Not OK Cupid: A sparkling rom-com you won't want to put down! Page 7

  He nodded slowly, catching his breath. ‘Right. You don’t need to come back again.’

  ‘Nope. No more bullying you to run, don’t worry. Look, I’ve got to go. My train leaves in a few minutes.’

  Without thinking, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. It unsettled her because it was an unconscious decision, but on reflection it was OK. A perfectly normal thing for a daughter-in-law to do. Especially since they wouldn’t see each other again.

  She hurried for the platform.

  ‘Ally?’

  She turned around, heart fluttering, afraid she’d been too obvious and he was going to tell her not to kiss her fiancé’s dad.

  ‘Yes?’ she said.

  ‘You want to know something strange?’

  ‘Sure. Especially if it’s about UFOs or the Loch Ness Monster.’

  He gazed at her for a few seconds. ‘I always thought Sam was gay.’

  The flutters turned into thumps. He knew. Of course he knew. This whole thing with the painting was a ruse to get her alone and trick her. All his attentiveness had been a way to relax her, lull her into a false sense of security, before catching her out with an innocent question.

  Well, she wasn’t going to confirm his suspicions. This was between him and Sam.

  ‘Did you?’ Her voice shook.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I’m his fiancée. And I’m a woman.’

  She refused to blink first this time, even when Harry drooled on her foot.

  ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘You are.’

  They stared at each other.

  Ally heard a train speeding into the station, registered it a few seconds later, and ran for the platform.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The following day, Ally and Rachel lay on a patch of grass in the park. Ally shielded her phone’s screen from the sun and scrolled through OkCupid.

  ‘Any luck?’ Rachel asked, lying on her front and reading a book.

  Ally put her phone down. ‘Nope. If tonight doesn’t go well, I’m screwed.’

  ‘What’s tonight?’

  ‘Sam’s finally agreed to meet Brendan, but he’s nervous so I agreed to a double date. This guy that chatted me up at the bar while I poured him the wrong beer. He seemed a bit of a dick but hey, it’s for Sam.’

  ‘You like dicks. Uh . . .’ Rachel frowned and looked up from her book. ‘Let me rephrase. You like arrogant, selfish men.’

  ‘Do not. They just like me. They’re the only ones who like me.’

  It wasn’t her fault her libido was stronger than her brain and always won the argument.

  At least she had good sex.

  ‘Mm, maybe,’ said Rachel. ‘The nice quiet ones are too terrified to approach you. But one will stumble into your life when you least expect it. Mine did.’

  ‘Show off,’ Ally grumbled. ‘Are you really still interested in him after all this time?’

  ‘Yes. I want him more every day.’

  Ally never ran out of things to talk about with Sam or Rachel or her mum or sisters, but after a few dates with a guy she was always scrabbling for topics of conversation. It was a mystery.

  ‘Why do you never use his name?’ Rachel asked.

  It took Ally a moment to remember who they were referring to – Rachel’s fiancé. She snorted in disgust. Use his name after he’d broken her best friend’s heart. Rachel might have forgiven him, but Ally hadn’t.

  She thought of Marcus and felt her cheeks grow hot. That was different. Maybe she’d thought about things that would break Sam’s heart, but she had no intention of doing them.

  ‘It’s been five years, Ally,’ said Rachel. ‘What does he have to do for you to forgive him?’

  Ally dragged herself away from thoughts of Marcus. ‘At least take a bullet for you. Or maybe fight off some crazed murderers or something.’

  Rachel gently removed an ant from her arm and placed it on the grass. ‘Mm. Anyway. Maybe you should reconsider the thirty thousand guys you rejected because of their profile pictures?’

  ‘Nope. I’m shallow and I’ve accepted it.’ It was only dicks that were attracted to her, so why not at least demand attractive dicks? She had to get something out of dating.

  ‘You don’t think maybe that’s your problem?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘That maybe you’ll find someone you’ll stay interested in if you judge them on their personality rather than abs?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I see.’

