And now Jake and I have had a two-night stand. Which I blame myself for, because I shouldn’t have accepted the lift home, and I shouldn’t have teased him with that conversation about what I enjoyed about the weekend.
He said he’s going to text me. And I really want him to because I already feel like I miss him.
But I don’t want to start a relationship with him. And I know I’m hugely jumping the gun but at some point, obviously, if I were a different person, this could morph from glorious butuncommitted sex into an actual relationship. And then it would end, because my relationships always do, and then I would be bereft, because Jake – when he’s being nice – is intoxicating company, and I don’t want to go there. I obviously don’t want him to get hurt either. So I’d rather not start a relationship at all.
I haul myself onto my feet and go over to pour out my coffee before taking a large slurp (possibly quite loudly – the joys of living alone).
Yep, we shouldn’t do this any more, I decide as I get into the shower.
I feel a lot more awake after my shower, and I do actually manage to get some work done, until I get a message from Jake:
You free this evening by any chance?
Okay, that’s good, because I have an easy no.
Really sorry but I teach an adult education class for two hours on Monday evenings so am not around this evening.
Even though my fingers are itching to say when Iamfree (like straight after the class ends at nine) I don’t write anything further, because I don’t want to lead him on.
But he does, of course, reply:
I didn’t realise you taught as well. A woman of many talents. Let me know if you’re free another time.
I sit and stare at my phone for literally minutes, wondering what I should say.
And then I remember how kind he was to me all weekend. And the fact that we had two amazing nights together and maybe he’s someone who also doesn’t usually do that. I feel like I do owe him an explanation. So I write:
Perhaps a drink later in the week? I’m free tomorrow and Thursday?
We agree to go for a drink tomorrow, at a pub near Waterloo station, so that we can both get home easily afterwards.
And there we go.
My proofreads go well, because I’ve been through this manuscript a billion times during edits, so I’m literally just proofreading for typos and any final spots of inconsistencies, but thinking about my new book does not go well, because my hero just becomes Jake.
Or Jake becomesmyhero.
Or Jakeismy hero.
Except, he isn’t. He can’t be. Because there is no hero for me. Things with Jake might have seemed great up to now – they might havebeengreat up to now – but they wouldn’t continue to be great. We’ve had two wonderful nights and that’s all it should be.
Because I don’t want to get hurt.
And I do not want to hurt him either.
I’m going to tell Jake that we shouldn’t see each other again in any kind of dating way, but I have for some inexplicable (okay not at all inexplicable) reason spentageson my make-up and hair and chosen my favourite top and jeans to wear this evening.
I arrive early and decide to wait outside the pub rather than going inside, so that we don’t miss each other.
I’m planning to tell Jake straight off what my thoughts are. I don’t want to lead him on in any way, and if he doesn’t want to see me on a no-possibility-of-sex-or-relationship basis we can just immediately go our separate ways.
I’mreallynot looking forward to the conversation.
I’m so busy limbering up for the awkwardness that is clearly going to ensue that I don’t actually notice Jake approach until he’s right next to me, beaming from ear to ear.
Smiling really, really suits him. Actually, everything suits him. Stroppiness, happiness, anger, sarcasm, you name it. He wears them all like they’re the coolest expression there is and your face immediately wants to do the same thing.
‘Hi.’ He reaches for me and I kind of turn away so there’s no possibility of us kissing or anything.
