Confessions of a Serial Dater (11 page)

“Paul’s definitely going through a midlife crisis. He’s also
gone off me,” Carmen announces as she inhabits Charlie’s empty seat. “He just refused to have sex with me on the fire escape. He said he was too tired.”

“Carmen,” I tell her reasonably, as I channel Amélie. “Paul loves you. Anyone with even an amoeba-sized brain can see that.”

“Really?” She looks at me. “Only—”

“Yes?”

“Well, I think he’s having an affair.”

“When would he find time for an affair?” I am totally exasperated again. I love Carmen, I really do, but she doesn’t seem to grasp that just because she is one of those people who only needs four hours’ sleep per night, the rest of the human race needs rather more than that.

“Well, because he’s not as keen on sex as he used to be, for one.”

“He’s working fourteen-hour days to build up his business and your old-age savings,” I say to her. “In between working and spending time with you, and having sex five times a week with you, when, exactly, does he sneak off for secret trysts with another woman? In fact, sex five times a week must be exhausting. Would it really kill you to slow down a bit?”

“Yes, but, it’s a medical fact that men should have sex at least twenty-one times per month. It’s good for prostate cancer avoidance.”

Is it? My God, that’s astonishing.

“Carmen. He is not. Having. An affair,” I tell her firmly and glance across to Paul, who is yawning.

He looks exhausted.

“You know what? You’re right,” Carmen says, smiling a secretive smile as she twirls her hair. “I know exactly what I need to do. Thanks for that, Rosie. You’re a pal.”

“What did I say?”

“Part one of the master plan begins now.” Carmen slides
back around the table to her seat next to Paul. “Paul, darling,” she says, taking his glass of brandy away from him. “That stuff will kill your brain cells and rot your liver—you need to take better care of yourself. Here, drink this water instead.”

God, she’s gone mad.

Half an hour later, I am still rejoicing in my independent state. I am also exhausted.

This party is just for Ned and Flora to celebrate their impending nuptials with, oh, three hundred of their relatives and close, personal friends, and it’s tiring being all flirty, and fun, and making the rounds of all the relatives. Plus, my feet, unsurprisingly, are killing me.

But Mum seems okay. Auntie Lizzy, bless her, is making a point of looking after her. She told Mum earlier, “The young ones need to have fun together,” thereby relieving me of the need to sit with Mum all night.

Gran, a vision in a long, blue-and-white-checked dress straight out of a Western, and who needs no excuse to have a great time, is generally mingling and chatting to anyone who will chat back to her.

So just imagine my surprise when I discover that among Ned’s close, personal friends is Jonathan. Or rather, Jonathan’s new girlfriend is a friend of Ned’s. She is a nurse at St. Mary’s Hospital and has invited Jonathan as her date.

I discover this startling fact when I set off in search of a diet cola, because I’m hot and thirsty and need a caffeine boost.

“Rosie,” Jonathan says, his face turning red as he and his new girlfriend stop in front of me. “What a surprise. You’re looking lovely,” he also says, and I wonder why he sounds so
surprised
that I am looking lovely. Am I supposed to be doing sackcloth and ashes? I mentally thank Carmen for forcing this little red dress on me.

Actually,
Jonathan
looks lovely. And I can’t help it. My throat tightens, and I am ridiculously close to tears as I remember all the good times we had.

“Er, this is Samantha,” he tells me, and I force myself to smile at the tall, elegant blond. I can’t stop myself from taking a quick peek at her feet. Slim, small, dainty…

“Hi,” she says pleasantly, offering a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello.” I also try for pleasant. “Lovely, um, shoes,” I add.

“Er, Samantha’s a colleague of, er, Ned’s.” Jonathan has the grace to look embarrassed. “She’s a nurse at St. Mary’s Hospital. Didn’t realize it was your Flora he was getting engaged to. I’d never, you know, never have…”

“What a small world it is, hahahaha,” I say, stunned and a lot betrayed that he has gotten over me so quickly and has moved on with his life. And although I thought I was completely over him and had moved on with
my
life, it hurts that I am so instantly forgettable.

“Well, lovely to see you,” I babble, because I have to get away from here
right now.
“Got to dash. Got to, you know…well, lovely to see you again,” I say in a rush and head for the drinks station in search of a large gin and tonic.

So imagine my dismay when I spot Elaine at the drinks station. With Harry. He didn’t mention he’d be here when he left that sexy voice mail for me earlier. The cheating rat.

At twenty weeks’ pregnant, Elaine hasn’t even got the decency to swell and gain excessive weight. Instead, she is a vision of Madonna-like radiance in a white, flowing gown that gently emphasizes her smallish bump.

