Ten Dates: A fun and sexy romantic comedy novel (The Power of Ten Book 1)

by Emily James

  I open the door, quietly checking up and down the corridor, just in time to see Six being guided into his apartment by a roll of tin foil.

  I walk back into my apartment and slam the door.

  Trust Six to break my heart without even knowing it was his to break.

  AFTER SPENDING THE night crying, with my headphones on and my dignity off, I get up early and go for a much-needed run to clear my head.

  On the way home, I stop by Melinda’s. She makes me a strange green concoction using the new juicer that she impulse bought yesterday, and I tell her my cunning plan. Melinda tries to talk me out of it, but I’m resolute. I’m selling my apartment and going travelling. I’ll spend some time with my folks, before jetting off to warmer climates. Maybe I’ll get a job on a cruise ship or go on a yoga retreat. Perhaps I’ll meet a lion tamer and run away with the circus. I just know that I need to get away.

  “I need an adventure. It’s been a tough year,” I tell her.

  Melinda reminds me, “You do know that it’s still only January, right?”

  “Then my mind is even more firmly made up.”

  “All this because you’re in love with Six?” Melinda has the audacity to say this aloud.

  I give her the stink eye to make it clear how unwelcome her blasphemous comments are. “I am not in love with Six. Six is a traitorous bastard, who thinks it’s okay to steal parking spaces, and sing my favourite songs while partially naked. Six thinks that it’s okay to have sex with Twenty. Twenty-Six! Did you ever hear such a ridiculous number?” I ask her.

  Melinda shakes her head and I take a gulp of the green grunge, like it’s the right thing to do, even though it’s snotty texture would probably be best eaten with a spoon.

  “I’m not in love with him, anyway,” I tell her.

  Melinda leans forward in her seat and her lips turn up at the edges. It’s the look of a woman formulating a plan of her own.

  “So you’re going on date number nine, then?” she asks.

  “No, Melinda,” I groan. “I did the dates, every awful, traumatic, injurious,” I rub my butt in respectful remembrance, “...and harrowing date you put me on. Please let me off. I can’t take anymore,” I say with a dramatic sigh.

  Melinda smiles her knowing, placating smile that she gives the children to let them think that they’ve won.

  “Joanie, honey, let’s compromise. Tonight we’ll go to Mikey’s. He’s dying to show us his cooking and he wants us to meet Chef. It’ll be low key. After all, if you’re selling up and leaving, you really ought to devote some quality time to us now, while you still can,” she tells me.

  “Oh, well I guess that sounds okay,” I agree. “Actually, that sounds just what I need.”

  “Great. I’ll clear it with Mikey and pick you up around seven. I’ll have a look through the list and find some nice dinner party company.”

  I gawk at Melinda.

  “That’s not what I agreed to,” I huff and cross my arms.

  “Come on, it’s just dinner with friends. Steve has the kids and it’ll be good practice for me, you know... to get used to guy company again. You’ll be supporting me, really,” she says. Her bottom lip pokes out and she looks thoughtful. Put like that, I don’t know how to turn her down.

  “Well, if it’d help you...” I waiver. “Are you sure you’re ready?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah, it’ll be perfect. There’s this guy who has a job opening. Steve’s getting all tight in the divorce and I’m probably going to need a job, so it’s a two bird, one roasting tin, type of situation.” Melinda winks.

  “So long as you promise there won’t be tin foil I’m in,” I reluctantly agree.

  WHEN I ARRIVE HOME, sweaty and annoyed for allowing myself to be talked into another date by Melinda, I see a huge bunch of pink and yellow carnations, daisies and freesias haphazardly tied together with a straw binding, leaning against my door. Some of them are already starting to wilt, leaving petals on the carpet.

  Curious, I scoop them up in my arms and let myself into my apartment where I search for the gift tag. The small brown, innocuous card reads:

  Dearest Joan,

  The Big Apple can’t hold a candle to the apple of my eye.

  I missed you too much to stay. I can’t live without you.

  Marry me?

  Chris.

