2
I squeal as brown droplets spill down my front and onto my phone. I jump backwards, but it’s too late to avoid whatever damage has been done to my top – although my leather jacket is waterproof, the drink managed to get through the one part that was unzipped.
‘Shit, I’m so sorry, let me help.’
I hear the male stranger’s apology, but don’t pay attention to him as I assess the stain that’s growing across my chest. That’s going to need more than soap from the club bathroom, I think, as I zip up my jacket fully.
I shake my phone and a puddle of drips forms on the pavement. Watching it pool, I start panicking about the fact I need to put it in rice or something, and they likely won’t have any of that behind the bar of London’s shittiest nightclub.
I look up as the guy in front of me starts to pull something out of the McDonald’s bag balancing in his hand, but I don’t notice what it is because my attention is solidly plastered to his face.
Holy hell, where on earth did he come from?
I know Clapham’s full of rich people probably splashing obscene amounts of money on gym memberships and perfectly tailored clothing, but this guy. He’s something else.
He reaches an arm towards me and I’m too busy watching the way his biceps stretch as he moves to notice the napkins in his hand. He waits as I drag myself away from any indecent thoughts and accept his offering.
I reach down my jacket to dab the paper against the top part of my chest, knowing it’ll do absolutely nothing to get rid of the Coca-Cola stain that’s only growing beneath.
There’s a depressingly slim chance I’ll be able to attempt to get it out until I’m back at Tilly’s later, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeats, but I quickly reassure him.
With a face like that, I’m not mad about the way this night has panned out, ruined top and all.
‘It’s fine, it’s not your fault. I was the one who wasn’t looking,’ I say, which is kind of ironic because now I can’t stop looking at him.
‘I still feel awful though,’ he says, guiltily eying the now-empty paper Coke cup that lies on the pavement between us.
His dark brown eyes move from the cup back to my face, but not before taking a slow journey up my body, and I feel myself blushing, wondering if he’s thinking any of the same thoughts about me as I have been about him.
‘My place is across the road, and I was heading back there anyway. How about you come up and I can lend you something to wear, and we can try and get that out before it stains too badly? Really, it’s the least I can do.’
The fit, six-foot stranger points over my shoulder and I follow his finger towards the white-pillared townhouses across the street.
They’re the kind of beautiful buildings my friend David does viewings for all the time in his job as a high-end estate agent.
I’ve always wondered what they might be like inside.
I do a double-take, flitting back between him and the place he’s pointing at to confirm he really means he lives in one of those.
I pause before answering, trying to give the impression that I’m deliberating, when really, there is no way I’m turning this down.
Say no and head back to the club with shit all over me like I threw up on myself, or say yes and get to follow this gorgeous man into his swanky house?
Maybe it isn’t too late to get this night back on track and commit to having my first one-night stand.
Of course, there’s always the chance he could be an axe-murderer, but given the fact he’s wearing a University of Durham hockey team hoodie, I’m going to take my chances. I nod down at the brown Maccies bag still clutched in his right hand.
‘Throw in a few of those fries too and we have ourselves a deal.’
He smiles, and I didn’t realise his face could become any more attractive.
He walks up to my side and looks both ways before leading me across the street, his hand placed on my lower back to guide me safely to the other side.
My pulse jumps, and I wish we were crossing a seven-lane junction and not a one-way road so I could keep feeling it there a little longer.
‘This is me,’ he says once we’ve reached the opposite pavement, removing his hand to pull out a key and open the door to number twenty-two.
I follow inside and try not to gawk at the size of the entryway, the ceiling stretching for miles above me. A glass chandelier hangs down in the centre and there could be over a hundred shimmering pendants dripping from it.
‘Are any of your housemates in?’ I ask, peering into the rooms that border the hallway as I take off my jacket.
‘No housemates. It’s just me and Daisy,’ he calls over his shoulder, walking ahead and throwing his keys into a ceramic dish on one of the hall tables.
Ah, I sigh at the mention of a woman’s name, my stomach sinking. So, he’s just being a decent guy and offering to help clean me up, that’s all, given his girlfriend Daisy is prowling around somewhere. Well, that sucks.
I’m thinking about the fastest route back to the club when I feel something warm and wet brush up against my leg and I yelp as a black labrador licks my calf.
‘Daisy! Daisy, come here! No, she doesn’t want any kisses.’
He crouches down, whistling to try and drag the dog’s attention away, but has no luck.
‘Oooh, so you’re Daisy,’ I say, reaching down to stroke the top of her head. The guy moves closer as if to pull her away, but I bat my hand through the air.
‘It’s cool, I’m a dog person and she can probably smell the Coke on me. Isn’t that right, cutie?’
I crouch down and scratch her under the chin, only for her to stalk forwards and start licking the stain on my top. Right in the crack between my boobs.
‘Daisy, no, Daisy!’
This time he does take hold of her collar and slowly drags her backwards, only she springs free and this time gives my face a good clean.
‘Daisy! I’m so sorry. Again. But on the plus side, I think she likes you.’
I smile but keep my mouth closed so I don’t give Daisy the opportunity to make these kisses any less PG.
When she’s finally deemed me clean enough, she trots back over to his feet of her own accord.
His stern-parent face fades and he gives in and pats her head when she wags her tail at him, practically dusting the floor.
‘Come on, you little rascal, let’s get you a toy to play with instead. And you,’ he says, pausing, his eyes briefly flicking down to where my top is now wet with both Coke and dog slobber, ‘let’s get you changed and away from my furry menace.’