And although I do not want Harry as my date, nor, in fact, would I want anything to do with him ever again even if he were the last man on the face of the planet, I am more than a bit pissed that he’s attempting to pursue me at the same time as he is obviously dating my cousin.

Yes, it’s a very good thing I’m not interested in men,
I think as I change course and head to the hotel foyer. I just can’t face any of Elaine’s bitchiness or Harry’s two-faced flirting, because after encountering Jonathan I may weaken and give in.

If I fortify myself in the hotel’s main bar, in peace and solitude, I will not have to contend with coupledom and ghosts of boyfriends past, because at this point I’m wondering why Ivan hasn’t made an appearance.

“Double gin and tonic,” I tell the barman, then change my mind. “Actually, make that a triple,” I say, pulling myself onto one of the barstools. My feet feel instantly better.

“One of those days?” he asks, smiling.

“You could say that.”
Hmmm,
I think as I take a deep swallow of my drink and the gin immediately hits my nervous system.

Peace and quiet at last.

“You know, drinking alone is the first step along a slippery, shady road to ruin,” an attractive baritone voice says in my ear. “I definitely think you need rescuing from that. Mind if I join you?”

And as I turn to face the owner of the attractive baritone voice, “Sweet Mystery of Life, at Last I’ve Found You,” begins to play, rather inexplicably, in my head.

And Dr. Love raises a sardonic eyebrow at me.

Of all the bars in all of London, he had to walk into this one,
I think rather hysterically as my whole body jumps to immediate alert.

So, to add insult to injury, as well as the “Sweet Mystery of Life, at Last I’ve Found You,” soundtrack running through my head, I am now also channeling
Casablanca.

Play it, Dr. Love,
I think.

“It’s you,” I say like a dimwit, not resembling Ingrid Bergman in the slightest, because, of course, I cannot think of anything droll or charming to say.

I can’t think of anything at all, because the rush of adrenaline has rendered my brain dizzy, and I have lost the power of coherent speech.

“Yes, I think it’s safe to say that it’s actually me,” Dr. Love
says, smiling his charming smile as he looks down at his chest and pats himself. And looks back at me, and I’m mesmerized by brown eyes and his crinkling smile. “Again. Luke Benton,” he tells me, holding out a hand.

“Sorry?”

“We never did get around to exchanging names, did we? And I always make a point of finding out the names of the women I—” He pauses, and my mouth dries up as I wait for him to say kiss. “Rescue,” he finishes, and my heart pounds right into my throat.

“Rosie Mayford,” I squeak, flushing. We might not have gotten around to names, but
man
did we ever get around to exchanging saliva. It seems rather surreal to be shaking his hand, given our exciting, if somewhat brief, history. Luke Benton.
Luke Benton,
I think, savoring his name.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Rosie,” he says, holding my hand in his. “Unexpected, but lovely. Why are you torturing your feet with tight shoes again?”

“Me, too. Um, because they go with the dress?” It’s true. Yet again, I sacrificed comfort in the name of “fuck me” shoes, but the spiked heels look so good with the dress. God, but his hand feels so warm and solid, and he’s even better, so much better, in real life than in my daydreams. I’d forgotten how compelling, how sexy, how dangerous…

Reluctantly, I let go of his hand, because I’ve been holding it for longer than I should, and he must think I’m an idiot.

“So how’s the doctoring business?” God, I could kick myself for the drivel coming out of my mouth. What would Ingrid say in a situation like this? “How’s, um, Mrs. Woodbridge?” I ask, groping for something scintillating. God, why can’t I be scintillating?

“Mother and baby boy are doing very well, although by the time ten-pound Baby Woodbridge decided to make an appearance, poor Mrs. Woodbridge had graduated from call
ing Mr. Woodbridge all the names under the sun to quite a lot of words I’ve never heard before. And swearing that this was the first and last time she’d put herself through such torture.”

“Ouch. Ten pounds? I expect it’s enough to put you off sex for the rest of your life. Oh, I don’t mean you,” I babble. “I meant—” Oh, God, I didn’t mean to mention sex. Why did I have to go and mention sex? Because, of course, all I can think about now is kissing Dr. Love, I mean Dr. Luke, in Piccadilly Circus.

There is an awkward silence on my part, and sardonic amusement on his part, and in desperation I take another gulp of my gin and tonic and study the bar. It has a lovely finish….

“Yes, well, it’s surprising how the memory of the pain fades. My high respect for women and their endurance has certainly gone up inestimably since entering the field,” he tells me, and I sigh with relief that my sex gaffe has slipped by. “Even more so, as they mostly go on to have completely normal sex lives again, afterwards. Which is fortunate for the human race,” he says. “And for men, in general, of course.”

