Page 5

Ellie

A s it turns out, avoiding Colin Hunt is hard.

Ridiculously hard.

You’d think that being on a university campus with literally thousands of students would make it impossible to keep bumping into the same person over and over again, but that logic doesn’t seem to apply to me when it comes to him. After our surprise reunion, I’ve seen him, not just once or twice, but five times throughout the day.

Five times!

I mean, honestly, what are the chances?

They must be astronomical, unless…

Was he looking for me?

Would he actually do that?

Luckily, I managed to avoid being seen by him, but the thought of him specifically going out of his way to search for me never lingers far from my mind for the rest of the day. By the time I make it home later that afternoon, I’m dead on my feet and eternally grateful to find Natalie already in the kitchen making spaghetti Bolognese for dinner.

“Need some help?” I ask her.

She holds up a few sticks of celery and I grin, dropping my messenger bag onto one of the kitchen stools and stepping around the island. I grab a knife and immediately get to work, dicing the celery into small pieces while she cuts up the carrots and onions. We work in silence. That’s something I’ve always appreciated about my friendship with Natalie; we don’t always have to talk.

“How was your day?” She eventually asks me.

I shrug, scooping the diced celery up using my hand and the side of the knife and adding it to the bowl along with the carrots and crushed garlic.

“How does ‘unmitigated disaster’ sound?”

“Oh no.” She murmurs, dropping the onions and ground beef into a sizzling hot hob on the stove. “What happened? Did it have something to do with that meeting you had with your professor this morning?”

I nod, grabbing the vegetables and adding them to the pot as well while Nat stirs the mixture together with a wooden spatula, adding spices, fresh basil, some red wine and jarred Pomodoro.

“She wants me to write this article called The Armitage Spotlight,” I explain. “It’s something the university’s newspaper publishes every year, but I don’t think I’m going to do it.”

“Why not?”

God, there are so many reasons why, but the only one that’s important has to do with a pair of intense, piercing blue eyes that refuse to leave me alone.

“I’d rather stay focused on my studies and, besides, you know how I feel about journalism.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nat says softly, offering me a sympathetic smile. “But doing this could also be fun, El. Plus, wouldn’t it help with your writing career as well?”

I nod begrudgingly. I was counting on her not realising that .

“So, it wouldn’t hurt to take some time to consider it properly before you decide what to do?”

I roll my eyes, hating it when she acts logically and is right.

“Fine.” I relent, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

She grins triumphantly and playfully bumps her hip into mine.

Thankfully, the article doesn’t come up again while we carry on cooking. By the time Liv arrives home an hour later, dinner is ready and we all end up in the lounge, rewatching old episodes of Downton Abbey while we eat. After a while, I stop paying attention to the show, my thoughts inevitably straying back to Professor Garrick’s offer.

It would be stupid to accept it, wouldn’t it?

Insane.

Ridiculous even.

Especially since it’ll involve Colin; the last person I should be around.

So why am I considering it?

Because it’ll help you hone your writing skills.

Because this article will be published by a major newspaper, getting your name out there.

Because it’ll be a new challenge and could be an interesting experience.

Take your pick, Ellie.

Those are all good reasons, but I just came out of a relationship that was a lie and blew up in my face. Surely, the last thing I need is more complications and the potential for something else to go wrong in my life, and I’m certain that spending time with Colin Hunt; my ex-boyfriend’s rival, would only bring trouble and heaps of it .

“I think I’m going to go to bed,” I announce out of nowhere, drawing both of my friend's attention away from the TV and onto me.

“What? But it’s still early!” Liv whines, sitting up from her place on the floor. “We can watch something else if you don’t want to watch Downton anymore.”

I smile at her softly. “It’s not that. You know I love Downton, Liv. I’m just…tired.”

Technically it’s not a lie. I am exhausted, but I’m also overthinking and I don’t want to make the mistake of sticking around long enough for the two of them to figure that out. I’ll never hear the end of it if they do.

