Chapter 5

5

DES

F riday . Praise the Lord. This week … it's like I've never been away. Am I going out this evening? I rub my eyes as code scrolls up my screen. There's always so much to learn in software. And I need to start sorting the schedule for Samsung. My phone vibrates on the wooden desktop beside me, and I pick it up. A WhatsApp from thebestguyIeverwentoutwith pops up and I grin. George . He typed that in my contacts the first night I met him. How many other guys have him down under that exact same name?

COCKTAILS. CLUBBING. TONIGHT.

I glance at my watch. I've got a mountain of work to do here, but I can't think of anything better than dancing my ass off at a club until 3 a.m. and burning off the trauma of this team who are still asking hundreds of questions. I text back:

DAY. FROM. HELL. HELL'S YES.

I order a takeout from Uber Eats and burn through the schedule for Samsung. Then I spend another couple of hours working on software and promise myself I'll look at it over the weekend. Heading out of the office, I inhale the cool night air and set off up the street. The funds I scraped together to buy my small apartment on the Lower East Side two years ago was one of the most sensible decisions I've ever made. The area wasn't crazy expensive for Manhattan, I can walk home, and it's gone up and up in value.

An hour later, when I'm standing on line for Crush all clean and polished, George appears in front of me wearing tight shorts and some kind of leather vest consisting of straps and buckles. He flings his arms around me.

"Dessy! You're the only one who says yes to my invites! I can't believe you've been away for so long."

People say yes to his invites all the time. I lean back to examine his sweeping eyelashes and gelled hair and let out a slow internal sigh. George and I started out as boyfriends, but it soon became clear that he couldn't do one partner, and after months of him pretending and sneaking off to hook up with other people, I eventually got fed up and ditched him. This got me tears and tantrums. So now we're friends, and I'd describe our friendship as one of me tolerating his carelessness and not expecting too much from him.

But we have fun. We're both lively, partygoing people. He brings all his man-traumas to me, which mainly involve him cheating on other people and getting upset when they're pissed. I'm still at a loss as to why he does it, but maybe he likes the drama. In George's world, everything revolves around him. Unfortunately, I'm not as immune to his charms as I'd like, and we still hook up occasionally. Planting a kiss on his cheek, I squeeze his waist.

"How's the love of my life?"

He pulls back and plants a large warm hand on my chest. "I have so much to tell you!" he squeals.

I eye up the long line. "Well, it looks like I've got the time to hear it all."

He purses his lips. "Let me go and have a word."

This is usually a crapshoot: We'll either get an ex-lover of his who won't let us in, or someone who's crushing on him and will. But minutes later he is back, grabbing my hand and pulling me past the waiting people as the bouncer lifts the rope, patting George's ass on the way in.

"He's hopeful," George mutters in my ear. "His brother got the best handjob in the world from me last night and I think he thinks he's getting the same treatment."

The bouncer's shaved head and huge bodybuilding physique catches my eye. "Not bad …"

George tips his head on one side and studies my tight white T-shirt and mid-thigh shorts, then grins. I shake my head at him. Do I want to go there tonight with him? Oh God.

But he's already leaning over the counter and fluttering his eyelashes at the guy on the front desk who stretches forward and kisses him on the mouth. Then George says something in his ear and turns and grabs my hand and pulls me into the club.

"What was that?"

The music thumps as George whispers, "I promised him a blowjob later."

I laugh out loud. How does he get away with agreeing to all these things and reneging on them after? My whole body warms as I take in the dancing bodies, the tight leather, rubber, and the lack of tops. Boy, have I missed this . Two cute guys from the office in South Korea took me out to some gay clubs in Seoul, but I didn't find anything like New York. It was more restrained and polite compared to the thumping excess of this.

Raising my arms over my head, I swing out into the sea of swaying people, high-fiving a couple of guys on the way. George is right behind me, hands on my ass as I stop in the middle of the floor, and when I turn around, he kisses me on the lips, grinning broadly against my mouth. And I sigh. This is the whole problem with George: He wants admiration and desire but not the long-term commitment of a boyfriend that would mean he'd have to give up all the hooking up and settle.

An hour later my T-shirt has disappeared and sweat is running down my chest, dampening the tops of my shorts. George vanished hours ago. Perhaps I've lost him for good this evening? I'm mildly relieved. As I head off the dancefloor, a couple of guys eye up my toned torso with interest and one of them grabs me around the neck and gives me a long kiss. I'm a knockout without my top—that's why I took it off. But I escape from the smoocher—it's too early to decide on who tonight—and I blow the other guy a kiss as I fight my way to the bar. The bartender is built, tattoos snaking down his arms, and I give him a drunken grin. Leaning right over the counter to talk to me, he places two muscled forearms on the marble surface, and I have a terrible desire to lean down and brush my lips over them. Steam rises inside me. Maybe more than one guy tonight? As I gaze up into his dark eyes, someone comes up behind me and kisses my neck. Then George says in my ear:

"I hope you're not getting a drink without me, Dessy, and don't think I didn't clock that smooch on the dancefloor."