“Well, yes,” I babble, because his expression has me on the verge of spontaneous combustion. I think this man is flirting with me. “Especially as men need to have sex twenty-one times a month to help with prostate cancer avoidance—I mean, it’s medically proven, isn’t it?”

Oh. My. Fuck.
What
is coming out of my
mouth?
I’m going to burst into flames any moment now. Or die of embarrassment.

“And I’m sure that men across the land are rejoicing at that one,” he grins at me. “So how are you connected to the happy couple?” he asks, rescuing me again.

“I’m Flora’s cousin.” I grab the new topic of conversation with relief. “And you?”

“I work with Ned.”

“Of course you do, I should have guessed immediately,” I babble, again. I must try not to babble. “I mean, he’s an obstetrician, you’re an obstetrician, it makes perfect sense that you’d, you know, know him—”

“Well, it’s a strangely small—the world of delivering babies,” he says, as I think what a small place is the world of parties, and how happy I am that it
is
so small, because otherwise I wouldn’t have seen him again.

“God, it’s a good thing the world is small, otherwise we wouldn’t have bumped into each other again,” he adds. I think he’s psychic. I also think he’s
definitely
flirting with me!

God, what do I do?

“Um, would you like a drink?” I ask, trying for coquettish, but I’m sure that I’m grinning like a fool. And when he grins back at me, I wonder if I have lipstick on my teeth. Or food between them.

What am I doing? Why on earth would he want to have a drink with me?

“Well, no—”

“Of course you don’t want a drink, hahaha.” I leap straight back in to emphasize that I am so not flirting with him. “Sorry—of course you need to get back to your, um, table.”

Handsome, dangerous doctors like Luke don’t have problems getting dates for these kinds of functions. Hell, they don’t find it hard to get a date for any occasion. And although I know I’m looking my best, I’m suddenly stricken by the remembrance of the beautiful blond at the Christmas fund-raiser, and my confidence fails.

“I was going to say ‘nothing alcoholic, but a cola would be nice, because I’m on call,’ ” he says. “And I don’t think the table will miss me, somehow. It’s just like all the other tables. It never writes, it never calls…” He raises a sardonic eyebrow, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re doing that thing again,” I say, charmed.

“My apologies.” He smoothes his eyebrow. “It has a life of its own, I’m afraid. Soooo…If you’re sure your boyfriend can spare you for a few minutes, I’d love that cola. I’m—glad to see it all worked out for you with him,” he adds. And I’m confused, because I’m totally enthralled.

“Which particular boyfriend did you mean?” I ask him.

“I have a choice?”

“Of two, on this particular evening,” I say.

“God—you’re joking.”

“I wish. I’m being tortured with exes. They both have a connection to Flora and Ned. At this point in the day, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jack Cooper, whom I snogged behind the bike shed in tenth grade, turned out to be Ned’s distant cousin twice removed.”

“Lucky Jack,” Luke says, and my face gets hotter. In fact, every atom in my body is pretty well boiling.

I hadn’t meant to mention snogging, either, because of course now my eyes are totally drawn to Luke’s mouth and I want to kiss him again.

“That guy—Jonathan? The one from Christmas. I saw him in the men’s room earlier, and I just assumed you were here with him—”

“Oh. Jonathan. No, definitely not my boyfriend anymore,” I tell him quickly. “We split up the day after—”
I wantonly threw myself at you in the middle of Piccadilly Circus,
I nearly say, but don’t. “The fund-raiser.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” he says. But he doesn’t look sorry at all.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Well, it
was
a bit of a shock, at first—”

“On account of him having the bad manners to turn up at your cousin’s engagement party,” he finishes the sentence for me. “
Very
bad mannered of him. But also, possibly as a means
of reminding you of what you’re missing, thereby instilling in you a burning desire to get back with him,” he says, and I wonder if he’s fishing for information about whether I’d like to get back with Jonathan. “Unless, of course, he is a distant relation of Ned’s.”

“In a way. He didn’t mean to. Turn up, I mean. His new girlfriend brought him. You probably know her, she’s a colleague of Ned’s—Samantha.”

“Oh, dear. Yes, I do—nice woman. Excellent midwife. You probably didn’t need to know that—sorry to rub it in.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the highlight of my evening, bumping into him.”

“But it’s the highlight of mine, bumping into you again,” he tells me, and I shiver at the expression in his eyes.

And despite the fact that I have sworn off men, I am thinking that Luke, although he will probably break my heart, might be the exception to make me break my no-man rule.

“No cheesy comments allowed, Doc,” I say but don’t really mean, because I’m secretly pleased, but also secretly terrified, that
he doesn’t
mean it.

“None intended,” he says, then adds, “I meant it.”

Oh, be still my beating heart! A change of subject is definitely in order. Things are just going too fast.

