Page 12 of One Night With You

Damn them both. Between Jackson in the kitchen, Candice asking him probing questions, and seeing that trail of hair from Nic’s belly button down to … well, wherever it goes, I’m more than half wondering how seriously to take Jackson’s prompt. We three really do know everything about each other, so it’s possible they both know I really should have one last fling before I go. And now I’m thinking about it, to be honest, to mark my leaving, and to leave these crappy few years behind, to forget everything that has led up to this point and all that has transpired I really wouldn’t mind one last night of passion before I set the timer on my Year of Me. Sort of like eating a tub of ice cream before starting a diet. A little treat to encourage good behaviour later. And, yeah – making the last person I went to bed with somebody other than bloody Abe.

Or maybe all this is the beer talking. I’m tipsy, not to mention generally hormonal and emotional at the prospect of saying goodbye.

‘Here,’ I say to Nic, holding out a hand to take his hoodie. ‘Let me hang that up for you.’

Our hands brush as I take it and I note the way Nic’s pupils dilate as he smiles in thanks.

‘Cheers,’ he says, smiling with only one side of his mouth, and there’s something there, a suggestion that makes me think that the direction of the evening really can change, if, like Jackson and Candice have suggested, I want it to. Heishandsome. Andlittle Ruby,as Jackson calls it,ishungry for that ‘ice cream’.

I beam at him again, and keep looking even when he glances away timidly. By the time he looks back, I think I’ve made my decision. If he wants the same, that is. Because with sudden clarity, I agree with everything Jackson and Candice have been telling me. Sod Abe, sod teary goodbyes – I deserve to leave London on a high note. And that high note could be Nic.

9

Nic

We drink our beers and stash the empty pizza boxes away and the three of them – Jackson, Candice and Ruby – start telling stories about everything they’ve got up to in the time they’ve lived together and been friends. I get the sense it’s actually quite nice for them to have a relative stranger to regale, because they can pretend the stories are for my benefit when in fact they keep nudging one another or grabbing quick hugs or stroking one another’s hair in flashes of affection, a poignant reminder that one of them is leaving.

I listen intently, laughing at the right parts and nodding sagely when needed, and after a while I realise Ruby is staring at me. I’d thought she was before, after the dancing, but quickly dismissed myself as being pitifully hopeful; it was more likely she was only checking the time behind me. I expect her to look away as I glance in her direction now, but she doesn’t. She holds my gaze, and it almost gives me a hard-on. I just think she’s so damned sexy, but also stunning – ina very old-school classic way – and fun. She’s the full package. I smile back. We stay like that for a beat beyond friendly, until Jackson suggests tequila and corrals Candice into helping him in the other room.

The last time I had tequila was the month after the break-up, when I thought single blokes went out and drank and that’s how a person met other people: doing shots after work with the team and bumping into a group from another place of work, out drinking with their team, hoping for the same. I got so bladdered that I actually threw up in my hand, at the bar. Chucked down the shot, felt it sting the back of my throat, and immediately spat it out, bringing up the dregs of the chicken salad I’d had for lunch with it.

I’ve not done shots since.

Ruby is looking at me again. It’s just me, and her, and my circling thoughts of vomit. Proper seductive, me.Not.

‘I’ve got a secret,’ she says, coyly.

I knit the tops of my eyebrows together in question, narrowing my eyes. Every cell in my body is screaming: YOU’RE ALONE TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!! Icannotfuck this up. The way she’s looking at me … I refuse to do anything that might make that stop.

‘Go on …’ I say, noticing she’s flushed. Her cheeks are pink, maybe from the drinks we’ve had, or maybe from the emotion bobbing under the surface for them all. It’s a loaded night, all dancing and clowning around aside.

‘I’m not proud of this, but …’ she starts, and I’ve got no idea where this is going. ‘We internet-stalked you. Well, they did. Jackson and Candice. And I looked too.’

‘Oh,’ I say, and I think I’m flattered. I suppose we did technically meet on Facebook, as 2009 as that sounds. That’s where her sofa was for sale: Facebook Marketplace.

‘I feel really naughty. I needed to come clean. To get it off my conscience.’

‘Uh-huh,’ I reply. I don’t know how to respond. I’ve got Jackson’s voice in my head telling me to say something, to keep her talking, but I’m so pleased by the way she’s looking at me when she says the word ‘naughty’ that it’s sending me right back to the tongue-twisted idiot who knocked on the door this afternoon. ‘Well. That’s … interesting,’ I settle on.Ask a question,I coach myself.Keep her talking with a question!‘And what did you find …?’

Good. That was a good thing to say. Her eyes noticeably widen.

‘Lads’ night out,’ she replies, her voice getting softer and indicating the beginning of a list by raising a finger to count. ‘Tagged pictures of a girlfriend that stopped suddenly, which Jackson said meant a break-up … graduate throwback Thursday photo … the role-play in Scotland …’

‘Role-play?’ I reply, genuinely amused. My voice is dropping to mirror hers, so that we’re both leaning forwards to make sure we don’t miss anything. ‘The LARPing?’

‘Is that what it’s called?’ she asks, smirking. ‘There was chain mail involved anyway.’

She’s flirting. I’m ninety per cent sure she’s flirting. She’s teasing me, she’s maintaining eye contact, she’s smiling a lot. That’s flirting, isn’t it? The way my heart has sped up, my mouth has dried, this feeling on my skin – that’s definitely because of flirting.

I take a punt. ‘Did you see the size of my sword though?’

She bursts out laughing. ‘Subtle, Nic. Really subtle.’

When Jackson and Candice barrel back into the room, I manage to dodge the issue of shots by taking another puntat honesty: I told everyone the tequila story andbam– they were hysterical, and gave me another beer instead. They joked about not wanting to get the rug cleaned. We’ve all dropped quieter now, the evening having pushed into a crescendo of laughter and stories and given way into a comfortable lull. Ruby keeps stretching, reaching up and moving her arms and cricking her neck like a cat, enticing me without words. I don’t think I’m imagining it. I hand-on-heart didn’t come back in here for sex – I just wanted to be around her. To know what she’s like. And if all that transpired from this night on Maple Avenue was the acquisition of a new dodgeball team that would have been more than fine with me.

But I know now that there’s more at play.

Jackson has sprawled back from his spot on the floor so that from the sofa Candice can tickle his back and play with his hair. Ruby keeps looking at me even when she’s talking to somebody else, going undetected because they’ve both got their eyes closed and can’t see us.

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