One Night: Promised Part 22

'Sa.s.s is dangerous.' I brush him off and transfer my things from my satchel to a more suitable across-the-body bag. 'Let's go before I change my mind,' I mutter, ignoring his grumbles of disapproval as I march out onto the landing.

I thank all of the Converse G.o.ds as I walk down the stairs in my stable flats, but soon stop smiling when I find Nan pacing restlessly at the bottom of them. George is moving out of her way each time she performs an about-turn, pinning himself against the wall of the hallway to avoid being run down.

'Here she is!' George says, clearly relieved that his body dodging will soon come to an end. 'And doesn't she look lovely?'

I halt on the bottom step and watch Nan give me an all-over a.s.sessment, then flick her eyes over my shoulders, homing straight in on Gregory. 'You said heels,' she says in disbelief. 'You said a lovely black dress and heels to match.'

'I tried,' Gregory mumbles grumpily behind me, and I swing around to fire an accusing glare at him. He meets my accusing glare with his own. 'You try avoiding a Nan-style interrogation.'

I sigh my frustration and take the last step, pus.h.i.+ng my way past my grandmother, keen to escape all of the b.l.o.o.d.y fuss. 'Bye.'

'Have fun!' Nan calls. 'Is this one really better than that Miller?' I hear her ask quietly.

'Much!' Gregory a.s.sures her confidently. It just makes me walk faster. How the h.e.l.l does he know? He's not met either of them.

'See,' George laughs. 'Now, where's my pineapple upside-down cake?'

I march onward, grateful for my flats and looking forward to my date because it gets me out of the house and away from Nan, an uncharitable thought, but Lord, give me strength! A quiet life was an easy life, kind of, except for the odd grumble about my reclusiveness. Now it's a constant stream of questions and brain-picking. It's painful.

'Livy!' Gregory catches up to me as I reach the end of the road. 'You look dead cute.'

'You don't have to try to make me feel better. I feel fine, no thanks to you.'

'You're grumpy today.'

'No thanks to you.' I let out a girly squeal as I'm hoofed from the pavement. 'Will you pack it in!'

'Sa.s.s,' he says simply. 'You can have it without being a b.i.t.c.h, you know.'

'You deserve it. Put me down.'

He places me on my feet and straightens me out. 'I'm headed in the other direction, so I'll love you and leave you.' He leans down and pecks my cheek. 'Be good.'

'That's a really stupid thing to say to me.' I jab his shoulder in an attempt to restore our normality.

'Well, yes, it usually would be, but my best friend has developed a stupid gene in recent weeks.' He jabs my shoulder right back.

He's right; I have, but I've also lost that gene again, so he has nothing to worry about, and neither do I. 'I'm going on a friendly date, that's all.'

'And a little snog wouldn't hurt, but no hanky-panky until I've met him. I need to check him out.' He grabs my shoulders and turns me around. 'Off you trot.'

'I'll call you,' I say as I start to leave him behind.

'Only if you're not too busy,' he calls back, earning himself a roll of my eyes that he can't see to appreciate.

It's ten minutes to eight when I arrive at Selfridges. Oxford Street is still bustling, even at this hour, so I prop myself up against the shopfront and watch the world go by, making my best effort to look casual and at ease. I know I'm failing.

After five minutes of waiting, I decide that fiddling with my phone will make me look much more relaxed, so I rootle through my bag and start a text to Gregory, just to pa.s.s the time.

How long do I wait?

I click send, and my phone starts ringing almost immediately, Gregory's name flas.h.i.+ng up. 'Hi,' I answer, grateful he called because actually being on the phone is an even better way to appear relaxed.

'He's not there yet?'

'No, but it's not even eight.'

'Doesn't matter!' he exclaims. 'd.a.m.n it, I should've made you late. It's the number-one rule of dating.'

'What is?' I ask, changing my standing position to lean on my shoulder rather than my back.

'The woman has to be late. Everyone knows that.' He doesn't sound happy.

I smile to the crowd of strangers scurrying by. 'So what happens when the two people dating are men? Who's the one to be late then?'

'Very funny, baby girl. Very funny.'

'It's a perfectly reasonable question.'

'Stop diverting the conversation to me. Is he there yet?'

I glance back, my eyes darting around briefly, but find no Luke. 'Nope. How long should I wait?'

'I hate him already,' Gregory grumbles. 'Two p.r.i.c.ks in two weeks. You're on fire!'

