Page 103 of One Night Only
I don’t answer. I don’t know the answer. The longer I look at him the more confused I am.
He’s still crouching before me, his face level with mine. He looks tired. Of course he’s tired. It has to be near the end of his shift. I realize then that I don’t think I’ve met a harder-working person than him. And I live withClaire. He would have spent all day working on the tour company only to come here and look after loud drunk people. Look after me.
“Sarah?”
Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out and brush back a tuft of hair. I don’t miss the way he goes still beneath my touch.
“You need a haircut,” I mumble.
He smiles and when I try to drop my hand he catches it, holding it to his face.
For a long moment, we stay like that and I know I’m going to kiss him tonight. I know it. But the anticipation is nice too. The feel of his cheek beneath my palm.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says and I don’t understand him at first, too preoccupied with watching his lips move. “I know that’s what you’re scared of, but I promise you I—”
My fingers go to his lips, cutting him off. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” I whisper. He frowns and I drop my hand, swaying slightly on the stool. God, I’m drunk.
I lean into him and my heart races as he does the same. Then I catch it. The sour whiff of alcohol off him, the result of several long hours working behind a bar.
The mush of fries and sugary cocktails rise inside, too swift for me to fight it.
I clamp my lips together and he pulls back, concerned as my eyes widen in panic. “Sarah?”
And that’s when I put my head back between my knees and vomit all over his shoes.
22
“I know what I want.”
I’m barely listening as Claire leans across the kitchen counter, her face hidden by a gel mask.
“That’s good,” I say, staring into my sauce. Can you burn a sauce? It was one of my New Year’s resolutions to cook more. So far all it means is spending more money on takeout as I ruin every recipe I attempt.
“You said you’d do anything I wanted, right?”
“Right,” I say absently before registering her words. “Wait. What?”
“Six months ago when that guy you slept with kept stopping by the apartment—the one who wanted you to go see his one-man play? You said you’d do whatever I wanted if I convinced him you’d moved to Switzerland.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I stop stirring and turn to face her. I think uneasily of the few nice objects I own. “What do you want?”
“I want to borrow Declan.”
I wait. She doesn’t elaborate. “I’m not following.”
“For the Griffiths’ party tomorrow night. I want him to be my date.”
“I thought I was going to the party.”
“You are. You’re going because I need moral support. I need Declan to go to make Mark jealous.”
I snort and start stirring again.
“You said anything,” she reminds me.
“Yeah, but I meant helping you paint your room or being on trash duty for a year. This, what you’re describing, is insane.”
“No, it’s not. He’s very charming. I need someone charming. Did you see him at the singles brunch? He can talk to anyone. He’s perfect party material.”
