly and he stopped tapping.

  ‘It’s going well,’ I said, clearing my throat. Miranda, Brian, Zadie and Nat all smirked behind their respective computer screens. ‘Thanks for asking.’

  ‘You look nice today,’ Miranda said, nodding at Sam’s semi-fancy outfit. Slim-fit sand-coloured trousers rather than his usual jeans and a long-sleeved blue-and-white striped T-shirt. I wasn’t sure he knew just how hipster he looked, but it was working for me. Shockingly. ‘Great outfit.’

  He hesitated, just for a second, before answering.

  ‘It’s one of the T-shirts you gave me,’ he said, pulling the fabric up at his waist revealing a glimpse of taut midriff that did not go unnoticed by anyone in the office. I immediately heard Zadie and Nat’s fingers flying across their keyboards. ‘I wasn’t sure about it but Brian assured me it’s definitely for a man.’

  ‘More or less,’ Brian commented. ‘Looks hot.’

  Sam pulled at the neck of his T-shirt and cleared his throat. ‘If you’re not too busy, I’d like to buy you lunch.’

  Brian perked up immediately. ‘I’m in. Anyone else fancy pizza?’

  ‘Not you,’ he clarified. ‘Annie.’

  Brian frowned. ‘And after I gave you that nice women’s T-shirt,’ he sulked.