I laugh to myself, silently agreeing with my aggravated friend, although I'll never tell him so. 'Thank you.' I roll onto my back against the gla.s.s and sigh. 'You've still not answered my question. How long should I-' My tongue dries up in a second as I watch a car cruise past, my head turning to follow its path down Oxford Street. There must be thousands of black Mercedes driving around London, so why am I so drawn to this one? The tinted windows? The AMG plate on the wing?

'Livy?' Gregory snaps me back to the present. 'Livy, you there?'

'Yes,' I say, watching as the Mercedes slows and then pulls a highly illegal three-point turn in the road before driving back toward me.

'Is he there?' Gregory asks.

'Yes!' I squeak. 'I should go.'

'Better late than never,' he mutters. 'Have fun.'

'Will do.' I barely push the words past the lump in my throat and quickly hang up, turning to face the other way, like it might look as if I'm unaware. Should I leave? What if Luke turns up and I've gone? You can't park on Oxford Street so he can't stop. If it's even him. It might not be. s.h.i.+t, I know it is. I push my body away from the gla.s.s and quickly weigh up my options, but before my brain makes an informed decision, my feet are in action and carrying me away from my distress. I walk with purpose, taking deep breaths, concentrating hard on maintaining my even pace.

I close my eyes when I see the car pa.s.s me slowly, and only reopen them again when I'm barged from the side by an impatient businessman, who proceeds to ridicule me for not looking where I'm going. I can't even find the power to apologise, instead picking up my stride again, but then I notice the car has stopped and I stop, too. I watch as the door to the driver's side opens. His body flows from the car like liquid, rising to his full height before pus.h.i.+ng the door shut and b.u.t.toning up the jacket of his grey suit. His black s.h.i.+rt and tie compliment his dark waves, and his jaw is covered in stubble. He looks magnificent. I feel conquered, and he hasn't even made it to me yet. What does he want? Why has he stopped?

I fight some balanced thoughts into my mind and I'm in action again, turning away from him and walking fast. 'Livy!' I can hear his footsteps coming after me, the sound of expensive shoes beating heavily on the concrete behind me, even over the bustling sounds of London surrounding me. 'Livy, wait!'

The jolt of surprise that kicked my feet into action turns to irritation as I listen to him shouting my name, like I owe him the time of day. I stop and face him, feeling more determined than irritated when I finally meet his eyes.

He skids to a stop on his fancy shoes and straightens his jacket out, just standing in front of me, making no attempt to speak. I'm not saying anything, because I have nothing to say, and, in fact, I hope he doesn't speak because then I won't have to encounter those lips moving slowly and listen to the smoothness of that voice. I'm safer when he's silent and unmoving . . . or remotely safer than when he's touching me or talking to me, at least.

I'm not safe at all.

He steps forward, like he knows what I'm thinking. 'You're waiting for someone. Who?'

I don't answer, just keeping my eyes glued to his.

'I asked you a question, Livy.' He takes another step forward, his growing closeness registering as a danger, yet I stay exactly where I am when I should be moving away. 'You know I hate repeating myself. Please answer.'

'I have a date.' I try for cool detachment, but I'm not certain I've completely succeeded. I'm too p.i.s.sed off.

'With a man?' he asks, and I can practically see his hackles rise.

'Yes, with a man.'

His normally expressionless face is suddenly a wealth of emotion. He's very clearly not happy. The knowledge spurs my self-a.s.surance. I don't want to feel the small pang of hope that's fluttering in my stomach, but there is no denying it's there.

'Is that all?' I ask, my voice stronger.

'So now you're dating?'

'Yes,' I say simply, because I am, and like an omen, I hear the not-so-familiar calling of my name.

'Livy?' Luke appears by my side.

'Hi.' I lean in and kiss his cheek. 'Are you ready?'

He flicks his eyes to Miller, who I notice is rigid and silent as he watches me greet Luke. 'Hi.' Luke holds his hand out to Miller, and I'm surprised when he takes it, giving Luke a firm shake, his manners never failing him.

'h.e.l.lo. Miller Hart.' He nods, jaw tense, and I see my date wince before Miller quickly releases Luke's hand, then rearranges his perfectly neat jacket. I'm definitely not imagining the subtle rise and fall of his broad chest or his eyes darkening with anger. I can almost hear something ticking inside him, like an unexploded bomb. He's mad and his murderous eyes nailed on Luke begin to worry me.

'Luke Mason,' Luke replies, shaking his hand. 'Nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Livy's?'

'No, just an acquaintance.' I jump in quickly, eager to remove Luke from such palpable fury. 'Let's go.'

'Great.' Luke holds his arm out for me to link, and I do, letting him lead me away from the horridly awkward situation. 'I thought we'd try the Lion around the corner. It's had a makeover, apparently,' Luke tells me, looking over his shoulder.

