I need to stop with this silly obsessing, because no man that gifted and gorgeous can be good for a woman. That’s why I ran.
I make my way back into my apartment and nip to the loo to check my face, brushing at my cheeks. I still look flushed. Fucked, even. Shaking my head, I go to grab my bag from the bed to get my phone, my searching fingers faltering when I lay my hand on something else. I pull out my hand and stare at the Budweiser bottle top lying in the center of my palm.
Something to remember him by.
Last night really will go down in history. My history. It was a night to remember, and I’m sad that that’s now all I have to remember him by. Memories. And a bottle cap.
Chapter 5
The week has flown by, work swallowing up all my time, but I’ve managed to catch up with Micky for lunch, and Lizzy for dinner. Micky was how I expected him to be: blasé about the weekend’s events between him and Lizzy. I met Lizzy the next day hoping to find the same reaction. She rolled her eyes at the mention of it, her regret clear. “Trust me, it was a mindless screw with a mate,” she’d said. “I’ve already forgotten about it.”
I wish I could convince myself to do the same about Jack. Forget about it. But his damn face just keeps popping into my mind, along with every other gorgeous piece of him. It’s like he’s branded himself on my brain. I’m being tormented daily by him and memories of that night—a night that I have no hope of forgetting. Reliving it all is both frustrating and thrilling. My body still aches, now more deliciously, rather than the initial deep wince-worthy ache. Soon, all physical evidence of my encounter with Jack will be gone. Yet I know the memories will still be as fresh as they were the next morning. It’s Friday, for God’s sake! Nearly a whole week. When will he fuck off out of my head?
“I love this,” Colin Pine says, looking over the revised drawing of the front elevation of his new gallery. He’s a studious man, his life revolving around art, creating it, and filling his creative mind with as much information as he can get. His nose is constantly buried in some kind of textbook, magazine, or cultural article. “And you think the planning department will pass it?” he asks, looking at me as he pushes his spectacles up his nose.
I put my coffee down and smile. “The regulations stipulate the frontage being in keeping with the street and area.” I point to the drawing and to the sash windows. “We’re not really changing all that much on the front, and given the building is currently derelict, anything is an improvement.”
Colin laughs. “You’d think the council would be thankful someone is finally renovating the place, instead of enforcing their red tape. It’s an eyesore.”
“I agree, and that’s probably why they’ve passed these plans.”
He looks at me, shocked. “They’ve passed them?”
I smile. “After the two rejected submissions, I went to the offices to pin down the planning officer. These right here are a yes.”
“Finally!” he chants, clapping his hands.
“And this roof in the back will be what sets it apart from all the other galleries.”
“I agree.” He sighs, shaking his head in despair. “But the cost, Annie.”
I smile to myself. I knew the potential cost would be an issue. Which is why I’ve been digging. “I have a proposal.”
“Which is what?”
“I know of these guys based in France, and I made a quick call. They have estimated roughly half the price of the British manufacturer, keeping us right on track with the budget.” My excitement is hardly containable. “My only concern is getting it from France to Dover intact.”
“A good haulage firm will do the job, right?”
“I hope so, because if it’s damaged when it arrives on site, the schedule will go down the pan and your contractors won’t be happy about it. Neither will you, I expect, since we’re working to a tight schedule for your launch evening.”
“But half the price?”
“Subject to final measurements, which I’m sure are quite accurate. So yes.”
“Then it’s a no-brainer.”
“Fabulous!”
Colin stands and collects his briefcase. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Annie. Just let me know what you need and when. And I could do with a copy of those drawings to send to my contractors so they can give me a final quote. It’ll be helpful if you give me the details of this French company, too, so they can liaise with them.”
“I’ll sort it this evening.”
“Or you could just bring them along to the meeting on Monday morning? I’m due at the auction house at ten, so what do you say we meet at the bistro around the corner at nine-thirty?”
“Sure.” Gathering up my things, I offer my hand and receive a solid shake. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?”
Colin frowns. “What’s happening tomorrow night?”
“I invited you to my housewarming?” I smile, throwing my bag over my shoulder. “But don’t worry if you’ve forgotten.”
“Damn, I have a dinner arrangement with the contractor who’ll be undertaking the works here.” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Something informal before we kick things off on Monday at the meeting. I’ll sneak away as soon as I can.”
“Hey, bring them along. I can do informal before Monday, too.”
“Yes, that’s a great idea!”
“That’s sorted, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I smile and get on my way.
*
Bringing the tablespoon to my lips, I slurp the concoction loudly and roll the liquid around my mouth. “More rum,” I declare to myself, tipping the bottle over the bowl and stirring it up as it glugs out. I lift the spoon and slurp again, this time wincing. Strong. Perfect! I transfer the bowl of punch onto the big table and lick at my sticky fingers before collecting glasses from the cupboard and lining them up for easy access. I want everything in sight so I don’t have to be running around all night playing hostess at my housewarming. I want to enjoy myself and get drunk enough to stamp out the lingering memories of Jack. I need tonight—my friends, alcohol, and some laughs. There’s a knock on the door and I run to let the gang in, but when I swing it open, I find only Lizzy. No one else, just Lizzy. “Where’s everyone?”
“On their way.” She pushes her way in and heads for the kitchen. “I wanted to talk to you before they all get here.”
“Why? What’s up?” Has something happened with Jason? I follow her and crack open a bottle of wine, pouring us both a glass.
“You, Annie. You are what’s up! You’ve been weird this week. Quiet. What gives?”
I clam up, my eyes darting. I can’t deny I’ve been off sorts. Even Micky passed comment at lunch, and when I responded to Nat’s text message with a one-word answer yesterday, she was on the phone asking me what’s up, too. “My head is full, that’s all,” I say lamely, taking some wine.
“Of what?” Lizzy sounds suspicious and curious. I like neither.
“Work. Things to do around this place.”
“Bollocks,” she spits, insulted. “You’ve not been the same since Saturday night. What happened? And please don’t insult me by saying it was just a pleasant drink.”
“It was a pleasant drink,” I mumble on a shrug.