Page 24 of Not Falling for the Forward
“You need to stop arriving unannounced. You’re kind of a lot, and I feel like I need to… I don’t know. Prepare myself for you being in my space?”
“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t think it would bother you. I thought it would be romantic or whatever. Me showing up at your work, asking you out…” I raise a hand to rub the back of my now flaming neck.
“I know, I get it,” she says with a small smile on her lips.
“So, are you going to finally say yes to that drink?” I lean into her space as I ask.
Thick tension, inappropriate for a workplace, envelops us. It’s like I can’t keep a suitable space between us, everything about her draws me in. I need to hold her, touch her, feel her warmth against me.
I take a small step back, releasing a long sigh, remembering she is at work and Kamal is sitting watching us.
My attention shoots to her mouth as she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it as she considers. What I wouldn’t give to chew on that lip. Or fuck—to be the lip being chewed on by her. I reach out again, my hand moving on its own, I lift it to her chin and run my thumb over that bottom lip.
“Bloody hell, woman! If you say no to this man, I will leave my husband and take him for myself.” We jump back from each other as if we have been scalded and turn to the woman standing in the doorway.She looks to be in her mid-forties, a white head scarf covering her hair and a knowing smile across her lips.
Kamal whisper shouts from behind us, “That’s my mum, and she’s always right.”
I grin at the woman in the doorway.
“Well, girl, answer the man,” she prompts, pointing to us both.
And that is how I bagged myself a date with the best ice cream thief this hospital has ever seen.
Chapter ten
Emily
Thursday night is date night, according to Jack. On account that it can’t be Friday night because they have a match on Saturdays then on Saturday night, he’d be too knackered for a date.
My shifts have worked out and I have this Thursday and Friday off, so I have no excuse not to go on this date. Do I even want an excuse to not go? I don’t know. I’m still slightly pissed off at him for him blindsiding me at work on Sunday and making me look unprofessional in front of Mrs Khatri.
The obvious rumours have started at work, thanks to Jess openly teasing me whilst simultaneously butchering Shakespeare, ‘Oh Romeo, Romeo, where doth thou get roses delivered to workplaces.’ Thankfully, no one knows who the real ‘Romeo’ is. That hasn’t stopped it becoming his new nickname at work though.
I don’t think anyone would believe me if I openly came out and said Jack Cartwright was actively pursuing me, anyway. I think most people would be as shocked as I am that Jack is even interested in me. Jack—Heartthrob Heartbreaker Sex God—Cartwright, yes that’s his full name, interested in Emily—solid 7/10 children’s nurse who still isn’t quite over her ex—Ryan, not my full name but what they wouldcall me. I laugh out loud at the thought. Not a chance anyone will be finding out about this.
I sigh as I add some blush to my cheeks. My curled hair is cooling on my back, getting ready for me to brush it out into a wave. I needed to make some effort; it is my first date since Chris. No.No thoughts of your ex when you’re in the middle of finally moving on.
It’s only been a few months since I had my heart ripped out, stomped on then put back in upside-down and back to front. I’m not sure my circulatory system can handle it. Even if the more I think about him, the more of an ick he becomes. I don’t even know if I want to date again, let alone with a famous, gorgeous footballer that women basically throw themselves at. I doubt I could trust him to stay away from that kind of temptation. Shit, Chris couldn’t stay away from someone in a sweaty office full of boring accountants, how is Jack supposed to stay away from gorgeous models on yachts? Who could blame him anyway?
No, we’ll go on this date, he’ll realise the mistake he has made in bothering to spend so much time trying to get this date then we can both go back to going on dates with people were supposed to be with. Him: supermodels, me: random people onTinder. The thought of scrolling on my phone and coming across him in a tabloid on a date with someone else forms a hollow pit in my stomach that I’m not in the mood to analyse just yet.
I pull on my tightest black jeans that make my arse look incredible and tie my backless hanky hem top around my neck and lower back. I am at least trying to look nice for this guy that is way out of my league. It’s the last I can do.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he was when he visited the hospital the other day. He was so attentive and kind to everyone he spoke to, why can he be all thatanddrop dead gorgeous? Leave somefor the rest of us. I had tried to stay away and busy myself with jobs, but I couldn’t help but peek in the day room to catch a look of him and my ovaries had exploded watching how he had spoken to the children. He’s been the talk of the ward since then and everyone only has good things to say.
I risk one last look in the mirror by the door as I tie my heels around my ankles and sigh. Mediocre at best.
Why am I doing this?
***
I didn’t know what I expected when I agreed to go on a date with Jack Cartwright, but I wasn’t expecting to be sat in the corner of a small, local, slightly dated but still lovely, country pub. When we pulled up, Jack had said we weren’t far from his house, and that this was his ‘local’. So why he insisted on driving all the way to my house to collect me when I could have driven to him, I don’t know.
We’re at a two-person table with one booth side which he let me take whilst he sits with his back to the rest of the room on a small, rickety wooden chair. How it’s supporting his muscular build, I’m not sure, but physics has never really been my thing.
There is a pool table just to the left of us that is currently occupied by a young couple and along with them, there are two older men sat at the bar nursing pints of dark liquid. That’s everyone in the pub, the six of us, seven if you include the plump greying lady behind the bar. Nice and quiet, as I was hoping, less people to watch me embarrass myself in front of a famous person.
There is a log fire burning along the back wall that is keeping the place nice and toasty and I have already shrugged off my jacket. Jack is really trying—bless him—but I can’t help but notice his eyes keep dropping to my breasts, probably because my nipples haven’t got the memo about it being warm in here.
