Page 4 of Asking For a Friend
I laugh. I should have realised he wants to celebrate thirty with a bang. No
Oh god, they want to get me laid. They’ve been trying for three years now. They really should be bored with it by now. It’s going to be a messy night but fun. There’s no way I’ll miss out on it. I’m going to need to get something new to wear, though, and for a moment, my belly flutters with excitement. Or maybe I’m hungry. I stand and dish up my dinner.
After I’ve washed the pans and loaded the dishwasher, I grab my bag. I’ve got a few ideas for the next book and want to write them down before I forget them. On top of my stuff is the white box. I stare at it for a full minute, then take it out and place it on the coffee table along with my notepad. Why don’t I want to open it? Because I know it will be some smarmy gift for getting me to talk to him again, to say thank you. The problem is that I wanted to climb him like a tree and let him do nasty things to me. But he’ll drop me and say goodbye before the cum has dried on my stomach. Nope, been there, done that, and have way too many T-shirts to prove it. So the box stays closed, and I write down my ideas.
In the morning, when I come downstairs, the box still sits on the coffee table, taunting me. It looks like it’s grown in size, become the elephant in the room. Fuck it. I pick it up as I walk to the kitchen. As the kettle boils, I fiddle with the flap until I tease the top open.
Nestled in tissue is a beautiful pale yellow-and-green tin. I recognise the logo from an exclusive tea shop specialised in loose tea. I lift the lid and sniff. The sweet aroma of lemongrass and ginger tea tickles my nostrils. How did he know? I look further. At the bottom is a folded card.
I hope you enjoy this.
That’s it. No number for me to call, or not call, probably. No request to meet up. Nothing, nada, niente. I put the tin on the shelf where I keep my teas, not wanting to use it yet. And I’m certainly not ready to admit that I appreciate he went out of his way to get it.
I make my breakfast and put cat biscuits down for his royal highness for when he comes home from his night of gallivanting and debauchery. He’s like me in the old days. Only he doesn’t show any signs of remorse or changing his ways. After clearing the kitchen, I grab my coat and check I’ve got everything I need for my day at the coffee shop. It’s still raining, although not as heavily as yesterday. Huddled under my umbrella, I hurry to The Coffee Bean.
Without meaning to, my thoughts drift to the man again. Hesketh. Weird name, but I kinda like it. Will he come in today? Do I want to see him again? Up ahead, a man who looks like him hurries to the crossing. Same coat, same haircut, same broad build. It’s not until he stops and looks my way that I see his face, and yep, it’s him. Has he seen me? Then he focuses, and yeah, he’s seen me. He hesitates for a moment. Is he coming back this way? But the lights change, and he steps onto the crossing and walks away.
Damn. Oh well, maybe it’s for the best.
I push the door of The Coffee Bean open, and the delicious aroma of freshly roasted coffee fills my nostrils. I love it. I just can’t drink much of it. The debilitating, vomit-inducing migraines it causes aren’t worth the taste. The queue isn’t too long. When it’s my turn, Kate narrows her eyes at me. What have I done now?
“Morning, my little ray of sunshine.” I smile sweetly at her.
“What gift?”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr Hottie McHotpants has just been here asking if you got his gift.” Kate has her hands planted on her hips and a scowl on her pretty face.
“Oh, yes, I did. It was nice. Can I have my tea, please? I’ve had breakfast this morning.” No way will I give her anything more.
“Well, what was it?”
“Um, why are you making such a big deal of this? It was some tea, that’s all. He didn’t leave his number, so I could hardly call him to thank him if that’s what you’re after. Look, Kate, leave it. Yes, he’s hot, but I’m not going there.”
“Then you’re a stubborn fool.”
I take my tea and walk to the table reserved for me. She’s right. But I’d rather be a fool than get my heart broken again.
When I leave that evening, Simon hands me another box similar to yesterday’s, waggling his eyebrows. “He’s hot.” I don’t want to think about what may be in this one. So I tuck it into my bag and go home.
The hot guy still hasn’t called. To say I’m pissed off is an understatement, but I’m more determined than ever to keep going. It’s Saturday, and I’ve sent him four gifts now: the tea, a delicate bone china cup with the cutest fox, a dozen mini muffins, and then yesterday a saucer to match the cup. He’s been in the coffee shop every bloody day, head down, typing away, and not once has the fucker looked up. I’ve stopped myself from going over to him because I would totally blow it, losing my cool when I ask him why he hasn’t called me.
My friend Dylan has persuaded me to go out tonight. One of his friends from work is turning thirty, and apparently, he knows how to throw a good party and have a fun time. And he has some cute single friends coming along. Maybe it won’t be too bad. Someone to chat up, flirt with for a while, and who knows? I may get lucky. Which is why I’m now standing outside The King’s Head like a spare prick at a wedding, waiting for Dylan.
“Yo! Hesketh!” my mate calls, jogging towards me. He’s got his shag-me jeans on tonight, so he’s definitely on the pull. He looks me up and down. “Yeah, you’ll do. Come on. Scottie’s in there already. Let’s go get pissed.”
I laugh and give him a hug. “After the week I’ve had, I’ll be happy to.”
The bar is heaving with hot bodies, men and women all dressed to kill. I check out the guys. Yep, there’s a lot of potential here. I slowly smile as I walk past one guy with painted-on leather trousers and a tight ‘It Won’t Lick Itself’ T-shirt. I run my finger over the arrow that points down, and he winks.
“I can see them,” Dylan shouts in my ear and drags me away from the cute twink.
As we get to the table, a feeling of dread runs through me. With his back to us sits a red-haired man. The curls and the cut are exactly the same as the hair from the man whose attention I’ve been trying to grab all week. This night is going to be a washout. I’m backing away, ready to go and find the twink again.
But Dylan grasps my arm. “Hesketh, where are you going?” He must have said it loud enough for the faceless guy to hear. He stiffens but doesn’t look around. One of the men sitting next to him says something, which makes him laugh. He turns his head sideways. And yep! It’s Lando.
Fuck. My. Life.