Heart Match

Chapter One

This could be the most humiliating moment of my adult life. I’m kneeling on my bathroom floor, trying to aim the acid that keeps flowing from my mouth into the toilet while struggling to maintain my composure—but failing miserably. The problem is, I’m not alone. There’s a guy who I’d never seen before until a few moments ago next to me making soothing circles with a warm hand on my back, the other holding my hair back.

Oh God. I swear I’m never drinking with an empty stomach again.

Though my body demands my attention, my mind is reeling. I wish I could blame Lexi and Naomi—my best friends—because now our conversation keeps replaying in my head like a broken record.

The vomit that keeps coming up my throat pushes my thoughts away and I try to focus on the gentle hand comforting me to keep me grounded.

I try to tell him that I’ll be fine alone, but just then I heave once again. I hope this was the last because not only is it embarrassing, it hurts. It’s hard to believe there’s anything left in my stomach considering I only had breakfast today. Oh and rosé, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t even be in this situation. Did I mention it’s Monday night?

God, how did I get here? And how am I going to fix it?

Two hours earlier

I’m with Naomi and Lexi at The Rose it’s starting to go down way smoother than the first sip. I begin staring at the bartender again to order one more.

Is he new? I’ve never seen him at the pub before.

I begin imagining going home with him, those biceps perfectly fitting under that black T-shirt. I bet he has one hell of a V under it. I’m tempted to slip my hand under the hem to feel him up. He’s checking me out too. I smile at him and watch him flush. I don’t even care that probably every day a drunk girl does the same to him.

‘Oh my God, stop flirting with the bartender,’ says Naomi in disbelief, snapping me back to the conversation.

‘I’m not … whatever. Is he new?’ I say, still trying to save my ass from the not pleasant conversation.

‘Livvy,’ Naomi hisses. ‘Anyways, we’re just saying …’

‘What Naomi?’ I snap.

I’m getting upset—I hate it when they decide to intervene. I don’t need an intervention. I don’t need to be saved from my work nor be pressured to open up to a relationship again. I called them today because I wanted them to listen to me bitching about my work, not to intervene as if I am an addict and need help.

‘Maybe you need change. Also, you should question if not wanting a relationship is something related to your work life, or to, you know …’ continues Naomi.

‘Do I even have a chance on winning an argument against you tonight?’ I say, defeated and lightheaded. Light like a balloon.

‘No, you don’t,’ says Naomi with a devilish smirk.

‘What happened to that dream of yours of founding your own brand?’ says Lexi.

‘That was a long time ago,’ I say.

‘Three years ago isn’t a long time,’ Naomi points out.

Three years ago a lot of things were different. I’m not that person anymore.

‘It’s a crazy idea,’ I say, more to myself.

‘Why? I’d be your first client,’ says Lexi, beaming.

‘Second, I’d be the first,’ says Naomi, shaking her head from side to side, doing her happy dance, the glitter in her hair shining under the dim lights of the pub. I roll my eyes at them, hard.

‘Oh, I’ve got another question,’ says Lexi.

Judging by her bloodshot eyes, she’s had more margaritas than her limit—she can only take so much. Her ponytail is already a mess from her running her hand through it unconsciously, her red lipstick in need of a touch up.

‘Are we doing questions and answers now?’ I ask.

‘Last one. Promise you’ll be honest?’ pleads Lexi.

Oh God, this can’t be good.

‘Sure. Let me just order another glass.’

When my eyes meet the cute bartender’s, he smirks in disbelief. He already knows what I want, and reluctantly pours the remaining contents of a rosé bottle into my glass. Did I drink that entire bottle?

Shit. This is not going to end well.

‘Don’t you think you avoid serious relationships because of what happened between you and Josh?’

Josh. Josh Lexington. The name shouldn’t even be mentioned aloud. Because of him, I have an aversion to all the Joshes in the world.

I take a deep breath. I knew this was coming. Ever since they learned what happened between me and Josh, it became a sensitive topic. We have talked about it before, of course, right after what happened, but then it became some kind of restricted area, a forbidden topic. They helped me get my life back on track, and we buried the topic and the name Josh. Apparently until tonight.

‘I don’t avoid serious relationships. I just don’t need it.’

‘Honey, is that your honest answer?’ asks Naomi.

‘Yes.’ It is how I truly feel; I’m not lying.

They eye me suspiciously, not really convinced.

‘What?’ I say, my nose inside the glass, my lips slightly touching the liquid.

‘We just don’t want you missing good opportunities to be with a nice person because you’re afraid,’ says Lexi.

‘I’m not afraid. I’m not,’ I snap.

Am I afraid? No, I’m not. Tsk.

‘Okay, okay, don’t get so defensive. It was just a question for you to think about,’ says Lexi.

Was I defensive?

‘Right, let’s change the subject,’ suggests Naomi.

