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“I think the one thing I should know is your name.”
“Why, if you’re refusing to have dinner with me?”
“It feels a bit unfair, since you apparently know so much about me.”
“Like the fact you’re allergic to nuts?”
“You really did read all the details on that form, didn’t you?” I ask, trying to recall everything that was asked and answered.
“I particularly liked the response to the pregnancy question.”
I cringe, my nose scrunching. What did I write?
“Not on your fucking Nelly,” he says. I can hear the smile in his words. “Does that explain why you’re so stiff?”
Stiff. I’m getting drawn in, and I don’t want in. I want partnership. “Perhaps go find someone loose,” I say, hanging up.
And, weirdly, it doesn’t feel good. Not because I’m giving him the cold shoulder, but because I’m denying myself what I know could be a really fucking amazing experience. But I’m wary, and I have a feeling I should be. I stare down at my blank screen, biting at my lip.
It’s done.
I stand up, fill my lungs, and go back to the kitchen. The girls both look up. I shake my head.
Abbie sighs.
Charley smiles softly.
Chapter 9
The next morning, after sweating my arse off at the gym, hoping to run off the tension and chase my wandering thoughts away, I walk through the automatic doors of M&S and grab a basket, calling Abbie as I meander down the fresh fruit aisle. “I’m in M&S,” I say when she answers, reaching for a pack of sliced mango pieces and popping them in my basket. “What do you fancy for dinner?”
“You choose.”
“Busy?”
“Run off my feet. Have we rewound a month back to February? I feel like every man in the land has stopped by to pick up flowers for the woman in their life, and it’s not even ten o’clock. Or is it a full moon or something?”
I laugh and pluck a bottle of wine out of the fridge. “What, like it’s sending women everywhere crazy, and the men think it’s their fault?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll get chicken.” I pluck a tray of breasts out of the fridge. “Make kievs. Sound good?”
“Oh, and those yummy potato things drenched in cheese. And, come to think of it, get more cheese. I’m in a cheesy mood.”
I smile and head for the dairy aisle, loading my basket with various cheeses. “This will make the gym totally pointless this morning.”
“Who goes to the gym at eight on a Saturday morning, anyway?”
“Me.” I pout. “It sets me up for the day.” I pull a baguette from a basket as I pass the bakery section and swing it as I stroll. “So it’s a cheese coma and movie tonight?”
“Love it. Don’t worry about wine, I have a case full of that delicious French stuff. I’ve got to go, another two blokes just walked in.” Abbie hangs up, and I slip my phone into my gym bag, shifting it farther onto my shoulder, as I roam the rest of the aisles, tossing various sweet treats into my basket to try and even up the ratio with cheese.
Once I’ve paid, I wander out and cut through the park to Abbie’s, enjoying the pre-spring-morning chill on my clammy, post-gym skin. When I get back, I let myself in and toe my trainers off, dumping my shopping on the counter. “Alexa, play my favourite music,” I say, pulling out the packs of fruit and natural yoghurt. I pause, smiling to myself, when Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” starts playing from all the speakers around Abbie’s flat. “Alexa, volume up.” I wriggle out of my sweater and throw it on the chair before shimmying over to the cupboard to get a bowl. I load it up, dancing and singing my way around the kitchen as I make my breakfast and unpack my M&S haul before lowering to a chair to eat. I open my laptop and start browsing through the latest news bulletins between spoonfuls, checking for any news on Galactia. Nothing. Still a ton of whispers, people with theories, some conspiracies, but no concrete evidence that the company is onto something big. I pout and take a mouthful of yoghurt, resting back in my chair. “Come on, find the oil,” I whisper to my screen, sending my positive thoughts into the universe.
The sound of my phone ringing breaks through Blondie, and I hop up and hurry to where I dropped my gym bag. “Hey,” I puff, answering to Abbie. She talks as I wander back to the table, but I can’t hear her for the life of me. “Wait a minute,” I yell, lowering the volume on the Alexa.
“Having a private party?” she asks.