“You’re okay though?” Natalie asks me, concern burning in her eyes.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

I should probably come clean and tell them everything about the article, but that will only lead to a conversation about Colin and I just don’t have the energy to discuss that right now. They’ll want all the details and as much information as they can get out of me. I know, because if I were in their shoes, that’s what I would want as well.

After we hug and say goodnight, I head upstairs and end up taking a long, hot shower, sighing as the warm water soothes my body and lifts the weight from my thoughts. By the time I throw on my pyjamas and crawl beneath the thick duvet covering my bed, I feel a lot less unsettled than I did. I grab my phone and spend the next ten minutes or so answering texts from my mum and little brother and doom scrolling on social media. My eyelids are just starting to droop, when a message suddenly comes through from an unknown number .

Unknown number: Has anyone ever told you that you’re a hard person to track down?

My brow crinkles.

Okaaay.

I think this person has the wrong number.

Me: Who is this?

Unknown number: Take a guess.

Yeah. Unlikely.

I’m not about to become some weirdo’s entertainment for the evening.

Me: Either tell me who you are or I’ll block you.

A couple of minutes pass and when whoever it was doesn’t reply, I think I’ve managed to scare them off until my phone vibrates in my hands again.

Unknown number: How about I give you a hint instead?

Me: How about you take a hint and leave me alone instead?

Unknown number: Come on…Just one hint?

I scowl at my phone.

Me: Fine, but I swear, if you send a nude, I’ll take this number to the police and have you arrested.

Unknown number: Thanks for the warning. ??

Unknown number: The first time we met…We bumped into each other and you didn’t believe me when I said I noticed that you’re new or that I’d remember you if we met again and yet ...

I gasp out loud, shooting into an upright position.

Me: Colin?

Unknown number: Bing o ? ?

My brain misfires and for an indiscernible amount of time, I sit there, staring blankly at the screen, because Colin Hunt is messaging me and I have no clue how to process that.

Has anyone ever told you you’re a hard person to track down?

Oh god, so I wasn’t imagining things earlier. He was looking for me today.

Colin: You still there, Simpkins?

I swallow, feeling overwhelmed, but also a little suspicious as well.

Me: How did you get my number?

Colin: Professor Garrick gave it to me.

Of course, she did.

Me: What do you want?

I lean back against my pillows, gnawing on the end of my thumb while I wait for his reply.

Colin: Why don’t you want to do the article?

It’s not doing the article I have a problem with, it’s doing one on you that bothers me.

Me: I never said that I didn’t, only that I needed some time to think about it.

Colin: Why do you need time to think about it?

I scoff.

That’s a loaded question with an equally loaded answer, but let’s list off the reasons, shall we:

One, because my dickhead of an ex-boyfriend just broke up with me and two, because I’m pretty sure following another man around, especially one who happens to be your ex’s rival and who also happens to be absurdly attractive, isn’t a terribly good idea.

I sigh despondently .

It’s not that I don’t want to take the opportunity. I do. I really, really do, bu t after everything I’ve been through lately, I want to consider every aspect of this choice carefully first before I fully commit to it. The last thing I need is to end up in an awkward situation that I can’t get away from. Things in my life are complicated enough as is.

I can’t tell Colin any of that, but it’s the truth.

Me: Because last time I checked I’m allowed to take all the time I need to think about it.

Colin: Well, technically you only have until Saturday… ??

I scowl, punching my fingers against the screen as I type.

Me: Fine, I have until Saturday and nothing you say or do will speed up that process.

His answering text comes seconds later.

Colin: We’ll see about that, Simpkins.

C olin: Finished thinking yet?

I exhale heavily through my nose.

He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.

It’s Thursday night and at this point, I’ve lost count of how many messages Colin has sent me since our conversation on Monday. He’s like a fly that won’t leave your food alone, constantly pestering me to find out if I’ve decided what I’ll do about the article yet.

So far, I’ve given him the same one-word answer every time.

The same one I send back to him now.

Me: No .

I set my phone down on my desk, barely turning my attention back to my laptop and the chapter I’m currently working on before it vibrates again. I force myself to ignore it for at least a few minutes before I finally cave and look.