  As if on fire, the flowers burn a rash on my hands and I run into the kitchen and fling them into the bin. Petals rain down like confetti and I feel as though I’m about to hyperventilate. I close the door to the kitchen behind me and head to the bathroom to shower off the scent of the flowers. As I remove my sports bra and switch on the shower, I’m awash with could-have-beens and wish-had-beens.

  I start to consider if Joanie is better off being, Just Joanie, or if there could be a future with Chris, now that he’s back.

  IN MILD DEFIANCE OF my non-date, I don’t dress up, even though Melinda suggested I wear my emerald green halter neck dress and strappy heels. Instead, I choose a pair of skinny jeans, my brown flat ankle boots and a checked shirt. I wear my hair in a ponytail, push my geeky black framed specs up the bridge of my nose, and fling on a woolly scarf and my Parker coat for good measure. Whatever Melinda and Mikey have up their sleeves, I’m not playing anymore.

  Before I leave my apartment, I check the peephole for Six. The corridor is clear, so I swiftly walk out to the front of the building where Melinda waits in her white and battered old SUV that has the look of an old school mini bus.

  As we travel to Mikey’s plush apartment overlooking the sea, I don’t ask about date number nine. Determined to feign disinterest, I keep the conversation going by asking Melinda about her kids. She fills my nervous silence with talk about Jakey’s braces and Ed’s success with peeing on a ping-pong ball in the toilet. Apparently, he’s yet to ‘curl one out in the pan,’ but Melinda speaks with hope and excitement about the possibility.

  Melinda wears a black shift dress with a cute bohemian fringing that sways as I cautiously follow her up to Mikey’s apartment. I peer around corners and squint up the stairway as we go. I don’t know why I feel nervous, but something in my gut is warning me that all is not well.

  “You guys made it!” Mikey opens the door and greets us with a huge smile. Tonight he’s wearing an off-white chino trouser and a satin black shirt. I pass him the bottle of Pinot I brought with me and he introduces me to Chef. Chef is close to my height but much broader. He’s older than Mikey, with a well-smiled face evidenced by the deep crinkles lining his eyes and mouth. He has a confident, yet friendly smile as he shakes my hand and pulls me in for a hug.

  “So you’re the unfortunate girl, poisoned by this one’s cookie mishaps, huh?” Chef points a jovial thumb in Mikey’s direction and we both laugh. “Just one of the many advisories I teach my students; always label the food!”

  We all giggle, including Mikey who’s eyes are as big as plates as he drinks Chef in with hungry, heart shaped eyes. I can already feel that he is important to Mikey. It brings me comfort knowing that somewhere on this cold rock of misery, two people are happy and in love.

  We’re led through Mikey’s stylish open plan apartment, with its exposed bricks and stainless steel kitchen that up until recently had never been used. The furniture is a mixture of dark woods and bright red textiles, complemented by trendy abstract paintings and sculptures sourced from far-away places.

  We’re seated at a huge wooden dining table surrounded by comfortable leather chairs of different shapes and sizes. Mikey has artfully lit the room with dozens of candles and laid the table with fresh white plates and crisp linens. The overall effect is stunning, and I begin to wish I had a real date with someone special to accompany me, as I enjoy my evening with my best friends.

  Chef opens a bottle of red wine and explains about key notes and the nose of the bottle. Melinda and I nod seriously and Mikey takes the piss out of us for our pretences. Chef laughs and swats Mikey. Their relationship seems effortless, as if they’ve known ea
ch other forever.

  We’re interrupted by a knock at the door. I stare at Melinda, and then to Mikey. They both turn to look at each other as though they are innocent little lambs. My stomach turns over and growls like a wolf, warning them that traitorous bastards will be eaten!

  Mikey and Chef welcome their guest. His face is obscured by a huge bouquet of flowers. Melinda rubs her hands together and excitedly gets up to welcome the guest too. I sit back in my chair and swig my wine like a petulant teenager just asked to wash the dishes.

  “Joanie, your date’s here,” Melinda sings and walks over to the table, a dark character looms in her shadow. At first, it’s difficult to make him out in the candlelight, but I soon recognise the six-foot two, gentle giant and throw my arms around him.

  “Donnie! Oh my God, how are you?” I ask. Donnie hugs me tight and lifts me as I pounce on him. “It must have been... shit how long has it been?”

