The Art of Upgrading a Book Boyfriend (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  Annabelle looks at me in shock. “Uh, no you won’t. Black dress, you know the one, red heels. Come on, Zoe, this is our first night out in ages.”

  I attempt to smear some enthusiasm on my face. The good news is that if I go tonight, then I won’t have to make the effort again for at least two months.

  “Okay, okay, but we will have to take some plasters those shoes destroy my feet.”

  An hour later we are at Brixton Academy, and I am ten people deep in a queue at the bar, my feet are already killing me and Annabelle and Boring John are nowhere to be seen. They went to check our jackets into the cloakroom when we got here and I haven’t seen them since. Excellent.

  It’s a massive crush at the bar, but I am more than aware when a hand lingers on the small of my back for longer than a passing moment. I wait for it to move, and then I wait a little more.

  It’s still there.

  “Get your slimy hand off me.” I turn with my elbow out making contact with the sticky fingered loser’s ribs.

  “Jesus.” It’s the sandwich stealer who’s now doubled up in pain, fingers spread against his waist.

  “Serves yourself right.”

  Tom straightens up. Tom.

  “What?” He shrugs his hands to the side, as much as the limited space allows. “Are you still stroppy about that sandwich?”

  “I’m still hungry, if that’s what you mean, and I am still blaming you.”

  A wide smile lights up his face and his eyes shine. “Really? You’re still blaming me? You could have eaten something else by now.”

  “I did. But it wasn’t what I wanted.”

  Tom takes a step in towards me, and I find myself holding my breath as I lower my eyes to take a quick glance at his outfit. I always find a man’s outfit an enormous tell in whether I should spend time talking to them, or whether I should just make an excuse and get home to my book boyfriend asap. Black button down shirt and dark jeans. Mm.

  His mouth lowers to my ear, and I find my own mouth going inexplicably dry. “Was that really all you wanted?”

  Excuse me?

  “Chicken escalope happens to be my absolute favourite,” I retort.

  Tom throws his head back and laughs. Again I find myself watching his shinning eyes.

  “Well then I shall have to try very hard to make it up to you.” He winks at me.

  Cocky git.

  “Don’t bother.”

  Spinning back around again, I concentrate on getting the bartenders attention. The whole time I am waiving my money around I am acutely aware of Tom standing right next to me. Every so often I feel the skin of my arm brush against his, and it sends a little rush of electricity over my skin. Finally I get the drinks, I’ve ordered triples just so I don’t have to stand the crush at the bar again. Turning to say goodbye and to give him my spot at the bar I realise he is not behind me after all, and it is some fat guy in a faded Metallica T-shirt whose been making my skin flurry with goose-bumps.

  Bye then.

  Finally after circling the crowd five times I locate Anabelle and John snogging in a corner. Excellent another night as a spare wheel.

  I knock back one of my drinks straight up quickly followed by the other two. Then I start to twitch again, my eyes every so often darting around the crowd looking for Tom. I’m only interest to see who the sandwich stealer is here with.

  “I’m going for a wander,” I shout at Anabelle and John.

  Anabelle breaks her lips away from John’s to say, “But the bands are about to come on.”

  “Yeah yeah, I’ll be back.” I wave my hand at them dismissively and edge out into the crowd, quickly losing myself in the sea of people.

  I’ve done a complete circuit of the venue. Twice. And am beginning to think that I may have imagined my conversation at the bar when I feel fingers against my elbow.

  I turn slowly this time so I don’t cause any physical injury.

  “Are you looking for something?” Mouth close to my ear.

  “No.”

  “Sure? You’ve walked past me twice.

  Busted.

  “I’m looking for my friends.”

  “What the ones you waved goodbye to ten minutes ago?”

  “Yes those ones.”

  Half of Tom’s mouth curves into a deliciously devilish grin. “I’ve seen something of interest over here.” He nods his head towards an alcove in the wall behind us.

  “But the bands are that way?” I point at the stage.

  “And?”

  Tom tugs on my hand, and although it is something that I never ever do, I follow him into the darkened area.

  The moment we are out of sight his hands slide along my waist, and I can feel the heat of his palms through the thin material of my dress. His mouth lowers to mine, but then hesitates, and I stand there waiting for him to make a move.

  Then I do something that I haven’t done before, well not successfully anyway. I make a move of my own.

  Something about him standing there, and the heat generating between us makes me think of all those damn books that I read. All the heroines filling the pages, who all know the right thing to do at the right time, and it courses through me.

  I slide my fingers along his shoulders and into the hair at the base of his neck, as I edge myself onto tiptoes, and place my lips against his. I can feel the lazy smile against the corners of my mouth and it makes me flick my tongue against it. Moving himself into me he pushes me back against the wall and deepens the kiss by using his teeth to gently tug on my lower lip before sliding his tongue into my mouth using it to start up a gentle dance as it darts against my own.

  Against the wall, he pins me with his weight, one long leg sliding between mine as his hand smooth’s down along the curve of my stomach.

  Whoosh.

  That’s the fire starting at the tip of my toes and spreading up my legs at such a rate it feels like I’m burning. I try to hold it in, but I give a spontaneous gasp which makes him push against me further.