Colin: You just love keeping me in suspense, don’t you Simpkins?

I bite my lip, holding back a smirk.

Me: Don’t flatter yourself. I have my reasons for taking this long to decide. It has nothing to do with you.

Lie.

It has everything to do with him.

Colin: What are they then?

Me: What?

Colin: Your reasons. What are they?

Shit.

I walked right into that.

Me: It’s none of your business.

Colin: You realise saying that only makes me think differently, right? ??

Me: Think whatever you want. I’m not going to stroke your ego and tell you.

Colin: Pretty sure you just did.

I narrow my eyes, picturing the annoying smirk he probably has on his face right now. Glowering, I click my phone screen off and toss the device back onto my desk.

“Jerk,” I mutter.

Apart from the soft tapping of my fingers on the keyboard , minutes pass in blissful silence before another vibration catches my attention. I pause, glancing at my phone. I shouldn’t look, but my curiosity gets the best of me.

Colin: Have any plans tonight ?

My eyebrows dig in deeply and my insides tighten a bit.

Where did that come from?

He’s never sent a text like that before. The extent of our conversations usually ends after I tell him I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to do the article yet or not. We’ve never strayed into anything personal before.

Me: Why are you asking?

Colin: Because I’m interested.

Me: Interested? In what exactly?

Colin: In you, Simpkins or wasn’t that obvious already?

My jaw pops open.

Did he just…

I read the message over a few times. What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but it can’t mean what I think it does, right? I mean…He isn’t flirting with me, is he?

No. Absolutely not!

He’s probably just trying to keep the conversation going by pretending to take an interest in my personal life so that it’ll make the idea of being shackled to him for the next few months seem more appealing. A part of me though, no matter how small and irritating, can’t help but entertain the idea that it does mean something more.

I shake that ridiculous thought from my head at once.

He’s not flirting with me.

He’s just trying to get a reaction and I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he succeeded.

Me: I’m in the middle of working on an assignment actually, so if you don’t mind...

Truthfully, I already finished outlining and drafting it this morning so all I need to do is type it up which is why I’m working on my nove l right now, but he doesn’t need to know that. When he starts typing another message though, my stress levels rise and I hurriedly exit our conversation, turning off my phone completely and slipping it into my desk drawer.

Yeah okay, so I’m a coward. I’ll deal with this mess later or maybe never.

I try to get back into my writing again, hoping to shove Colin Hunt and that stupid text out of my head in the process, but an hour later, I find myself staring at the blinking cursor, having written less than a paragraph. I rub my dreary eyes, about to admit defeat and go watch TV or something when my bedroom door suddenly swings open and Liv appears. I tear my eyes away from my laptop, looking at her . She wearing a long-sleeved, cream-coloured woollen dress that barely reaches her thighs with a knotted belt wrapped around her narrow waist, a pair of tight black leggings and her favourite pair of knee-high leather boots. Her blonde hair is neatly plaited, same as always, and her makeup looks like it was done by a professional. She looks absolutely stunning. I wonder what the occasion is.

“Get dressed El, we’re going out tonight!”

“Sorry?”

“You heard me,” She says, grinning like the Cheshire cat, “You’ve spent the last four days either sleeping or studying or writing, babe. It’s time to have a little fun. You’ve got ten minutes!”

I gape at her like she’s gone completely mad, but before I can even think of a reason to protest, she turns and saunters away.

“Do I not get any say in this?” I yell after her.

“Nope!” She calls back. “Nine minutes, Ellie. ”

I heave out a groan and quickly save the draft for my book before scrambling over to my cupboard and pulling it open. I had a sneaky suspicion that Liv was going to do something like this. She and Nat have both been suspiciously considerate lately, giving me plenty of space so I can settle back into some semblance of a normal life again, but I knew that peace wouldn’t last forever. Now I strongly suspect they’re trying to help me move passed my break-up by getting me out into the world again, and nothing achieves that quite like going out and having fun with your friends. I don’t have to go. I could easily say that I don’t feel like it or that I’m not ready and they’ll understand, but strangely enough, a part of me actually wants to do this.