  “Ten years,” we both say in unison as Donnie puts me down and holds me out to take a good look at me. “It’s so good to see you,” I say.

  There’s a knock at the door and Melinda goes to answer it while Donnie and I stare at each other smiling.

  “It’s good to see you too. You look so fit now, are you still managing the gym?” I ask. The gym is where we all met. Melinda was the PA to Donnie, the boss of a national chain of gyms and I worked in accounts. Mikey didn’t work for Pure Fit, but he came in as regular as the staff to ogle the hot bodies and to work on his six pack. We quickly bonded over our love of Tuesday night Yoga followed by Pinot Noir.

  “Yep, still managing the gym. Can’t you tell?” Donnie grins and quickly tenses all the muscle groups in his arms and chest, which are covered by a tight, white polo shirt. There is no mistaking that Donnie is one hot piece of ass. Although, I’m confused as to why Melinda has chosen Donnie as my date. He’s gay as the day is long, not that you’d know.

  I let out a laugh, interrupted by a throat clear. I look to the source of the deep cough and am met with Six’s hard stare. I glance from Mikey, who looks on the brink of snorting a laugh, and Melinda who casually winks.

  “Joanie, this is my dinner guest...”

  “Six.” I finish her sentence for her as my brain tries to work out what the hell is going on.

  Chapter 18

  “FOUR,” SIX ACKNOWLEDGES me and then looks from me to Donnie and then back to me again. Donnie wraps one arm around my waist as he holds his other arm out to shake Six’s hand.

  “Good to meet you, man,” Donnie says.

  Melinda grins and chews on her lip as Donnie continues to hug me close to him.

  “So, how long have you wanted to date Six?” I ask Melinda, wondering what she is playing at.

  “Oh, I’m not dating him, silly. I just wanted to invite him, you know, to thank him for looking after my friend when I couldn’t be there, and also, what with you leaving soon, I thought it’d be good for me to meet new people.”

  “Oh. Uh-huh. I see,” I say. It’s lucky that Donnie has a hold of me or else I might be inclined to throw a wobbly.

  “She’s leaving?” Six asks, but we both ignore him.

  “A word, please, Joanie. Let’s leave these boys to talk. I could use some help in the bathroom,” Melinda says.

  Inside the bathroom, Melinda hisses, “Right. Donnie’s going to do his straight routine and make Six jealous. You are going to be your usual charming self and make that nit-wit jealous, okay?”

  I gawk at Melinda. “That’s the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard. He’s shagging Twenty for God’s sake!”

  “No. He’s not. I asked him. She’s just his hired PR.”

  “What? Unless PR stands for personal Penis Rubber, then I think you’re mistaken. I’ve seen them. She’s always coming over, putting him to bed,” I tell her.

  “He said they haven’t, and I believe him. Now get back out there!”

  “It’s not like I have a bloody choice now that you’ve ambushed me!” I whisper-yell at Melinda.

  “Get over it and man up!” She deadpans.

  Melinda and I sit in the two seats that have been pulled out for us on the same side of the table. I sit beside Donnie but notice too late that Six sits opposite me. Mikey serves the plates of food and chef tops up our wine glasses.

  “Tonight we’re having Stilton crusted fillet steaks with a port and wine sauce,” Mikey announces proudly. Chef rubs his back as if to congratulate Mikey’s effort.

  The food looks and tastes amazing. Mikey is a perfectionist at all tasks in life and as such, he has excelled in making the plate a sheer work of art. As we all tuck in, Melinda encourages a ‘go around’ in which we all introduce who we are. It’s as if we are all on one of those awful team building exercises, but we’re all too scared of the boss to refuse.

  When it comes to Six’s turn, he explains that he’s a casino and restaurant owner, who has recently moved back to the UK from the States. When Melinda asks him out right if he is currently single, he confirms to her, while looking at me, that yes he is in fact a single man. I guffaw at his audacity.

  “Is there something you’d like to add, Four?” he says, noticing my cynicism.

  “No, nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Six nods and takes another bite of his steak. The table goes silent for a moment and then Six pipes up. “So, Four. Tell us about the ten dates. Donnie must be number nine?” Six smiles at Donnie.

