‘Deep down I want to believe that. But when you’ve been hurt, it’s really hard to. I know Eric is just one man. Not even a man. A boy. A total and utter dickhead. And I’ve definitely realised that he can’t have loved me.’
‘I’m sorry to have to agree, but that’s probably true. In which case, although it may not seem like it now and I’m sure your girlfriends have told you this a million times, you really are better off without him. Of course I don’t condone his methods, but ultimately his actions set you free to find someone who will love and value you. Hang on in there, Emily.’
‘Thanks.’ I smiled. ‘You were right.’
‘About which part?’ he said.
‘When you said that you’re a good listener.’
‘Thanks. And that’s why they pay me the big bucks!’ He chuckled. ‘Not at Cuppa, obviously. We’ve established that. I mean my patients. I did mention that I was charging you for this shrink session, didn’t I?’
‘No, you didn’t, Dr Josh.’
‘Oh, my bad. Still, as you’re a Cuppa regular, I’ll give you my special discount, so that’s a snip at just ninety-nine quid for you.’
‘Pff,’ I scoffed. ‘You’d be lucky! I’m not even sure I have ninety-nine pounds in my bank account. How about I buy you another Jack Daniels and Coke instead?’
‘Deal.’
As I headed to the bar, I couldn’t stop smiling. This guy was different. Special. Somehow I could feel it.
I liked Josh. A lot. The million-pound question now was whether there was the slightest, teeniest, smallest, remotest chance that he could possibly consider liking me too…
Chapter Seventeen
I lay in bed grinning like a Cheshire cat. Last night was amazing. Josh was amazing.
No, no. We didn’t sleep together or anything like that. A girl can dream. I just had a lovely night with him.
Awww.
I closed my eyes and started smiling again as I pressed rewind in my brain and started thinking about us sitting in the pub together. He was such a cool guy. I’d poured my heart out. Told him about one of the most humiliating and heart-breaking periods of my life, and he didn’t judge or make me feel like a loser. He just listened and gave me his words of wisdom.
And man was he wise. Somehow he knew exactly what to say. Josh had such a positive aura about him. He didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear just for the sake of it. He was direct, yet still so glass half-full. He understood the crappiness of the situation but focused on how to learn from it. How the pain could make me a stronger person. He really made me feel so much better.
Normally I was nervous around new guys, but I felt like I’d known Josh for ages. I had never spoken to a man before who’d put me so at ease. Someone who was so good with words. Not BS, charmer-type spiel, but a person who was genuinely an excellent communicator. Maybe he was a therapist after all.
In fact, who was this guy? There was definitely more to him than met the eye. There had to be.
Whilst I’d appreciated him letting me offload about my problems and the sorry state of my love life, I wanted to hear more about him. I had a feeling he wasn’t working at Cuppa by choice, more as a means to an end. I was curious to know his story.
I had tried on a few occasions to find out how he had come to work there and what his background was, but each time, Josh turned the subject back on to me. I got the feeling he wasn’t keen to talk about it, so I didn’t pressure him, especially as he’d been so kind.
Towards the end of the night, though, my curiosity levels were sky-high, and given that I’d had several Southern Comforts by then (yes, all doubles) my inhibitions had flown well and truly out the window. So I’d asked him again why he was being mysterious and wasn’t talking about himself. He’d shifted in his seat and said that it was because tonight was about me and that next time he’d tell me more about him.
‘Next time?’ I’d asked, trying to suppress my excitement.
‘Yes,’ he’d said before his face fell a little. ‘Unless of course you’d rather there not be a next time.’
In my mind I was screaming: Are you joking? Do you know how hard it is to find an intelligent guy who’s easy to talk to, funny, a great listener, kind and drop-dead gorgeous? Of course I’d bloody want there to be a next time. Is tomorrow too soon?
But instead, to avoid sounding too keen, I’d simply said, ‘A next time would be great. I’ve enjoyed myself tonight, thank you.’ Delivered like a pro. Impressive. Particularly considering how much I’d had to drink.