I’m sick and tired of sulking and hiding.

Maybe a little fun is what I need to get things back to normal.

I yank off my comfy sweat pants and t-shirt, replacing them with fitted light blue jeans, ankle-high boots and a stylish, but thick maroon turtle neck that hugs my slim frame perfectly. I head into my bathroom next, taking my long hair out of the messy bun it was in before and pulling a brush through it a few times to neaten it up. I apply a minimal amount of makeup, spray some perfume on my wrists and behind my ears and, once I feel satisfied with my overall appearance, I rush downstairs where both of my friends are already waiting. Liv beams as soon as she sees me, clasping her hands together like a proud parent watching their child. Beside her Nat’s face lights up as well. She’s dressed smartly, but also causally in a pair of black slacks, matching heeled boots, a pristine white blouse and a dark grey blazer. Like mine her hair is down and, for once, she’s decided to wear her glasses instead of her contact lenses.

“Oh my gosh, you look great!” Liv gushes, giving me an overly enthusiastic once-over. I smile, appreciating the compliment, though I’m sure she’d jump at the opportunity to get me into something more revealing if she had the chance.

“Ready to go?” She asks.

“Yup.” I chirp.

The three of us head outside, gorgeous streaks of orange, pink and gold that look like they were painted across the sky offering us a minimal amount of light as we make our way towards The Arms. The pub is alive with activity tonight. By the time we arrive groups of animated students are already drinking and occupying the wooden tables and benches that surround the large, stone structure. Be My Girl by Jet pours out through the open front doors and strings of lights glitter above our heads. Inside the atmosphere is even louder and more festive, but instead of cringing with apprehension like I did the first time I came here with Marco, a thrill of excitement fills me. The girls and I weave our way towards the overcrowded bar counter where Liv easily snags one of the bartenders' attentions, ordering us three pints of beer and a shot of whiskey each.

I don’t drink much normally and I probably won’t get completely drunk tonight either, but I do plan on getting a little tipsy.

“To being single!” Liv screams over the noise, all three of us grinning and clinking our shot glasses together.

I down the whiskey, feeling the strong alcohol burn its way down the back of my throat. I chase it with a few sips of my ale and almost immediately I start to feel the effects. I feel looser. Lighter. H appier. All that draining weight and pain of the past week slowly evaporates and I feel like nothing else matters right now beyond this carefree moment spent with my best friends. Smiling broadly, I follow them into the middle of the pub where we dance, drink some more and sing along to the music. I rarely let myself go like this, but when I do, I always enjoy it. A few songs, pints and a couple more shots later, I’m definitely a little bit more than tipsy when I lean in close to Natalie and tell her I need to use the loo.

“Do you want me to come with you?” She yells back.

Normally, the three of us would go together, but Liv disappeared a short while ago with some blonde guy so one of us needs to be here just in case she comes back.

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. You stay here for Liv; I’ll be right back.”

I turn and leave, ducking and squeezing my way towards the bathrooms. I almost get there - almost - when I see it.

At first, I think I’m imaging it due to how much I’ve had to drink tonight, but the longer I stare at the sickening sight of Nicole Dempsey straddling my ex-boyfriend’s lap, practically dry-humping him with her tongue halfway down his throat, the more it sinks in and I realise I’m not imagining it at all. I stand there like a deer frozen in the middle of a road, watching as Marco’s hands travel up her bare thighs, skimming along her narrow hips before they disappear just under the hem of her loose, sheer blouse. Nicole grins, continuing to move her body against his languidly and he smiles up at her, lazy and lustful, right before she covers his mouth with hers again.

My breathing shallows.

My chest spasms sharply.

My stomach lurches .

I think I’m going to be sick.

Despite all the attention that he constantly received from other girls, I never worried about Marco cheating on me when we were together. He always acted like he hated it. He’d grimace or shake his head after they’d leave and then he’d focus all his attention back on me again. Even while he was away at Bancroft, it never occurred to me that he would stray. The idea that he’d suddenly start soaking up that attention or decide to give in to it just never crossed my mind. Other girls liked him. I know they wanted him, but I always thought our relationship was bigger than that. That our years of friendship, before we started dating, would matter to him.

