‘Sorry, I know you’re busy,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to say bye and thanks again for the invite.’
‘Leaving so soon?’
‘Work tomorrow,’ I lied. ‘But I’ll be in touch about your ads.’
The sound of a glass breaking, followed by a loud cheer from the bar. I turned to see the culprit, Lucy, clinking shot glasses with a biker twice her size. Jay started to laugh.
‘I’ll be taking her with me,’ I reassured him. ‘Sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, at least it wasn’tyoubreaking my shit again.’
‘Pardon?’
‘My mum was really pissed about that plate . . . anyway, see you soon! Safe home!’
I stood there, stuck to the spot while he entered his office and closed the door. All I could think was: he remembers me? Yay! He remembers me!
OH.
GOD.
HE REMEMBERS ME.
Friday March 10th
11.59 a.m.Lucy has been sending me laughing gifs over WhatsApp all morning because she finds it hilarious that Jay knew who I was all along. I started ignoring her after the twelfth ‘owned’ gif but she’s still going strong.
*
3.15 p.m.Just back after picking Molly up from nursery. She made me some sort of papier-mâché jam jar creation with a love heart on one side and what looks like a bit of snot on the other. I’ve been carefully avoiding touching that in case it was sneezed there by accident. Oliver should be back around six – I imagine he’s keen for me to choose his first piece of paper from the sex jar from the way he keeps saying, ‘I cannot wait to see which one of mine we’re doing first’ repeatedly. God help me.
Saturday March 11th
I’m not saying that Oliver’s first choice isn’t perfectly reasonable in the grand scheme of things, but he’s definitely pushing my boundaries in terms of things I said I’d never do.
‘Really? You want to unload on my face?’
‘Unload? Phoebe, we’re not running a haulage company.’
I sighed. ‘You know I hate all that. It’s degrading.’
Oliver sat down beside me on our bed as I held his little piece of paper in my hand. ‘Is it, though?’ he enquired. ‘You know I love and respect you . . . and look, even if it is – why can’t we throw a little bit of degradation in there? I don’t feel that comfortable when you ask me to call you a filthy bitch but I still do it.’
‘Well, that’s completely diff—’
‘Actually, fuck it; who am I kidding? I love all that.’ He took the note out of my hand and pushed me back on to the bed. ‘I want you to be my filthy bitch. I’m not even sorry. I want you to suck my cock and let me finish on your face.’ He started undoing my jeans.
I have no idea whether it was the forceful approach Oliver took or the fact that he’d called me a filthy bitch twice and it turned me on, but moments later I was on my knees in front of him, telling him to avoid my hair.
To be honest, it wasn’t as awful I thought it would be. In fact, when I saw how excited Oliver was by the whole thing, it made me wish I’d done it sooner.
Monday March 13th
‘Well, I have to say I’m impressed,’ Lucy remarked as we made coffee before the morning meeting. ‘Though, I think you should prepare yourself for most of Oliver’s suggestions to be ejaculation-related.’
We hadn’t even noticed the cleaner standing behind us, until she coughed like a disapproving parent. We took our cups and walked back through to the office.
‘You enjoyed it, though?’ I nodded, holding open the corridor door. ‘Yeah. I guess it was pretty hot. He looked pretty hot doing it. God, I liked making him feel like that.’