We’d stayed until last orders, then he’d helped me to my door. Helped is the operative word as I was a little—actually very—unsteady on my feet. If I remember correctly, we’d walked at a snail’s pace and I’d almost toppled over a few times as I was still in the heels I’d put on to go to the restaurant, which, combined with the alcohol and me being a lightweight, was not ideal for staying upright.
Things were a bit awkward when we got to the front door of my building. It was that point where you’ve met someone new, you’re saying goodbye but you don’t know whether to hug them or do that kiss on the cheek thing. Given the choice, I would have gladly bypassed both options and made a beeline for his gorgeous lips. Thank God I was alert enough not to do that. It would have been so embarrassing.
Was that a missed opportunity? If he’d blanked me, I could have just blamed it on the alcohol. Actually, no. That would have been a terrible idea. If I was him, I wouldn’t have wanted to play tonsil hockey with a girl who’d thrown up a few hours earlier. Anyway, in the end we didn’t kiss or hug.
‘Thanks again for the favour and keeping me company tonight,’ he’d said. ‘See you at Cuppa soon?’
‘Of course!’ I’d said. ‘You know I need my caffeine fix. When are you in next?’
‘Monday morning,’ he’d replied.
‘Cool. Well, I’ll see you then for my free latte.’
‘Sure. A promise is a promise, so your complimentary latte will be there waiting for you along with your blueberry muffin.’
‘Gosh, I’m so predictable!’ I’d joked.
‘No, It’s just my job to remember the orders of special customers.’
‘Special, eh?’ I’d said excitedly.
‘Er, yeah, you know,’ he’d stuttered. ‘Regulars.’ He’d blushed. ‘Well, I better get going. Thanks again, and see you Monday.’
‘Yeah, see you on Monday, Josh, and thank you for being such a great listener.’
He’d smiled (oh, and he had a beautiful smile—straight teeth and nice full lips) and then headed off.
I hadn’t been able to sleep all night. Not just because I had to get up a million times to go to the toilet as I’d been guzzling gallons of water to prevent myself from having a hangover this morning, (which thankfully seemed to have done the trick), but mainly as I kept thinking about his gorgeous face and how he’d cheered me up and made me laugh. He was so lovely.
Whilst part of me was really glad to have something to smile about, particularly as it had helped me to block out the whole Eric and Nicole sighting, I was also worried that if I kept obsessing over Josh, when I saw him at Cuppa, I would start behaving strangely, stuttering or playing with my hair.
I really wasn’t good at acting cool. If I tried to lean casually at the end of a bar to look all demure and sexy, I was the kind of woman whose elbow would slip, then I’d fall flat on my face. I just couldn’t do it.
Yes. I must act normal. Which meant as much as I liked him, I had to resist the temptation to start dressing up in the morning just to show him that I didn’t always look like I’d dragged myself out of bed or had an ugly crying meltdown after bumping into my ex. If I suddenly started wearing make-up and decent clothes, he’d definitely know I liked him.
I needed to calm down and block him out of my mind too. Not least because Henry would be coming round in less than two hours. Which actually might not be a bad thing. Maybe some sex would take my mind off both Eric and Josh.
Yes
, Henry. I was surprised to receive a message from him on Monday night. Like I’d said to Kat and later to Chloe during our morning debrief that day, as I had slept with him so quickly, I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again.
He’d asked me how I was and if I fancied meeting up on Wednesday night. I had my life drawing class, so I’d told him I couldn’t. I’d offered Thursday or Friday as an option, but he had plans. Then he’d suggested Saturday night, which was a no-go as I was supposed to be going on the dining meet-up, so that didn’t work either (who’d have thought that my diary would be this busy?), but we’d settled on this afternoon instead.
I’d asked where he wanted to go and he’d said it would be nice to just ‘chill’ at mine, which was clearly man speak for come to yours and have sex.
Whilst I admit that I wanted it too, now that I was making an effort to get out more, I didn’t want to fall into the habit of him just coming here all the time, having a shag and then going home. I wanted to get out and do things. Go to gigs, art galleries, markets, museums—that kind of thing. Mind you, who was I kidding? Like Henry had said himself, he was into men’s stuff, so he’d probably rather spend his weekend drinking and watching football, not visiting the Tate. Definitely not husband material as I’d established on our last date. I just had to adjust my mindset and say that this is what it is. A person to have fun in the bedroom with. Get some satisfaction under the sheets. Nothing more, nothing less.