I could hug her right now if I weren’t so annoyed with her already. I hope the alcohol makes me forget this conversation.

‘Thank you. And let’s get another round because I’m thirsty,’ I say, almost falling off the high stool. Shit. Cute bartender must have heard me and seen what almost happened, because when our gazes lock, he raises a very judgemental eyebrow at me. Whatever.

‘While you’re avoiding a relationship at all costs, I’m trying to be in one for what feels like ages,’ says Naomi.

She’s right. With Naomi it goes like this: she meets a guy, who according to her is perfect. Then the perfect guy has sex with her a few times, tells her he isn’t looking to be in a relationship, they don’t see each other anymore, then suddenly that same guy is dating someone else professing his love on every social media channel. I don’t know if it’s just bad luck, if guys are always such assholes, or if it’s just because her perfect guy’s still out there waiting for her to find him. I almost feel bad about the guys I’ve ‘used’ in the past years. Almost.

‘What about Lewis?’ asks Lexi.

‘Yeah. I don’t know. Lewis is different. It’s almost as if—’ she stops for a moment, as if trying to understand the situation herself.

Lexi and I wait.

‘As if he’s afraid of me,’ she says, finally.

‘What?’ asks Lexi.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ I say. Only after the words were out I realise I actually spoke them.

‘What do you mean?’ asks Naomi with furrowed brows.

Uh Oh.

‘I—I mean,’ I stammer before continuing, she has her defensive look on. ‘You are a bit intimidating sometimes, you’re aware of that aren’t you?’

She keeps watching me as if I just made the discovery of the year. Maybe she’s having an epiphany and is finally figuring it out for herself.

‘Maybe he’s just afraid to take the first step. Being your co-worker means once he asks you out, it could either go really well or screw things up,’ I say.

She seems to think for a moment. It looks like she hasn’t considered this possibility before. She’s had a thing for Lewis ever since he joined the company she works for. From what she told us, the feeling is mutual. But, she keeps on waiting for him to ask her out, and he never does. I’ve had my suspicions for a while that the real reason for that is quite simple: he’s intimidated by my friend.

Lexi’s eyes are full of excitement, my remark seeming to make a lot of sense to her now too.

‘Don’t be mad, but I think Livvy has a point,’ says Lexi.

‘Yeah, I think you should ask him out. Why wait for him?’ I tell her.

Naomi’s big green eyes tell me she’s considering discussing this further, but before she can say anything else, Lexi says, ‘I envy you guys.’

With furrowed brows, Naomi and I stare at our friend. I don’t know about Naomi, but I’m shocked to hear this from her.

‘What can you possibly be talking about?’ I ask.

She hesitates for a moment and says, ‘I don’t know. You guys seem to have this busy sexual life, different guys, possibilities …’

My eyes lock with Naomi’s and I know she’s as surprised as I am with this confession.

Lexi has been with Thomas—the love of her life, her words not mine—ever since high school. They moved in together just when I moved out from the flat we used to share, three years ago. We all love him, and it’s impossible to look at Lexi and imagine her without Tommy, so it really does come as a surprise hearing her confess this.

‘Okay? What’s going on?’ asks Naomi.

Lexi seems to try to find her voice or words for a moment.

‘It’s been months since I had sex,’ she says, flushing and unable to meet our gazes.

Oh.

‘Elaborate,’ I say.

She sighs, clearly frustrated.

‘Okay, this was a bad idea. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,’ she says, looking away and sucking on the straw of her cocktail.

‘No, no, no. We’re not judging, honey, we just want to know what’s going on so we can … help?’ says Naomi.

‘I don’t wanna talk about it. Forget I said anything. Please?’

Naomi and I exchanged worried looks but decide to respect our friend’s wish.

We end up all talking about work again, this time not about mine. I’m barely present in the conversation, my tipsy mind roams to a different place: an old dream that, to happen, something needs to change, and it has to come from me.

#

I don’t recall the last time I was this hammered. Lately I have been getting wasted on green tea to keep me up and work like a slave. Right now I do my best to step out of the car without tripping on the pavement in front of my building. I don’t even know how I ended up in an Uber. The driver offers help but I wave him off. The whole way he seemed worried staring at the rear-view mirror, probably afraid I would puke in his car.

I open the old, noisy wooden front door of my building after almost tripping on the front steps. My heels are killing me, and as tipsy as I am, it’s like I’m walking on an ice rink, even though it’s summer in London. I spot the lift on the ground floor, a guy has just stepped on it and the doors are beginning to close.

Oh God, I need to pee. Don’t let the doors close on me.

I don’t think I can climb the five floors of steps to my flat right now. I also can’t wait for the slow old lift return to the ground floor before the need to release becomes unbearable. I hurry to catch the ride up.

I hope the bastard waits for me.

He does. He waits for me, and as soon as our eyes lock, I forget about my need to pee.