  ‘Look, I’ve given up on looking for a relationship so I might as well have hot sex buddies, right? Except bloody Jason’s got a bloody girlfriend.’ Ally ripped a patch of grass out of the ground and threw it at a tree. It was a gnarled old tree that looked like a courtier in the middle of a bow, but Ally was too despondent to take a picture for painting later. ‘Git. Sex buddies shouldn’t be allowed to have girlfriends when I want sex.’

  ‘So you want a committed relationship without any commitment?’

  ‘Exactly! I mean, no. What I really want is a man who likes my defective mind as much as my body. Too much to ask?’ Another patch of grass hit the tree.

  She did want commitment. Being in love looked incredible. It’d changed Rachel almost beyond recognition, and Sam was always less anxious and more confident when he had somebody. But Sam and Rachel had attention spans wider than a tightrope. Ally had never found a man she enjoyed spending time with clothed and naked in equal measure.

  ‘You won’t find him at a bar or club or dating site,’ Rachel said. ‘Only the ones with supreme confidence are brave enough to talk to you. You need to meet someone in a non-dating context, get to know them, and see if it grows into something more.’

  Ally considered it with scepticism. She had guy friends – either ex-friends-with-benefits like Jason, or men she wasn’t attracted to. If she met someone and was attracted to him, why wait? ‘That sounds long. Can’t I just mail order one?’

  Rachel sat up and inched into the shade. They’d been sitting in the sun for nearly her whole lunch hour. ‘I don’t like it when you’re grumpy. It feels all wrong when you’re not relentlessly cheerful.’

  Ally beamed.

  ‘That’s better. Need a hug?’

  ‘I need to get laid. But I’ll take what I can get.’ Ally put her head in Rachel’s lap and closed her eyes. She listened to children playing football and the raucous call of a wood pigeon as Rachel read her book. When her phone rang, she answered without looking.

  ‘Ally Rivers.’

  ‘Hi. It’s Marcus.’

  She shot up, her heart racing. Mostly from fear, but a little bit from his melty voice. She was not going to talk about Sam. She had to remember not to say anything about Sam. Marcus was just a client who she’d done a painting for.

  ‘The painting’s not done,’ she blurted out.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, and you?’

  She rubbed her forehead, ignoring Rachel’s mystified look. ‘Fine. You?’

  ‘No, we’ve done that one,’ Marcus said. ‘We’ve established we’re both fine.’

  ‘Oh. What do I say next?’

  ‘You say “Yes, I’d love to come to Essex again.”’

  She stifled a groan and sank back into Rachel’s lap. Hadn’t he got the message from the four calls she’d ignored, and the email that she’d deleted unread? Sam’s secrets were his to tell.

  ‘I’m busy,’ she said down the phone.

  ‘I haven’t said when I want to talk to you.’

  ‘But I know I’ll be busy at exactly that time.’

  ‘You’re sneaky.’

  She couldn’t help but laugh, even with her stomach full of dread. ‘I’m not talking to you about Sam. You have questions, you ask him.’

  ‘It’s not about that.’

  Ally unclenched. ‘Oh. Phew. What is it about?’

  ‘Harry.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s pining. You’re his first love, and you just l
eft him without a word. He carries the blanket you sat on everywhere. He looks miserable when he has to drop it to eat or breathe. He’s lost two hundred grams. Wasting away.’

  Ally snorted. ‘Two hundred grams? What did he do, fart? Look, stick a dress on a blonde mannequin and let him hump it to his heart’s desire.’

  Rachel’s mouth fell open.

  ‘He’s not that kind of dog,’ said Marcus. ‘He wants you for your mind, not your body.’

  She snorted harder. ‘That makes a change. Put him on and I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘I’m at work. Don’t know if he’s got his phone on him. Come and see him one evening.’

  ‘I’m not dopey, you know. Well, I am, but not that dopey. You’re going to get me alone and then demand to know things about Sam. Or, more likely, try and trick me into telling you things that are his business. I’m a loyal fiancée. Go away.’

  ‘I’m hurt and offended at your unfounded accusations. So when are you coming?’

  ‘Goodbye, Marcus.’ She hung up.

  ‘Marcus?’ said Rachel.

  Ally picked two daisies out of the grass and began making a chain. ‘Sam’s dad. I think he knows we’re not really engaged.’