On the subject of satisfaction, if I was going to get any of that this afternoon, I really had to tackle this going down thing. Get to the root of his reservations. If he was reluctant again, I’d follow Kat’s advice about asking him what his concerns were and also suggest the sixty-nine.
I looked at my watch again. He was late. We’d said 1 p.m. It was now 1.35 and he hadn’t even texted to say he’d been delayed.
See? Because he was coming here, he didn’t think he needed to be punctual, which is another reason why I’d prefer to meet outside of my flat. This was only our second date (well, he would say third) and already bad habits were forming. So annoying. If we were going out somewhere, I bet he wouldn’t be late. He’d take our meeting time more seriously.
I plumped up the pillows for what felt like the hundredth time. A month ago I probably would have just gone online until he arrived. But I’d hardly logged onto social media the last week or so. Turning off my notifications and leaving my phone in another room helped, as did finding other things to do with my hands after work, like painting my nails (after making them look pretty, there’s no way I wanted to smudge them by scrolling or typing). Plus, I’d been too busy going out or doing extra sketches inspired by my life drawing classes in the evenings. I suppose I could have taken photos on that rooftop when I was with Henry and posted a photo of the London skyline, or taken a snap of our drinks when I was in the pub with Josh, but I hadn’t thought about it at the time as I was so engaged in our conversation. Oh well.
I straightened the perfume bottles on my dressing table. Again. Ten minutes late was acceptable, but forty minutes without so much as a courtesy message? That was plain rude.
Are you on your way? I texted. Just as I clicked send, the buzzer rang.
‘Sorry. Got held up,’ he said, strolling through the door. ‘Mmmm. You look sexy.’ he pulled me into him and gave me a sloppy kiss. I turned away. ‘Ah, come on, babe. I said I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you—’
He started to kiss my neck. Dammit. I was a sucker for that. As I was horny, I guessed I could forgive his lateness. Just this once…
Before I knew it, we were rolling around on the bed naked, clothes in a heap on the floor.
As I lay on my back, he climbed on top and edged himself up towards my face.
‘Suck it, babe,’ he said, rubbing himself.
‘Let’s do it together,’ I suggested.
‘What?’ He frowned.
‘Sorry, that came out wrong. Obviously we can’t both suck it. I mean, I do you and you do me. You know, sixty-nine,’ I said.
‘Ah, babe,’ he said, stroking my breasts and moving even closer to my mouth. ‘You go first and then I’ll do you later,’ he said as his tip touched my chin.
Oh, no, you don’t. I felt frustration rising within me.
‘Later is what you said last time, Henry, and you didn’t,’ I said, moving my head away slowly. ‘So this time you can go first and then I can do you later.’ I pushed him over on to his back and then straddled him, moving myself upwards, just as he’d done to me. It felt good to show some confidence.
‘No, please!’ he said as if I was holding a massive knife and threatening to chop off his manhood. ‘Stop!’
‘Why?’ I frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t do that.’ He winced, bolting upright.
‘Why?’ I asked trying to sound sympathetic, but also feeling rejected and self-conscious. ‘I’m clean. I literally just had a shower.’
‘I’m sure you are. It’s just I’m a man, babe. A proper man. And real men don’t do that. It’s kind of, you know—gross!’ He grimaced.
‘What?’ I said, placing my hands on my hips as every ounce of sympathy evaporated. ‘You did not just say that. Let me get this straight. You’re a real man, so you won’t go down on a woman?’
‘That’s right,’ he said proudly.
‘But you have no problem with me going down on you?’ I frowned again, trying and failing to understand what I was hearing.
‘Well, no. Of course not. I love it. It makes me feel great! That’s what good women do—to please a man,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Unbelievable!’ I shouted, my blood now boiling like a kettle. ‘What good women do? Jesus. Here I was thinking that dinosaurs were extinct! And what about a man pleasing the woman?’