'Great,' I reply, not helping myself from glancing over my shoulder too, and instantly wis.h.i.+ng that I hadn't. He's standing, just watching me walk away with another man, his face cold, his body rigid.

We soon turn a corner, and when I feel Luke look down at me I feel guilt start to take hold. I don't know why. A date, that's all. And is my guilt because of an oblivious Luke or a clearly affected Miller?

'He was a bit of a strange one,' Luke muses. I hum my agreement, pulling his gaze down to me. 'You look lovely,' he says. 'I'm sorry I'm a few minutes late. I should've skipped the cab and jumped on the Tube.'

'Don't worry. You're here now.'

He smiles, and it's a cute smile, one that warms his already friendly face. 'It's just up here, look.' He indicates up the street. 'I'm hearing great things.'

'It's new?' I ask.

'No, just refurbished. It's now a wine bar, not a typical London pub.' He checks for traffic and quickly guides me across the road. 'I do love a good old-fas.h.i.+oned pub, though.'

I smile, thinking that I could definitely imagine Luke in a spit and sawdust pub, drinking a pint and laughing with his mates. He's normal, just a regular guy the type of guy who I should be investing in, now it's become apparent that I am, in fact, investing my time in men.

Luke opens the door, ushering me in, and then leads me to a table at the rear of the bar on a raised mezzanine floor. 'What would you like to drink?' he asks, indicating for me to sit.

It's that question, and while I felt perfectly fine about asking for a water when I was with Gregory, I now feel young and stupid. 'Wine,' I say quickly before I can convince myself that it's a bad idea. Besides, I feel like I need a drink. d.a.m.n Miller Hart.

'Red, white, pink?'

'White, thank you.' I try to appear unaffected and completely comfortable in my surroundings, but seeing Miller again has nudged me back to unbalanced and unsure. I'm wobbly, thinking of his face when he saw Luke.

'White it is.' Luke smiles and heads for the bar, leaving me alone at the table, feeling like a fish out of water. The bar is busy, mostly with men in suits who look like they've come straight from the office. Their loud chatter and laughing is evidence of their length of time here, with ties loosened and jackets disappearing.

I appreciate the stylish decor of the place, but not the noise. Shouldn't a first date be something to eat somewhere quiet where you can talk and get to know each other?

'Here.' A gla.s.s of wine slides towards me, and I instinctively slide back on my chair instead of picking it up and thanking him for it. Luke sits opposite me, pint in hand, and takes his first swig, gasping appreciatively before placing it down. 'I'm really glad you agreed to have a drink with me,' he says. 'I was about to give up.'

'I'm glad I came.'

He smiles. 'So tell me about yourself.'

I force my hands to join and rest on the table where I fiddle with my ring and give myself a quick mental kick up the a.r.s.e. Of course he's going to ask questions. That's what normal people do on dates, not offer unreasonable propositions. So taking a deep breath, I bite the bullet and divulge a piece of me to someone new, something that I've never done, or ever thought I would do.

'I've only recently started working at the bistro. I was looking after my grandmother before that.' It's not much, but it's a start.

'Oh, did she die?' he asks, looking uncomfortable.

'No,' I laugh. 'She's far from dead, trust me.'

Luke laughs, too. 'That's a relief. For a moment there I thought I'd put my foot in it. Why were you looking after her?'

This question isn't so easy to answer and the truth too complicated. 'She was unwell for a while, that's all.' I'm ashamed of myself, but at least I've shared a little piece of me.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. She's fine now,' I say, thinking Nan would love to hear me admit that.

'So what do you do for fun?'

My hesitance is obvious. I do nothing, in truth. I don't have an army of girlfriends, I don't socialise, I don't have any hobbies, and because I've never put myself in a situation where someone might want to know, I've never considered how utterly cut off and isolated I actually am. I always knew it G.o.d, I aimed for it, but now, when I want to come across as an interesting person, I'm stumped. I have nothing to offer this conversation. I have nothing to offer a friends.h.i.+p or a relations.h.i.+p.

I panic. 'I go to the gym, go out with my friends.'

'Oh, I do the gym at least three times a week. Which one do you go to?'

It's getting worse. My lies are leading to further questioning, which means further lies. This is not the best way to start a friends.h.i.+p. I take my wine and raise it to my lips, a desperate tactic to buy me more time while I frantically search my mind for a local gym. I can think of none. 'The one in Mayfair.'

'Virgin?'

The relief of Luke answering my question for me is obvious. 'Yes, Virgin.'

'I go there! I've never seen you.'