‘Thank you,’ I say, finally moving from where I was standing and stepping onto the lift as graciously as I manage on these heels.

He nods, with a half-smile. And what a smile. Not just the smile, the whole package.

He’s wearing sports clothes. White running shorts and white T-shirt and black cap backwards, a big backpack slung over his shoulder.

How can he be so sweaty and still smell so good?

Our eyes meet, and the look on his face is a mix of shyness and confusion. I don’t know why. Anyways, he takes off his cap, quickly runs his fingers through his inky and sweaty hair, only to place the cap back on. I can’t avert my eyes from the muscles on his arm flexing with the movement. I almost feel sober again with the electricity running through me.

God, he’s cute. Haven’t seen him in the building before.

I’m now trying to balance myself on my heels, so I just lean by the metal bar under the mirror for support. If he weren’t here I’d have taken off my heels by now. I keep watching him from my peripheral view. His profile is soft and rough all the same, it might be the combination of his sharp jawline and the stubbles. Goddamn it, his stubbles are perfection.

Am I staring? God I’m staring aren’t I? Maybe that’s why he’s looking at me like that. Amused.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. My heart is pulsing fast and funny under the effect of the alcohol. I really shouldn’t have drunk this much. When I open my eyes again I’m staring at the button panel and realise that he pressed the button to the sixth floor to the penthouse. He’s quiet, but I feel his eyes on me.

‘Shit.’

Oops, did I say that aloud?

I forgot to press the button to fifth floor, and so I do it as fast as I can, but the doors have closed and it’s too late for it to stop on my floor before reaching the penthouse. This lift is that stupid. So not environmentally friendly.

I hear a laugh-snort behind me, when I look back I see the gorgeous human being standing there at the corner, now relaxed, playing with a bunch of wristbands around his left wrist. His middle of the ocean deep piercing blue eyes catch mine.

‘God you’re cute.’

Was this my voice I just heard? Shit!

This time he lets out a delicious laugh, his gaze still connected to mine, his mouth twitching just a little on one side showing a dimple and his big white teeth.

‘Is that so?’ he asks, amused.

I’d say he’s blushing but I’m not so sure of anything right now apart from the fact that I’m making a fool of myself. Even drunk, I’m perfectly aware when I’m making a fool of myself.

‘God, I’m never drinking more glasses of rosé than my e-established limit a-again,’ I stammer and do my best not to burp. Burps are disgusting. The words roll slow out of my mouth. I hide my face with my hands.

I hear him smiling through his nose.

‘And what’s your limit?’ his voice is deep, but soft, and he has just dropped a cute accent, on the last word. He’s not from around here.

‘One bottle, it seems. After that I start doing and saying things I shouldn’t,’ I say, my voice muffled by the palms of my hands, still unable to look at him.

‘I see,’ he chuckles, possibly agreeing with my remark.

‘Sorry,’ I say, now peeking out of the hiding place I’ve improvised with my hands.

‘There are worse things than being called cute,’ he winks at me.

Oh God, why do I feel my insides stir up? Oh the things I could do to his body, how messy I could make his hair. Oh … it’s so so hot in here right now. Stop it. Get it together Olivia.

Before I can say anything else the lift stops at the penthouse and the doors open.

‘Guess I’ll see you around.’ Cute guy’s making his way out just when I start to feel my acidic stomach complaining.

Oh no. Not now.

I tense and try to think of the fastest route to the closest bathroom. Until this lift has closed its doors and I get to my floor it will be too late. I step out of it, just behind him, and the only thing keeping the bile rising up my throat from coming out is watching his ass move inside the white fabric of his shorts.

He turns back suddenly and I bump into him, crashing against his hard worked chest.

‘Sorry,’ I say quickly, almost pushing him out of the way. He holds me, steadying me by my arms, the warm touch of his hands sends an electric current through my spine. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to calm my raging stomach.

‘Are you alright?’ he fixes his gaze on mine, his expression of worry.

‘I’m gonna be sick,’ I say lifting my hand to cover my mouth, as if the gesture would avoid what’s coming.

‘I’m taking … t-the stairs. I live d-downstairs,’ I say with effort.

He lets me go and offers me to use his bathroom. I shake my head and make my way towards the staircase, it’s only one floor down.

I can do it.

I take each step as fast as I manage considering I’m wearing high heels, the black ones with red soles I insist on wearing when I have an important day. I’ll be lucky if I make it to the bathroom before breaking my ankle. On the last few steps, when I see the door to my flat, I open my purse to take my keys out, but as always, it’s a whole mess inside it and as usual I can’t find it on the first try, nor the second, or third.

Of course I trip. Then I’m flying.

I can already feel the hard bang of my pretty drunk face hitting the floor, I wince with the anticipation of the pain that’s coming my way, but something pulls me back, making my heart stop for a few long torturous seconds.

Am I gonna fall or what? Well, it seems not.