  Slowly Tom edges his lips away from my mouth, down the cleft of my chin and along my throat. His teeth pull with the slightest pressure on my earlobe which he whispers into. “So, I’ve been thinking about that payback.” His voice is so low and the burn making its way up my legs centres itself in the pit of my stomach and between my legs. One of his hands grazes firmly along my right breast and the burn intensifies about tenfold.

  “Yes,” I squeak.

  So not cool.

  “How do you feel about skipping out of here? I could cook you dinner? We could go for a drink, see where this goes.” His lips seek mine out again and I melt back into him, feeling myself slide deeper and deeper under, until for one split moment I can completely see where this could end up.

  It is only for one split second, because as his hand with his beautifully long firm fingers comes to a rest cupping my right butt cheek I have the mental wake-up that happens to me too often.

  I’m not that girl.

  I didn’t move to London to throw it all way on a one night stand with some guy who will blab about it all over the office. I’m just not the kind of girl who will have a one night stand. Ever. That’s the stuff I read about in books, and I can’t believe that Tom the very sexy IT guy will be interested in much more than a one night stand with me.

  It would be safer for me to go home and find out what happened to the hot cowboy I was reading about last night. Safe.

  I pull away breaking the electric contact with his mouth.

  “Thanks for helping me out today Tom, I did appreciate it.”

  He offers me his slow sexy corner lip hitch and it nearly makes the words falter in my throat.

  “But I didn’t appreciate it that much. I’ll buy you a sandwich next week as payback.”

  I start to walk away, even though my legs put up a distinct fight and I feel a little shaky tottering in my stupid heels.

  His fingers link through mine before I am even four paces away and he pulls me around to face him. “
That is so not what I was implying, I was just attempting some conversation, which I guess I sucked at.” The hand not holding mine runs ruefully through his hair and I get momentarily side-tracked wondering what it would feel like against my fingers.

  “It’s okay just forget it.”

  “No.” His gaze is intense in the half light. “I just want to spend some time with you. Believe me I don’t break the company infrastructure for just anyone, I’ve been waiting to speak to you for ages.”

  I look at him, like really look, nope, he is so far out of my league it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

  Giving his hand a squeeze I offer him a smile, and then I gather my wits around me like a protective cloak and walk away.

  I don’t find Anabelle and John. I just get my coat and head to the cool January air outside. Time to head home to my life of safe, just the way I like it.

  Monday

  The cowboy was rubbish in the end. Actually he was a bit of a whore, and I felt disappointed and let down when the novel simpered to its final, lack lustre, finale.

  The combination of Friday night, combined with a rubbish book unable to erase the memories left me feeling all disjointed.

  Should I have been braver and just seen what happened? I gave up a night with Tom Carter to read a book that turned out to be shit. Surely that’s got to be a lifetime low?

  In truth I spent most of the weekend wondering what Tom Carter was up to, and then hating myself for doing so. I also spent a vast amount of time twitching about restlessly while writing lists for myself to confirm why I did the right thing.

  I did do the right thing, didn’t I?

  Now I am back in the office and all thoughts of Tom leave me because it's crunch time. If Tristan doesn’t get back to me with his article, or whoever's article it is, within the next half an hour I am going to have to admit that I have fucked up and can't release the current issue.

  Then I will be going back home again.

  Tom Carter: Going to have to turn it on. You ready?

  Me: Nooooooo!!

  Oh and by the way I thought about you all weekend. . . Imagining what your fingers would have felt like under my dress not over it, and just where your mouth would have trailed to if I’d given it the chance.

  Maybe not.

  Tom Carter: Five minutes

  Me: Okay

  Tom Carter: Can we talk about Friday night?

  Me: Probably not, no

  Me: Sorry

  I feel bad, but I am far too busy panicking at the prospect of losing my job. Five bloody minutes! I doubt Tristan is even sodding awake at this time in the morning.

  I’m just about to go and face Theresa, the mega bitch, when my inbox shows one new message.

  Tristan.

  The jammy son of a bitch.

  I don't even bother to read it. I message Tom straight away.

  Me: Go. Go. Go.

  I know the server is back online because the whole office breathes a sigh of relief.

  As soon as I can, I upload Tristan's file and feed in all the subscriber data. It's rather a lot, this is one of our most successful publications.

  Then I hit send and it is gone.

  What a relief.

  About an hour later I notice that the office is deadly quiet, far quieter than normal. It's a bit odd but maybe everyone is just really busy.

  Suzy, my replacement on reception messages me.

  Suzanne Holden: Bold choice Zo, did you check it out with Mega Bitch?

  My stomach sinks to the bottom of my feet.

  Oh my god, what have I done?

  I suddenly realise why the office is as silent as a graveyard. They are all reading. They are all reading my release, the one that I didn’t check.

  With a sinking sense of trepidation I open up the email from Tristan. I can't read it on my computer. I need it on paper. It's one of my quirks; I can't take in any information at all, if it is not on paper in front of me.

