‘Let’s stand over here.’ I pulled her over to a little gap in the seating where you could admire the view without encroaching on anyone’s privacy. ‘Would you go get another drink?’ I pulled out a couple of bills from my wallet for my round. ‘If he does recognise me, it’ll be the perfect opportunity for him to come over won’t it?’
‘Okay. Same again?’
I nodded and tipped the last of it back, handing her the empty glass. When she was gone, I glanced back over at Stephen. He wasn’t staring anymore; some woman was sitting on the edge of the coffee table practically leaning into his lap and taking up all his attention. I crunched down on my peppermint candy cane and turned to the view. The balmy air lifted tendrils of my hair and cooled my face as I looked out over the wall, little lights swimming like luminescent algae along the river of traffic below, as I waited and waited.
But he never came over.
Kaylee returned with our drinks. We chatted and sipped and despite me looking over and catching his eye, a number of times, he stayed right where he was. I went to fetch the drinks the next time and I thought I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked up toward the bar.
I skirted someone who was pushing their chair out, and the buckle on my sandal slipped, the strap sliding down and catching under my heel, making me stumble. A hand caught my elbow and stopped me from falling for the second time that evening.
Stephen appeared beside me. Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome. Neatly laundered, with perfect posture and the face of a Calvin Klein model.
‘Why hello, Mr Cartwright.’ I appraised him with barely concealed satisfaction. Iknewhe wouldn’t be able to resist coming over. ‘You finally decided to come say hi properly.’ I righted myself on my stupid sandal and still barely came up to his shoulder.
‘Hello, Ms Kingston.’ A smile touched the edge of his mouth, but his expression didn’t soften. There was a coiled tension in his body as he stood near me, despite the hands he’d slipped into his trouser pockets. He wasn’t going to give much away. ‘I didn’t realise it was you earlier.’
‘I didn’t think so. Would you have left me victim to your friend’s attentions if you had?’
‘He’s not a friend.’ He darted a glance over my shoulder towards the group he was with but looked away quickly, furrowing his brow at his shoes. ‘And he was being extremely rude – why would I have subjected you to that?’
‘I dunno. Revenge maybe? For the whole New Year’s Eve thing.’
His brown eyes flicked back up to me. I’d forgotten how rich their colour was: coffee and chocolate, but there was something glassy about them too tonight. Probably alcohol, though he didn’t seem that drunk. ‘You win some, you lose some,’ he replied with an enigmatic shrug of his shoulders and I felt a bite of disappointment.
Indifference – the worst of all forms of regard. I hadn’t mattered enough to hurt his pride. But I summoned a blithe smile. ‘It’s big of you not to mind losing.’
He gave a small laugh and leaned in closer. He smelt like my cocktail tasted and had nearly the same effect on my brain. His voice pitched low as it neared my ear. ‘It’s easier to accept when I know the loss wasn’t entirely mine.’
My senses returned as he stepped back again. ‘Oh wow, you thinkImissed out?’
‘It was a noble sacrifice for the sake of your friend’s happiness.’
‘Oh my God, your ego,’ I spluttered.
‘Don’t be such a hypocrite.’ He tutted. ‘You thought I would be aggrieved because I didn’t get to spend a night withyou, didn’t you? Why is it so hard to imagine I would think the same?’
My mouth flapped opened.
‘Goodnight, Noelle, enjoy the rest of your evening.’ He winked at me and walked away.
Chapter Three
The heat of the day was baking the walls of my apartment. I was spread like a starfish on top of my bed sheets staring at the ceiling. All it needed was a fan going around like helicopter blades and I was basically in a seventies’ movie having a breakdown.
Beth texted me an hour ago and woke me up, but I hadn’t read the message fully or replied yet. I couldn’t remember what I’d texted her last night when I was drunk and I was a little worried to check, since it was highly probable it’d been about Stephen.
Every ten minutes after that my phone pinged to tell me Daisy was ‘in the house’ and available to video chat and I had about six invites from my brother Sam to play Animal Crossing. Why didn’t they entertain each other? They lived in the same house, for goodness’ sake. Actually, that was exactly why they didn’t want to spend time together: they were sick of each other. I got on infinitely better with my siblings once I didn’t live with them anymore.
However much I did genuinely like them though, I had work to do.
After our fourth cocktail Kaylee and I had started scribbling ridiculous ideas in my notebook about what to do with the love triangle and how it might fit the plot I already had with some tweaks. Newsflash – it didn’t. But if I came up with abetterplot – one that might just be within touching distance if I could get my head to stop pounding – it might work. It was either that or rewrite the whole thing and I didn’t have the time for that. Unless…I asked for an extension of my deadline.
I was not the greatest at hitting deadlines. My editor was used to me requesting a couple of extra weeks, but I didn’t mind that because I always delivered soon enough, and the extra time was for tweaking and polishing each draft. It was hard to stop fiddling sometimes.
This, however, this was totally different. If I asked for an extension how long did I ask for? Two weeks, a month, two months? I hadn’t even reworked my plot yet so how did I know the scenes that would need the most work? Or how many new scenes I needed to write that didn’t even exist yet. It was a mystery. A mystery locked away in the depths of my own mind, and I needed to go at it with a chisel and brush like an archaeologist, scrape and scrape away until I found something real.
To do that though, I needed to move. I needed to get food, get dressed and sit at my laptop and work. Why did this feel like an enormous ordeal? Why was I terrified of getting this wrong? Hadn’t I always worked on the ‘you can’t fix a blank page’ method? What else was keeping me flat on my back on the bed, sweaty and pathetic?