I wait while he pulls Daisy into one of several living rooms before gesturing up the stairs. I hang my jacket on a coat rack and follow him up two flights.
As I take in the marble staircase and the sporadically placed pieces of art that wind up the wall, I can’t help wondering what this guy does for a living.
I figure he’s barely older than I am, so the more likely question is, what do his parents do?
I hope it’s their money at least – it’s too depressing to think someone my age could afford this on their own.
We reach his bedroom and while he rummages through his wardrobe I try to look for clues about the kind of guy he is through his decorations, but there’s barely anything hanging on the cream walls in here.
Only a few dramatic landscapes of lakes, and forests, and – shit.
Hanging behind the bed is a massive canvas with a snowy mountain range.
So much for being distracted from where I’m going tomorrow.
I turn away from it and lean against a big wooden chest of drawers as I wait for him to finish searching. He selects a couple of T-shirts and lays each one out on the bed behind him.
‘Feel free to try on some of these and take the one you want. I’ll head downstairs so you can change. I’ll be back up in a minute with some stain remover.’
As he leaves, he pauses in the doorway, his eyes darting down once again to my chest. Something in his jaw tics, before he heads out of the room.
I pick a T-shirt and don’t think any more on it until I head into his en-suite, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and witnessing the full extent of the damage to my top.
And my nipples, which it turns out are now completely visible through the drenched fabric.
I’d forgotten that in my haste to leave Tim’s I’d opted not to put my bra back on, and now that I’ve gone jacketless, the wet white fabric is doing nothing to hide them.
I giggle as I realise exactly what he was trying not to stare at.
I pull the useless top off and throw on the plain black T-shirt.
It’s huge on me but I bunch it up and loop a hairband around the excess fabric to keep it in place.
I fill up the sink and leave my top to soak in some soapy water until he comes back up with something a little stronger.
I take the opportunity to assess my hair, which has lost all the curls I spent an hour doing this afternoon and now falls in lacklustre straight lines down past my shoulders.
I bunch my balayage-blonde mane into a bun, trying to decide whether that’s any better, before sighing and letting it go again.
Natural it is. I turn back towards the bedroom, and when I do, I realise that mountain painting sits directly in my line of sight.
I glare at it, a proper death stare as if that might make it disappear.
When it doesn’t, I turn around and perch on the edge of the bed.
If I can’t make it disappear, I can at least face the other way.
What makes it worse is that it isn’t even a good painting.
From the small glances I’ve taken at it, I can tell the proportions are all wrong.
There’s no depth, and I bet those mountains aren’t all arranged in a line side-by-side in real life like the painting is making them appear.
I hear him coming up the stairs before I see him, but I happily let him pull my attention away from further dwelling on the painting. He settles in the doorway, one hip leaning against the frame with a bottle of stain remover under his arm and a small bowl cradled in his hands.
‘I believe I promised you these as an extension of my apology,’ he says, holding the bowl of fries out towards me. I take it as he heads into the bathroom, taking the bottle in with him.
‘You know, if I’d known you were this rich, I might’ve tried to get something a little better than soggy fries. Maybe a bottle of champagne? Or some priceless antique vase you’ve got lying around?’
‘No antique vases lying around,’ he says from the other room, before his head appears poking around the doorframe. ‘Although I do have one displayed on a marble podium in the hallway.’
His lips curve up into a smirk and I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. I keep munching in comfortable silence until he comes back and looks out of the window towards the street outside.
‘Did I drag you away from something?’ I ask, trying to peer in the same direction.
‘No, I was heading home from my friend Kevin’s place. We flew back for the week for his dad’s sixtieth birthday, but I’d already called it a night when I, uh…’ he trails off.
‘Artfully decorated my top with Coke?’ I finish for him.
‘That’s one way to put it, yeah,’ he chuckles. ‘Do you need me to call you a cab? I’m not sure where you were heading, but it’s late and you probably shouldn’t be walking there alone. London and all.’
‘Is that your way of telling me you want me to leave already?’ I ask, meaning it as a joke.
His expression stays cool as he takes in the way I’m sitting, the bend of my legs off the edge of the bed causing his shirt to hitch higher, leaving my red mini skirt peeking out of the bottom.
The muscles of his jaw tense, and I take it as another hint that he’s feeling the same energy in the air that I am.
It’s like something snapped when I looked up at him in the street, and that feeling of curiosity, that pull, has stayed there lingering between us since.
‘Is that your way of saying you want to stay?’
His question and the way his voice deepens when he asks it feels like confirmation, and it sends my head spinning.
Am I really going to do this? Am I reading the message behind his question right, or are we on totally different pages?
His calm demeanour makes me feel like a floundering fish as I try to come up with something flirty to say back, but in the end it’s the truth that spills from my lips.
‘To be honest, the thing I was going to do with my evening was try and find a hot guy so I could have my first one-night stand and hopefully stop getting in my own head about how awful the next two weeks are going to be.’
A sensible person would stop there, after that already TMI response, especially since I’m not sure I’ve landed on the right side of the confident vs desperate line.
But despite how sober I now feel, I want to blame the four J?gerbombs and two double vodka lemonades from earlier for preventing me from being sensible.
And I have no idea how people go about one-night stands.
Are you supposed to be super direct like this?
How else am I supposed to know what’s going on here if I don’t take matters into my own hands?
I push ahead, knowing I’ve gone past the point of no return and finding comfort in the fact that whatever happens, I’ll never see him again after tonight anyway. I’ve got nothing to lose.
‘What do you say, stranger?’