  ‘That was Sam’s dad? Why were you talking about humping?’

  ‘Oh, long story.’ Avoiding Rachel’s eyes, she examined a daisy stem. ‘I—’ She sighed as her phone rang and answered, deadpan, ‘Hello, Marcus.’

  ‘Hi. Harry says he’s going to have a medical emergency on Saturday and will need a nurse.’

  She sighed again. He was persistent, she had to give him that. Perhaps if she met him one last time and showed him she wasn’t going to spill Sam’s secret, he’d lose interest in her. Then she could let the crush run its course and return to a pleasant, guilt-free existence.

  Was this her mind’s idea, or was her libido tricking them?

  ‘Ally? I’m like a rash. I don’t go away if you ignore me, I just get more annoying.’

  A rash. She tried not to picture him spreading all over her body.

  Yeah, it was definitely her body that wanted to see him.

  ‘I’m busy for the next three years,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Marcus.’

  She hung up and put the phone on silent. Let him persist all he wanted.

  Rachel cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Why are you flirting with

  Sam’s dad?’

  ‘I was not!’ Was she that obvious?

  ‘Were too. Does he look like Sam?’

  ‘Not really.’ If he did, she might have realised who he was in the garden. ‘His hair’s darker and thicker than Sam’s. His eyes are darker too, like a good Scotch. They do have the same build, broad and solid and tall. But he’s a bit Clooney and a bit that guy from The Invaders. You know, the hot one who—Don’t look at me like that.’

  ‘Well tone down the not-flirting a little, Ally.’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting,’ Ally scolded. ‘He’s Sam’s dad.’

  Rachel gave her a knowing look.

  On her date that evening, Ally couldn’t decide what to pick from the restaurant menu. She liked all cuisines – though French wasn’t her favourite; too much red meat and cheese – but preferred the clean, crisp flavours of the Mediterranean or the vibrant spices of India and Malaysia. But she’d found several things that made her mouth water.

  The restaurant was nice, too; pricey, but she liked coming here when she could afford it. She liked the deep red walls, the dark wood chairs, crisp white tablecloths and oil paintings on the walls.

  Her date was good-looking too. Oliver had dark hair, light blue eyes, a trace of stubble. He was a student, not her usual tradesman or labourer, but he made up for his lack of a manual job at the gym.

  ‘I hope they know how to cook a steak properly,’ he said, glancing over the menu. ‘Last place I went to presented me with a lump of shoe leather and seemed surprised that I wouldn’t pay for it.’

  She had a feeling if he didn’t fancy her, he would’ve demanded a refund when she’d messed up his order at the bar. ‘It’s lovely here. The lemon tart’s like a warm hug.’

  ‘Oh yeah? I’m not a big fan of lemon desserts. But warm hugs . . .’ His eyes roved down her body. She couldn’t blame him for liking her strappy pink dress that left none of her curves to the imagination, but she wished he’d at least pretend to be interested in her conversation.

  She was so contrary. With Marcus, she’d been frustrated that he hadn’t once looked anywhere but at her face. Now she was frustrated because Oliver was doing the opposite.

  Maybe Rachel was right and Ally had it the wrong way around. The men she dated rarely needed encouragement to admire her body, but it was rare to find one she enjoyed speaking to. Someone who liked her could learn to love her body, but could anyone learn to love her fickle, distracted mind as much as her cleavage?

  Unbidden, she imagined herself trying to seduce Marcus. Trying to make him realise she had something below the neck. Stripping for him, and watching a spark of attraction in those deep brown eyes.

  The waiter appeared and asked if they’d chosen.

  Ally snapped her mouth shut and hoped she hadn’t been drooling. ‘Oh, er.’ She jabbed her finger at the menu. ‘Moules marinière, please.’

  ‘Oh, wow,’ said Oliver. ‘You can say the French words. I thought you were a waitress?’

  Ally and the waiter both stared at him. ‘Um, yes, I am. But I studied French at school for five years like everyone else.’

  ‘You make French even sexier.’ Oliver turned to the waiter. ‘Is your chef good?’

  The waiter blinked. ‘Oui, sir.’

  ‘I mean, actually good? Does he know how to do a steak?’