I believed him when he said that he loved me.

Call me na?ve. A fool perhaps, but I trusted him.

I trusted him .

Now all I can think about is that first night when he brought me here and how obvious it all was even back then. The disdain and the jealousy on Nicole's face when she saw me with him. How Marco left without so much as a word and only apologised afterwards, because I practically forced him to. How he didn’t even beg me to come and join him like he would’ve in the past or how not seeing me for two weeks didn’t bother him.

It didn’t bother him and he didn’t beg because he didn’t want me there.

He wanted Nicole.

How long has he wanted her?

How many times did he have her behind my back?

Moisture gathers in my tear ducts as one disgusting thought after the other begins to materialise in my head. All the missed phone calls and the texts that he didn’t answer for hours. All the tim es when he said he was busy, but never really explained why. How he could’ve come home to visit so many times, but didn’t. I don’t know if he cheated or not, but those moments seem to take on a whole new meaning now. I force them away, squeezing my eyelids shut.

No.

I refuse to shed another tear over a relationship that was clearly a lie. While I was mourning what we had – or what I thought we had – he was happily moving on.

He doesn’t deserve my heartache.

He doesn’t deserve anything from me ever again.

Despite coming to that strong resolution, I suddenly feel weak and my carefree mood from a moment ago withers into dust.

Time to leave.

I’m about to when I sense someone step up behind me.

“I thought you said you had an assignment due, Simpkins?”

The words catch me off guard for two reasons. One, because they’re spoken softly and right against the shell of my ear, sending a warm shiver down the length of my spine, and second, because I recognise the voice that says them instantly.

I turn, coming face to face with Colin Hunt yet again. He’s here and, somehow, the timing of his arrival feels almost fated.

He’s wearing jeans with a navy blue knitted jumper tonight, the dark colours helping to accentuate the fathomless, crystal-clear depths of his eyes. We stare at each other, and I’m wholly unprepared for the dashing smile he flashes at me or for how it makes him look even more attractive than he already is. My throat dries and the world suddenly goes mute, turning into nothing but a series of lights and sounds swirling around us. An impulsive n eed suddenly arises, and my heartbeat gathers speed as the feeling takes over my whole body. Fuelled by the alcohol coursing through my veins or by something else entirely, I don’t know which, I close off my mind and propel myself forward, fisting his jumper in my hands and pressing my lips to his without hesitation. He freezes at the contact, having not expected it, but his surprise is short-lived. Within seconds, his strong hands grip my waist, tugging me closer until I’m moulded against the hard edges of his body. He takes my mouth, his soft, but full lips easily prying mine open to deepen the kiss. Our tongues tangle as warmth rushes through me like a tidal wave, and I moan greedily when his hands leave my hips, his calloused fingers slipping under my jersey and gliding over the skin on my lower back. I flatten my palms, letting them roam along the broad planes of his chest before I wrap my arms around his neck and slide my fingers through the short, velvety strands of hair on the nape of his neck. I curl them, lightly scratching his skin, and a shiver works over me when he groans, kissing me again.

I want more.

I need more.

His body heat and fresh, citrus scent traps me on all fronts, overwhelming my senses and setting my world on fire. When I eventually break away from him, more out of a need to breathe rather than because I want to, I keep my eyes closed, trying to catch my breath. When I eventually sum up the courage to look at him, he’s already staring at me, his icy eyes smouldering with an unspoken question.

What was that?

I have no idea what to tell him. I have no idea what I’m doing or why I even did that, only that I felt like I might die if I didn’t. I try to think of an answer and how best to explain myself and process everything, but my mind is thoroughly intoxicated now from more than just the alcohol I’ve had. I stare back at him wordlessly, feeling as though my head is about to slip beneath the choppy surface of an ocean and he’s the only land in sight. The refuge I desperately need.

“Can you get me out of here, please?”