‘What about it?’ he scoffed. ‘I suck your breasts, you suck my dick, what’s the problem?’
He cannot be serious.
‘You sucking my breasts is not the same, Henry! If it is, then how about I suck your nipples instead? That’s fair enough, isn’t it?’ I scowled. ‘And what if I say it is a problem for me and I’d like it if you considered kissing me down there?’
‘No way!’ He winced, covering his mouth as if the mere thought of it made him want to throw up. ‘Sticking my tongue where blood and babies come out? Eurgh! No, thanks.’
‘You know what, Henry?’ I said, jumping off the bed, picking up my dress and dragging it on over my head. ‘I think you’d better leave.’
‘Ah, come on, babe!’ He climbed off the bed and rested his hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t be such a drama queen! Is this all because I was a little bit late? I already said I was sorry. Twice!’
‘Are you joking?’ I brushed his hand from my shoulder. ‘It’s not about you being late, although that was annoying and rude.’
‘Oh, I see. Is the time of the month on its way or something? Is it your hormones that are making you all moany? Don’t worry, babe. You’ll feel better once you’ve had this inside you.’ He smirked, rubbing himself.
‘Sod off, Henry!’ I shouted, grabbing his clothes and throwing them at him. ‘Put your little lump of chauvinist meat away and get the hell out of my flat!’
‘Oh, don’t be like that, babe. I didn’t have you down as one of those mouthy birds who are always making demands. That’s why I chose you at speed dating. You seemed sweet and willing to please,’ he said, moving forward to touch me again and then wisely deciding against it. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going.’ he snarled, picking up his clothes. ‘Actually, babe, if you don’t want to suck or fuck me, can you at least wank me off? Please? Look at this,’ he said, pointing in between his legs. ‘It’s kind of evil to send me home with a raging hard-on, don’t you think?’
Speechless.
I scowled and folded my arms. No words necessary.
He hurriedly pulled on his boxers and his jeans, grabbed his shirt and left.
Selfish bastard. Goodbye and good riddance. I might have been ho
rny, but I had my dignity. I’d rather be sexually frustrated than sleep with a Neanderthal who had no consideration for women and their needs. Henry could go and crawl back under whatever prehistoric rock he came from.
I bet he didn’t even remember my name. He never even used it once. It was always babe this and babe that. I’ve always thought that was something men did when they were seeing loads of women and didn’t want to get their names mixed up. After tonight, I wouldn’t put it past him.
Like Henry had said when we went out on that date—neither of us were getting any younger, which meant I didn’t have time to waste on someone like him.
What I really needed was a man who respected women. Was sensitive to my needs. A man who would treat me like an equal as I should be. Someone who was smart, funny and intelligent. Someone decent.
Someone like Josh.
Chapter Eighteen
‘He’s totally into you Em,’ gushed Chloe as we sat in our favourite spot at Cuppa.
‘Shh! Stop it. Seriously! You promised you’d behave yourself today.’
‘I am!’ she said, placing her hands on her hips. ‘If I wasn’t, you’d know about it, trust me! Goodbye, Eric, hello, delicious Josh. Just saying!’
Classic Chloe. Honestly. She was a law unto herself.
After Henry left yesterday, I was furious and just had to vent, so I gave her a call and spent the best part of half an hour growling down the phone as she cleaned the kitchen, then started washing up the dishes (yes, Chloe’s aversion to technology also extends to dishwashers, which meant she did everything by hand).
I would have spent at least two more hours seething about Eric and Nicole had Chloe not threatened to put the phone down after the first few minutes of the story.
She told me that discussing it would just be giving Eric oxygen and that whilst she didn’t normally wish ill on human beings, after what he’d done to me, she’d rather see him suffocate, so that conversation was brought to an end almost instantly. But, once I’d mentioned my evening with Josh, she’d promptly downed the dishes and shouted: “For Pete’s sake, Emily! We seriously need to work on your storytelling skills. Why have we just wasted forty minutes talking about that sexist pig Henry and Eric the giant fopdoodle when we should have been speaking about the dishy coffee shop guy? Crumbs! Where are your priorities?”
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