Page 26 of Actually Yours

“How funny, you meeting my brother tonight,” Robby said, bringing my attention back to him, back from where I’d been hungrily watching Jake walk away. Walk away with only the one backwards glance. “He barely ever has time to do anything social. A real work-a-holic, that one.”

This immediately popped the enamoured bubble that had been forming around Jake since the moment he’d said hi all of ten minutes ago. A man who worked all the time and barely did anything for fun? That sounded an awful lot like another man I’d known, the one man who’d crushed my heart. The one man I should’ve been able to count on to never hurt me that way.

“Let’s not talk about your brother.” I turned my full attention back to Robby. My date. “I want to know all about you.”

And for the next hour, that’s what I did. I learnt Robby was the fun-loving, boyishly charming person I’d been hoping to meet. And that he ticked all the boxes I’d firmly put in place for the sort of partner I desired, someone who’d put me first, above his career, above all else. It was a shame that it had all been an illusion and that he’d go on to hurt me, just like all the men who’d come before him.

*****

I shiver at the intensity of my memories and blink back to the present to see Luke and Lorelai on my TV screen on their way to their own happily ever after (though boy, that was a bumpy ride).

“Nothing good can come from thinking about Jake,” I lecture myself, my words loud and firm in my silent apartment. “We had a moment at the start, and then one moment the other night. And that’s it. They’re just two moments in time. Focus on your upcoming date. With the accountant. Your first date with someone with a proper job. Keep your eye on the prize.”

I nod. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. This is a good thing, a healthy step in the right direction. Of not becoming my mother and of finally finding my Mr. Right after dating way, way, way too many Mr. Wrongs.

CHAPTER 6

Jake

A bloody dating plan.

It’s been ten long days since I left Amelia with her friends at that café, making plans to find her a new guy, therightguy, and I haven’t been able to get any of it out of my mind.

“Jake,” my best friend Steven nudges me in the ribs, causing me to spill the beer in my hand. “I’ve lost you again.”

I look around me, taking in the chaos of Friday night after-work drinks at this particularly popular sports bar and wish once again that I’d found an excuse to get out of being here. An excuse that my annoying best friend would accept, that is. I had tried the old “too tired,” “have to stay back at work” and “I don’t want to,” but none of them were valid enough. According to Steven, it’s his job to get me out and about in society at least once a month. The good news is that, after tonight, I can look forward to four weeks of peaceful bliss ahead of me.

“I’m right here.” I sigh and take a sip of craft beer which will hopefully take the edge off what has been a rough week.

“You’re physically standing next to me, but I can see you’re all up in here…” He knocks on my forehead with a smirk. “What’s up?”

I glance up at the giant TV screen above the bar, hoping that something on there will distract him so I can wallow in my thoughts. Alone.

Cricket. Great. I know it’s almost sacrilegious to be an Aussie bloke and not like cricket, but come on! A test match of cricket can last for five whole days, and more often than not, will end in a draw.What a complete waste of time.

“I just have a lot on my mind.”

A table away from the crowd opens up and Steven and I rush to grab it. Any table here on a Friday night is prime real estate and we know we’ve lucked out nabbing this one.

“Want to talk about it?”

I really don’t.

“There’s not much to talk about.”

He gives me that look, the one that reminds me we’ve been friends since we were five, and that he’s like a brother to me, and that he knows when I’m not OK.

“It’s nothing really,” I tell him while trying to attract the attention of the passing server. This conversation needs both alcohol and a big bowl of nachos. “I saw Amelia last week.”

Silence follows this statement. Well, as silent as a noisy Melbourne bar can be on the most hectic night of the week.

“Robby’s Amelia?”

I wince at his description, hating that those two names will forever be linked. Amelia should never have been Robby’s anything.

“Amelia, Amelia.” Childishly, I refuse to repeat him. Refusing to say their names in the same breath.

“Where? What? How?”

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