Chapter Thirty-Five
‘The kiss was really that bad?’
It takes every ounce of willpower not to curl my lip at Paris’s question, because this is a conversation I’m trying to have with my friends, and she keeps sticking her beak in.
I know the solution is to discuss my love life when Paris isn’t here at the flat, but the problem is she is always here.
It isn’t that I dislike Jonah’s new girlfriend, but I don’t like the fact that she’s bulldozed her way into our friendship group, that she always seems to be in our flat, sitting on my sofa, eating my snacks, monopolising Jonah’s time and sticking her nose in my business.
They’ve been seeing each other for less than two weeks and she’s unashamedly barged her way into our festive romcomathon tonight.
I didn’t even know she’d be attending until she plonked herself on the sofa and helped herself to a handful of pickled onion Monster Munch.
‘It wasn’t a bad kiss, it just wasn’t mind-blowing.’
Paris wrinkles her nose, which annoyingly makes her look prettier. ‘Do all kisses have to be mind-blowing?’
I hold in a sigh, because she simply does not get it. This isn’t Paris’s fault; she isn’t privy to all the information, to the wish I made that resulted in an insane number of meet-cutes yet no head-over-heels falling in love.
‘I was hoping the kiss would be mind-blowing.’ Because I’ve spent months chasing a dream, and do you know what?
I’m exhausted. Mentally and physically. I thought I’d hit the jackpot with Kit, and there was potential with Noah, but that kiss…
There was no chemistry there. No fireworks.
Not even a lacklustre sparkler. ‘But maybe…’ I shake my head.
No. I can’t say it. Not with Paris here.
‘But maybe…?’ Jonah leans forward, reaching for the Monster Munch, but changes his mind when he spots my narrowed eyes and opts for the Hula Hoops instead. There are only three Monster Munch claws left after his girlfriend plundered the bowl.
‘Maybe nothing.’ I snatch up the bowl of Monster Munch, holding it protectively against my chest. ‘It was a stupid idea. Forget it.’
Rhys smirks at me from the other end of the sofa and I start to squirm under his gaze. ‘You’re going to sleep with him. To see if there’s a spark between the sheets.’ He shrugs and grabs his beer from the table. ‘It’s what I’d do.’
Jonah snorts. ‘She isn’t going to sleep with Noah just to prove a point.’ He looks at me and the squirm becomes even more pronounced, and I have to drop my gaze, concentrating as I nibble off each claw individually from my crisp. ‘You’re not going to sleep with Noah just to prove a point.’
‘Excuse me?’ My spine straightens, the squirm leaking from me as I glare across at Jonah. ‘Are you telling me who I can and can’t have sex with?’
‘Maybe we should…’ Paris waves a hand at the telly, where a naked snowman-turned-human runs around the small town on-screen.
Hot Frosty was my choice but nobody has paid much attention to it as we’ve been discussing my firework-free kiss with Noah.
We’ve already watched Jonah’s suggestion, The Holiday, because you can’t have a festive romcomathon without it, and next up will be Thea’s Holiday in Handcuffs, followed by Love Actually.
I tried to veto Paris’s proposal (because what is festive, romantic or comedic about infidelity, grief, stalking and misogyny?) but Jonah wouldn’t back me up, even though I know he views the film the same way I do – we’ve had many discussions about it – and it made the list. I guess a less-than-two-week relationship means more to him than our year-long friendship and cohabitation.
‘I’m not telling you who you can and can’t have sex with.’ Jonah ignores his girlfriend’s suggestion that we focus on the film. ‘I’m saying you shouldn’t sleep with someone you have zero feelings for.’
‘Since when do you have to have feelings for someone to have sex with them?’ I see Rhys raise his bottle in support of my question out of the corner of my eye but ignore it.
‘Do you have feelings for Paris? Are you in love with her? Were you in love with Freddie when you hooked up with him on the first night you met? Or do the rules only apply to women?’
‘Hey. No.’ Jonah raises his hand and shakes his head emphatically. ‘Don’t make this into a misogyny thing.’
‘Isn’t that what this is?’ I shove the bowl on the table, even though there are still two-and-a-half Monster Munch left in there.
‘No, it isn’t. This is one friend looking out for another.’
‘Maybe we should watch the film?’ This time it’s Thea trying to redirect our focus, but Jonah and I don’t even register the prompt as we eyeball each other across the room.
‘I’m not saying you shouldn’t sleep with Noah, but it should be for the right reasons, not to try to desperately manufacture a relationship.’
I gape at Jonah. ‘You think I’m desperate?’
He shakes his head, mortification written all over his face. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, why can’t you let it happen naturally? Love isn’t something you can force, no matter how much you want it to happen. I wish it was that easy, believe me.’
‘You think I’m desperate.’ Humiliation steals my voice, my words barely above a whisper, and my chest is heavy, my eyes burning, but I will not cry here in front of my friends and Paris. I’m already perceived as desperate – I won’t disgrace myself further.
‘Christina, wait. I didn’t mean it like that.’
I hear Jonah’s anxious plea, but I ignore it as I rush from the flat, ploughing past the lift and heading for the stairwell, not because I fear getting stuck but because I can’t hang around waiting for it to open.
My feet clatter down the stairs, my hands sending the door into the wall when I reach the ground floor, and I burst from the block of flats like I’m being chased by a rabid dog.
Desperate.
The word runs through my mind with every footstep, and I clutch my stomach as I stop and gasp for breath out on the pavement.
Desperate.
Jonah thinks I’m desperate. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I am desperate – to fall in love, to stop this stupid wish, to be happy. Can Noah stop the wish and make me happy? Who knows, but I have to give it a shot because I’m going crazy here.