“So, tell me about your latest table,” I say, to try to (a) lighten the intensity, because yes, I am a coward, and (b) to ascertain just
if
he has a date, or a girlfriend, or a wife, which would be a tragedy, but he actually hasn’t
said.
In fact, he knows rather a lot more about me than I do about him.

So it’s a bit of a disappointment when Charlie comes dashing across the bar with his cell phone in his hand before Luke can answer me.

“Darling, he called. He
called.
And after all that worrying.” Charlie, all flustered excitement, grabs me, kisses me on the
mouth, then steals my drink and knocks back the rest of my gin and tonic in one swallow.

“Charlie—”

“He left me a lovely, long message—he’s missing me already and wants to know if I’m free for a date tomorrow night. What do you think? Too soon to call him back? Too available if I say yes to tomorrow night?”

Whilst I’m delighted to see that Charlie has finally glued his heart back together sufficiently to dip his toe in the dating pond to risk getting it smashed again, I am a bit irritated, because I am just about to jump in headfirst and risk my own.

What a horrible friend I am,
I think, squashing my frustration. I must remember my earlier conviction about helping friends in order to be happy.

“Well, on the one hand—” I begin.

“Why, hel-lo,” Charlie says as he notices Luke for the first time. I know that tone of voice. It’s his big-brother, who-are-you, and are-you-good-enough-for-our-Rosie tone of voice. It also has overtones of “God, what a lovely hunky man you are.”

“Charlie Blake,” he says, holding out a hand. “One of lovely Rosie’s dearest friends, and also co-owner of Odd Jobs. And you are? Apart from Mr. Utterly Gorgeous, of course,” Charlie adds. “Not that I’m interested; I already have my own Mr. Utterly Gorgeous. Or nearly, at any rate.”

“It’s not Mr. Utterly Gorgeous,” I say before I can stop the words from running out of my mouth. “It’s
Dr.
Utterly Gorgeous, I mean, Dr. Luke Benton,” I correct myself, trying to regain lost ground.

“It’s a delight to meet you,” Luke says, his eyebrow going up as he glances across at me. My nerves thrum at the promise of “later” in his eyes.

“Ah, I always did love a man in a white coat with a stetho
scope,” Charlie grins. “Interesting that you’re a doctor, because our Rosie here had a bit of a thing about—”

“Thanks, Charlie,” I jump in before Charlie can push his foot any further down my metaphorical, yet embarrassed, throat. “Sorry, Luke, you’ll have to forgive my usually calm, self-possessed friend here—he’s just had a large dose of love gin and tonic after a long drought.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one,” Charlie says, and I glare at him.

“Back to your question,” I tell him. “I think definitely no games. But also definitely go slowly—you only met him last night,” I say wisely. Oh, how I should listen to my own advice, because the way I’m feeling at the moment I could do something very rash with Luke. “If you want to go out with Lewis tomorrow night,” I add sagely, “then why invent a previous arrangement? Why play games? Just be straightforward and up front.”

“Just thinking about him makes me, you know, very up front,” Charlie grins evilly, and then to Luke, “Sorry, Doc, that’s probably more information than you wanted about a complete stranger.”

“No worries,” Luke tells him, grinning back. And just as I am relaxing, as much as it is possible to relax with all the heat and sexual frustration I am currently experiencing, about the fact that Luke is fine about Charlie, because you never know with straight men how they will react to your gay best friend, he ups my anxiety even more.

“I know what you mean about the really up front part,” Luke says, and my toes blush. I have to stop myself from letting my eyes wander downward to check out how up front he might actually be. And then, in that totally charming way of his, just as the conversation is getting hotter by the moment, he teases me by
completely changing the subject.

“So, what is it that you actually do?” he asks us both, and I
wonder if he does it on purpose to heighten tension. It’s certainly working.

“Odd Jobs,” Charlie tells him. “You know, you need an exporn star to take care of your rich kitty, or a drag act, or a bridge painter, we’re your people.”

“Two large gin and tonics,” I say to the bartender, because I feel the need for alcohol to blunt the sexual tension. “And a cola for the sardonic eyebrow.”

“Sorry,” he says.

“I think it’s charming,” Charlie tells him earnestly.

“Thank you. But Odd Jobs. That sounds fascinating. Where did you two meet? How did you come up with such an original idea?” Luke asks, sounding genuinely interested and impressed. Which makes a change, because all of my previous boyfriends thought it was a totally mad idea and refused to take it seriously.

Not that Luke is, or is ever going to be, my boyfriend, of course.

“In the students’ union bar at college,” Charlie takes the lead, also taking a sip of his gin and tonic. “We bonded over a shared love of Donny Osmond, Simon le Bon and drag acts. Love at first sight. Although in a sister-sister kind of way,” Charlie continues.