  ‘Er . . . oui. She is classically trained.’

  ‘Oh, a woman chef? Good. They can usually take instructions.’ He smiled at Ally. ‘Chefs can be so arrogant. OK, waiter, I’ll have steak. Rare please, and I do mean rare. If she overcooks it, start again. Don’t try to fob me off.’

  The waiter turned to Sam and Brendan. They were deep in conversation, staring into each other’s eyes. She had to wave a napkin in Sam’s face before he realised there was someone else in the room. She was happy they’d hit it off, but wished Oliver seemed more promising.

  ‘You’d think they could hire real French waiters,’ Oliver muttered to her.

  ‘He wasn’t real? Have I been hallucinating waiters again?’

  ‘I mean he’d blatantly learned a couple of French words so they could claim they had French staff and put the prices up twenty per cent. He was probably born in Chiswick.’

  ‘I doubt it. That seems like an awful lot of effort.’

  Oliver laughed. ‘You’re so sweet. You don’t know how ruthless these businessmen can be. For instance, I bet I know why the bar hired you.’

  ‘Because I can make drinks and hand them to people?’

  She thought of the several orders she’d got wrong that afternoon, and the several others she’d tried to give to the wrong customer.

  He waved a hand. ‘Anyone can do that.’

  Charming. ‘I wish you’d stop flattering me. It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘I am flattering you. They hired you because you’re so hot, and men will come in just to look at you. We all go to a place near campus because of the sexy barmaid, and she’s not as sexy as you.’

  It was half-true. Ally was pretty sure Barbara hadn’t hired her for that reason, but it was probably why she hadn’t been fired for all her mistakes. ‘It’s nice to know my skills are so valued.’

  Oliver stroked her hand. She wrapped it tighter around her wine glass. ‘I don’t mean it like that. The world needs waitresses just as much as doctors, right? We can’t all be academics.’

  ‘Yes. Without us thick people, you doctors would have to pour your own beers. Heaven forbid.’ Ally didn’t know why she was getting so irritated. She was never going to be Mastermind champion and she didn’t care. She’d rather be admired for her personality than her IQ. Why di
d she care that Oliver had pegged her as a dumb blonde?

  Oliver walked his fingers up her forearm. ‘Aw, come on. Don’t take it the wrong way. I think you’re really sweet.’

  His arrogance wasn’t turning her on like it usually did. She glared at him and poured herself more wine.

  Surprise, surprise, Oliver didn’t like the food. While he complained, talked about himself, and shot poorly disguised glances at her cleavage, Ally amused herself by giving her mussels names and backstories and then feeling too guilty to eat them. She thought of Marcus, asking her endless questions and listening intently to the answers. Older men could teach the younger generation something. Or perhaps it could only be learned through age.

  ‘Uh, sorry?’ she said, looking up from her napkin and the sketch of Molly Mussel she’d etched on it.

  Oliver frowned. ‘Do you have hearing difficulties?’

  ‘Yep. I have hyper-waxability. I get a candle or two every week.’

  He sat back. ‘Gosh, I’ve never heard of that. Is there a treatment for it?’

  ‘It was a joke.’

  ‘Oh.’ He smiled. ‘Very good. Very clever.’

  ‘Mm.’ Ally sipped her wine.

  ‘Have you ever tried modelling? I’m sure you could do it, and it must pay more than waitressing.’

  ‘Standing around posing for photos is boring. I’d rather be taking them.’

  ‘You like photography?’

  A spark of hope for something in common. ‘Yes, you?’

  ‘Father gave me a Nikon for my birthday. Maybe you could come over and show me how to use it?’

  The optimist in Ally tried to fight the assumption but she knew how it would go if she went to his place. Oliver would stare at her body, only pretending to listen to her. She’d sleep with him just to kill her boredom. If the sex was bad she’d turn him down when he asked to see her again, he’d get angry, and she’d watch Bridget Jones’s Diary while eating ice cream. If it was good, she’d keep seeing him until she got too fed up of never having a proper conversation. It was becoming a routine, and she hated routine.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘Are you having dessert?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’ She hoped Sam and Brendan wouldn’t either, so they could leave.