  All thoughts of Tom, and the Friday night that could have been evaporate, and I hit send to the printer I grab my coat before marching out of the door.

  Outside I walk to the Deli. It's been two days, I can't hold a grudge that long, and also I am in need of decent coffee. Once ensconced in the steamy warmth, with my double shot latte, I unfold the print off.

  It's entitled Love at First Sight, and right away I know Tristan was not joking when he told me he wasn’t writing it. The touch is too light, and the subject matter is at once too delicate, but also too funny to be something that Tristan could pen. Or type, as the case might be.

  Set as a diary, it tells of a woman, not entirely unlike myself, starting University and recalls her first day. There is the first meeting with her bestie to-be, and their trip around campus where they get chased by scary geese. A host of other characters are in there, a dodgy twin brother, a Goth Chick, and a car with a name. And then there is the moment when she first sees him, and it really is him. The guy. And I just know he is going to be the love of her life. It’s written between every line on the page.

  No sorry for yourself cowboy for this girl and no running away from the prospect of a hot night of sex with the office IT guy.

  It ends with the first day of term, and by the time I have finished reading, my heart has an ache inside it that I have never felt before. The way she describes the comfortable familiarity these two have with each other makes me feel something hollow on the inside.

  I want more. I need to know more. I want to know what happens next.

  Tristan didn't write this I know that for a fact, but I need to meet the person who did. I want them to finish it for me. I really want them to finish it for me.

  It's not our usual fare but as I walk back into the office I am confident that I haven’t made a mistake.

  The confidence lasts until I get to my desk and find a message.

  Mega Bitch: My office ASAP

  Oh crap.

  Walking in I find her typing furiously at her computer.

  "Ah Zoe!"

  "Mm, it's me."

  Sack me now let’s get it over with.

  "Interesting choice of article. Did you write it?"

  "No!"

  She looks me up and down slowly.

  "It needs work if you did."

  "I didn't."

  "Okay. Listen, Bob Robson wants to see you next door."

  "Next door?"

  "Yes, next door. He thinks you have an eye for a story. Why don't you pop over there later and see what he wants?"

  "Uh, okay, I guess," I say turning to leave.

  "Oh and Zoe. Could you make sure you get the releases out on time in future?"

  "Yep, won’t be a problem," I assure her.

  I go back to my desk and find a brown paper bag on my keyboard. It has a post it note stuck on it.

  The guilt was too much. Here is lunch on me, maybe we could have dinner as well? TC.

  I peek inside. As expected there is a chicken escallop with crispy bacon on white, and for a reason cannot explain my heart does its second squeeze of the day.

  Going Home

  I went to see Bob. Bobidy Bob. Yes I may be a little drunk. He took me to a wine bar, and well basically offered me a job.

  Something to do with me being brave, with a fresh approach to literature. “An uncanny ability to see through the crap of publishing today and look for something unique and quirky.” So he said.

  I didn’t want to tell him that I failed to read the article before I published it. That it was a complete fluke an unreliable source sent me an amazing article to randomly upload.

  It really is amazing; we’ve had our best figures ever and it has spread like wild fire on the net - a story for romantics from a romantic they are calling it.

  This is new territory; I may have to send Tristan a box of wine.

  I am just packing up my desk (again) in a good way, when reception buzzes up. Due to my incessant twirling of my phone cable it is crackly, and well not as clear as a bell. Al
l I hear is McCannon.

  Tristan.

  I don't care about his super model girlfriend, that man is getting a full on snog for this major breakthrough in my career.

  I dash down the stairs not bothering with the lift, but instead of Tristan there is a girl waiting for me who I’ve never seen before. She has shiny bobbed hair the colour of melted chocolate which is tucked behind her ears, and she is watching me with the most amazing grey eyes I have ever seen. You can see them from right across the foyer.

  I have no idea who she is but I like her instantly, actually she kind of reminds me of me. Just normal and in the middle of everything, neither tall, or short, nor plump or skinny. Just average, with exceptional eyes that flick over me with astute awareness as I head towards her.

  "Lilah McCannon," she introduces holding her hand out.

  "Zoe Benedict," I return grabbing her hand tightly. "And you have just made my career."

  "Well you just saved my bacon," she laughs.

  "Really how?"

  "Fancy a coffee?"

  "Could do." I agree, although I am not much in the mood for a coffee. I am exhilarated and also a little tiddly. I want to celebrate. My face must give me a way.

  "Fancy a glass of wine?" she suggests instead.

  "Now that I could do, it has been a bit of a day."

  ***

  Wow.

  Delilah McCannon may have to go down in history as a legend. We have been at the pub sharing a bottle of wine and she has told me the whole story. The story of her, and her Ben.

  By the time she finished I was literally on my hands and knees, begging her to write it down for me. I need to know everything. I need to know every look. I need to know every touch and I need to know every conversation whispered between them in the dark.

  More than that, I know that everyone else is going to need to know it too.

  I won’t be the only one.

  Lilah admitted that it was always her intention to write it all down. That when the time came for Ben to leave, she knew it was the only thing to do, because she would never want to forget. Never want to forget the boy with blue eyes and guitar that changed her life.