‘Not even a little bit.’ As he grinned broadly, his whole face lit up. Damn, he’s handsome. I hope I did sleep with him. Just for my ego.
I opened my presentation binder and began casually talking over readership, demographic, ad sizes, sponsorship banners . . . and then it hit me. I remembered. Eleven or so years ago, the Christmas before I met my ex, Alex (throws holy water), I pulled a guy in The Garage nightclub and we ended up shagging at his parents’ house while they were away on holiday. He made me toast in the morning and I broke one of his mum’s plates, much to his dismay. Jay . . . his name isn’t‘Jay’; that’s his initial! He’s really called Jason and he doesn’t have a fucking clue who I am.
‘We always recommended doing a run of adverts and obviously you’ll get a discount.’ I awkwardly continued, thinking,How the hell can you not remember someone you’ve slept with?
‘And our production staff can help with any artwork, etc., if you need it.’
(Oh God, I must have been so unmemorable. Back then I was a lot less adventurous – even I wouldn’t remember sleeping with me. Maybe I just look different. Of course I do, I’m almost 39 and approaching maximum hag.)
We continued my boring sales pitch and I left him with my business card, which he took in a very uninterested manner, before yelling at the bar girl to ‘bloody do something other than your face’.
‘Thanks for coming in,’ he said, turning back to me and shaking my hand. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Thanks for your time,’ I mumbled back, just wanting to leave. Coming face-to-face with the Shag of Christmas Past is bad enough, but I was also faced with the fact that this super-hot man hadn’t even saved me in his wank bank. My ego is rescinding its offer to remember.
Tuesday February 14th
Oh fucking hell, I had THE most inappropriate dream last night. I’m still unsettled. I got into a taxi and Lucy’s boyfriend Kyle was the driver and we ended up shagging in the car park of the Science Centre. But the worst part is, it was hot as hell. There was hair pulling and hands pressed against steamy windows and WTF IS HAPPENING? I’m dream-cheating on Oliver with my best mate’s boyfriend now? Am I so sex starved it’s come to this? Oh God, I can never see him again – I think the skin on my face would literally combust with embarrassment. The fact that it’s Valentine’s Day doesn’t make it any easier either. It’s making me feel guilty when I haven’t even bloody well done anything! I DID NOT HAVE ACTUAL SEXUAL RELATIONS WITH THAT MAN. I did get two Valentine cards though - one from Molly that she’d made in nursery and one from Oliver which had a plain red love heart on the front and a handwritten message inside.
Roses are red
My balls are blue
In one more week
I’ll be inside you
Technically not the most romantic thing I’ve ever read but it did come with the Alexander McQueen perfume I’ve had my eye on. He’s become far less serious these days, I think we might be on the right track here. For his present, I got him a VR headset for his phone and some of those truffle things from Thornton’s he likes. Well, I like. He might hate them but that’s not important.
Surprisingly, the only person at work to get flowers was Dorothy, who placed them in the middle of the room for us all to enjoy. Within twenty minutes, Kelly was sneezing and demanding they be removed. Brian accused her of being allergic to other people’s happiness.
By half eleven, my gnawing guilt had subsided a little but the memory of how sexy that dream had been was still very much alive. It seemed my shocking dream betrayal had made my libido go from zero to sixty. I had to text Oliver. I knew he’d be working but I didn’t care.
I’m really horny right now. Seriously. I’m so wet, it’s distracting . . .
I didn’t hear anything back for two hours but then –
Damn. Do you think me sliding a hand into your knickers is against the rules?
Oh fuck me.
*
On the way home from work, I bought a giant romantic lasagne from Tesco and we all ate together. Molly told us about a boy in nursery who made Ruby a card and then Ruby’s mum made her point him out at home time. ‘I heard Ruby’s mum say that he didn’t look right. That wasn’t nice. Jack looks more better than her mum.’
‘It’s just “better” honey,’ I reply. ‘But you’re right, it wasn’t nice. I’m not sure she’s a very nice person.’
Molly laughed. ‘Ruby says her mum cries in the bathroom like a baby all the time. Can I have some more bread, please?’
As I passed Molly the garlic bread, I felt a pang of sadness. As much as I dislike Lord Wilson, no one deserves to be crying alone in a bathroom . . . and no child should have to hear that. Oh fuck, I’m going to have to be nice to her now, aren’t I?
Wednesday February 15th
Last night was intense. After our afternoon text exchange, it was obvious we were both up for it but of course we couldn’t physically do anything about it. We lay in bed, side by side, and every time our skin came into brief contact, it was like a jolt of electricity (the sexy kind, though, not the kind where a doctor shouts ‘CLEAR!’ first).
‘When you sent me that text, I fucking throbbed,’ he said, staring at the ceiling. ‘You haven’t texted me filth in a long time. Jesus, I love that.’
It turns out that my sexy dress, kitchen seduction was misjudged. All Oliver needed to wake him up was me being obscene. Part of me wanted to apologise for being lax in my dirty talk duties; admittedly it’s not top on my list of priorities after Molly, work, paying bills and perpetually trying to flatten that weird kink in my fringe, but we used to do it frequently and I’d forgotten how much he loves it. But I didn’t apologise. Instead I decided to try to make him more aroused than he’d ever been in his life.
