Trying to flirt with someone who knows you inside out is mortifying. Standing beside me in the kitchen was the man who witnessed a baby emerging from my foof and now he was about to witness me disappear up my own arsehole, trying to convince him I’m still sexually alluring. Lucy had suggested I try and sell myself more, rather than acting like my usual self-deprecating self – you know, the one who isn’t getting laid.
My assault on his senses began in the kitchen where I sauntered in, nonchalantly, watching him pull out the roasting tray from the back of the cupboard.
‘Honey?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I meant to ask: you’re OK with all this abstinence stuff, right? You’d tell me if it became too much?’
‘What? Oh yeah. Sure. Can you grab the chicken from the fridge, please?’ The tray clattered noisily as he pulled it out.
‘Did you have a good day?’ I continued, brushing my hand across his back as I passed him to get to the fridge. I’d worn the little red slip dress I’d bought in the January sales; a tad overdressed for Sunday night dinner but it made my tits look spectacular.
He nodded. ‘Yeah. I was here. With you. All day . . . but yeah, I guess it was fine. Is that—’
‘Why yes, this is a new dress,’ I replied. ‘Thanks for noticing.’
He smirked. ‘Right . . . I was going to say“Is that chicken OK to reheat?”but yes, your dress is very nice.’
See? FUCKING MORTIFYING.
I told him that the chicken was fine, touching his back again for reasons unknown, before propping myself up against the kitchen worktop, hoping my tits would be enough to distract him from my faux-pas. I needed to make him think of sex. And me naked. Naked and wet.
‘I might have a shower later,’ I said, watching him busy himself with dinner. The moment I said it, I regretted it. I’d basically just told him that I was thinking of having a wash. A WASH! How is that sexy?!
But of course, I carried on rambling because it’s me and I fucking suck at this.
‘I could get soapy . . . you know . . . soap myself up . . .’ Oh GOD, now I was simulating ‘having a soapy wash’ with my hands while he paid little to no attention.
‘Get the gravy, will you?’
My hands went back to my sides and I sighed. ‘Sure. Will do.’
This was obviously the wrong strategy. Subtle, deranged, mime Phoebe wasn’t working. I need to think of something else.
Monday February 13th
‘Hi, I’m looking for Jay? I’m Phoebe fromThe Post. He’s expecting me.’
The terrifyingly facially-contoured girl behind the bar stopped stacking glasses and sighed, walking off towards the back and through a small black door without saying a word, leaving me alone in the empty bar. Despite Downtime Bar being two streets away from the office, I’ve never been here. Now that I’m the wrong side of thirty, I tend to frequent bars which don’t make me stand beside twenty-year-olds and wish I was younger or dead. It has the feel of a former dive bar, artfully disguised by plush booths, a vegan-friendly menu and an expensive cocktail list on the wall behind the bar.
I reached into my bag and put my phone on silent, preparing myself to meet my final bore of the day. The self-importance that radiates from some managers is—
‘Hi. Phoebe?’
I stopped fiddling with my phone and looked up to see a face I’d seen before. Only I couldn’t quite place him.
‘Jay?’ I replied. ‘Nice to meet you. Thanks for seeing me . . . sorry, but have we met before? You seem very familiar.’
He smiled. ‘No, I don’t think so. I must just have one of those faces.’
He motioned me over to sit at a booth while I hoped desperately that I hadn’t accidentally shagged him at some point. He’s hot, it could have happened. I definitely remember punching above my weight in the past . . . Christ, I ended up with Oliver. He’s a nine even when he’s hungover.
I tried to scan Jay’s face without it seeming too obvious. Black hair, thick-rimmed glasses, tattoo of an owl on the underside of his forearm . . . no, I’d remember that tattoo . . . unless he got it after I shagged him . . . maybe if I saw his cock, I’d be—
‘So what have you got for me?’ he asked, interrupting my very unprofessional train of thought. ‘I should warn you, our advertising budget is pretty minimal.’
‘You’re familiar with our Entertainments section?’