  “I don’t want to bring that up,” I say, dismissing him.

  “Oh that’s a shame, it’s such a brilliant dinner party story, wouldn’t you agree?” Mikey starts snorting and I kick him under the table. All of a sudden, Chef and Donnie are leaning forward, encouraging me to go on. I push my glasses up my nose and throw an especially harsh four-eyed stink eye in Six’s direction.

  Under duress, I begin, intending to keep my description brief. “Well, Melinda thought that statistically if I dated ten guys in ten days, one of those wouldn’t be awful. However,” I smile at Donnie, “present company aside, every single one has really been quite awful.” I glare at Melinda.

  Mikey fizzles with giggles, spitting out his wine and catching it in a napkin as he hammers the table. “Oh my God, Joanie, tell them about Burns, you have to tell them about the heart attack.”

  I kick Mikey under the table again, but this time he loudly groans and bends to rub at his shin. Everyone at the table looks at Mikey, whose vision stays fixed on me.

  I quickly mouth the word sorry while doing a cutthroat action with my finger to warn him against continuing on this path. Mikey smiles sweetly and continues, “Sorry, sciatic flare up. Where was I, oh of course, Joanie’s best placed to tell this story.”

  I purse my lips, wondering where to start. “Well, it wasn’t really a heart attack...”

  “Yes, it was a heart attack,” Six interrupts.

  “No, it wasn’t,” I repeat, throwing a stern look to Six.

  “Well, I have a first aid report at Dizzy’s that says otherwise,” he adds.

  Trust Six to throw first aid reports around like he’s suddenly a Cardiologist.

  “Well, whatever it was, he obviously wasn’t very well,” I say firmly.

  “He was fine until he got a look at your tits; his heart gave out there and then,” Six says.

  “They are great tits,” Melinda adds.

  “Here, here,” Six agrees.

  “Can you both stop discussing my tits as if they’re not even in the room,” I ask.

  “Sorry, Four, you were saying.”

  “I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, that he wasn’t well, and off he went in an ambulance.”

  “After you gave him a heart attack by putting your tits in his face,” Six says with a teasing grin.

  “Six, will you please leave my tits out of this. I think it was more to do with you causing a scene.”

  “Yes, there was a scene, what was that all about...” Six rubs his chin as he ponders, “Ah, I remember now, you saying something abo
ut me shagging Twenty, which I have never done, by the way, and mocking you. Four, I would never mock you. Not without your presence, anyway. Where would be the joy in that?”

  “If you say so,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

  “Joanie, tell them about the paintballing,” Mikey says with excitement.

  “No, I am not talking about the ten dates anymore; it’s rude.” I say and look lovingly toward Donnie, for effect, who doesn’t notice because he is texting on his phone. When I nudge him, he finally catches me looking and puts down his phone, resting his hand on mine.

  Six’s eyes demand my attention by burning a hole in my retinas. “Why don’t you tell us about the proposal by Interflora,” he asks.

  My face freezes, expressionless, as if a stunned cow ready for the slaughterhouse. I haven’t told anyone yet. I couldn’t when I haven’t worked out what to do about it.

  “How did you... um...” I stutter out a response.

  Melinda looks from Six to me, waiting for an explanation.

  “Did you read the card?” I direct my anger at Six. “Well aren’t you the peeping Tom all of a sudden,” I say.

  “You were out. I was home and I was asked to sign for the delivery by the courier. They couldn’t get through the foyer door. The card practically fell on my lap. How was I to know it would be a marriage proposal?”

  Typical, suddenly I’m not the only one who can’t open the door.

  “Who was the card from, might I ask?” Melinda asks and everyone at the table leans towards me as if pulled by magnets.

  I fork a big helping of steak into my mouth and mutter a coughed answer.

  “Chris? What, when? You can’t!” Melinda yells.

  I continue chewing, waiting for Melinda to calm down, before finally swallowing and taking a sip of wine before breaking the news. The rest of the table has also given me their undivided attention.

  “So, Chris texted me, he wants to meet up with me, to apologise and explain.”

  “And propose?” Six asks. He has that funny little tick again in his jaw.