Leaning over my shoulder, he says to the bartender: "Two long slow screws, and take your eyes off him—he's mine."

I turn and pout at him. "Stop ruining my chances."

He narrows his eyes on me, frowning. "What do you mean? I thought I was coming back to yours tonight. I've really missed you." He's not smiling when he says this, and he bends forward and kisses my neck, pressing himself right up against me. Something in me melts.

I place my hands on his hips. Do I mind this? Alcohol thrums through my veins. Sex with George is good, and we know each other well. I can keep my emotions out of it.

He tips back and cups my face. "Are you up for that?" he says, and bless him, his brow is wrinkled. The idea of something familiar tonight after the week I've had makes my toes curl. So I nod, too tired to do anything else.

The cute bartender leans over, placing both our cocktails down. "If you guys are up for staying until we close, I can make you free drinks all night and join you later." His eyes scan down George's body.

George tilts forward and places his lips on the bartender's, who kisses him straight back, and he turns and grins at me.

"I'm up for that. Dessy?"

The bartender reaches out and runs his thumb along my lower lip, leaning over to say over the thumping beat, "I'm Felix."

It's just another night out in New York.

White sheets twitch over my shoulder as someone moves behind me, and I blink blearily at the dark tumble of hair on the pillow in front of me. George. Then who …? I roll onto my back as Felix pulls himself up to sit on the side of the mattress. The clock projecting the time on the ceiling blinks 3:05 a.m. George snuffles and lets out a soft snore.

"I'm going to head home," Felix whispers.

Running my hand over my face, I prop myself up, placing a hand on his warm back. "No problem."

"Thanks for tonight. I had an amazing time. You guys are a blast."

Perhaps he thinks George and I are together: We understand each other so well, sexually and otherwise. Something slithers through me. Back in Seoul, I went to sleep early and got up at dawn to run along the hilly paths with the rising sun. The people were kind and polite, and I had a lot of enjoyable evenings over lovely meals. I'm fitter than I've ever been, and I want to hold on to the promise I made to change my lifestyle when I came back.

I nod. "I'll see you out."

He shakes his head. "No need, I can let myself out."

But I push up to sit on the side of the mattress next to him as he rummages around for his boxers, pulling a dark pair from the pile of clothes on the floor. He turns his head and grins, patting my shoulder.

"You're a nice person, Des. He's a lucky guy." Hooking his shorts over his feet, he stands and pulls them over his ass.

I run my hand over my hair, unconvinced. I'm a drama queen, I know I am. I just don't get to show it with George: His capacity for melodrama runs so much hotter than mine.

Felix grabs his T-shirt and slips it over his head, and I reach down and pull my own boxers out of the heap and put them on and we walk to the door of my apartment. He turns around in the doorway.

Don't ask for my number .

"It'd be fun to see you again, Des, if you're up for that."

Damn.

"Sure." I grab his phone and enter my details, then text myself. "You got me now," I say.

He nods, grinning. Then leans in and gives me a smooch on the lips, shaking his head. "Fantastic night."

"Me, too," I say, and I give him a little wave as he heads to the elevator.

I shut the door and lean back against it, blowing out a breath.

"Des?"

George's sleepy voice reaches me from across the apartment. Crossing the lounge to my bedroom, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, gloriously tousled.

"Felix just left," I say.

He frowns. "Who?"

This makes me laugh. God knows how many uppers George had had before he met me last night.

"The guy we had sex with tonight?"

"Uh-huh," he says, half awake.

"Go back to sleep," I say.

"Need to pee." He stands up and stretches, and I scan down his body.

As he walks toward the bathroom, on impulse I lift my phone and snap a shot of his backside illuminated by the lights seeping around the door.

He grins over his shoulder at me. "Are you taking naked pictures of me?"

"Yep," I say, grinning back.

"I wanna see that when I'm done," he says, disappearing into the bathroom, and I pull up the picture.

It's moody, only half-lit. His ass is tight and muscled, hair a tousled mess. He's clearly just got out of bed, and I suddenly think of Alex and the arty shot of his ankle. Grinning, I pull up Grindr and start to type a response to Alex, but then delete the words. Isn't no text at all better? I load the photo of George into the app. That'll teach him to send me suggestive pictures; I can send so much more provocative ones back.

I press send and collapse back on the mattress, closing my eyes as the room dips and sways. I'm still a bit drunk. The bed moves when George climbs back into it, but I'm drifting, my mind grappling around images of dancing and Korea and George popping a pill into his mouth and … A warm arm curls over my stomach.

"Love you, Dessy," he says.

When my eyes blink open again, it's to a white ceiling with thin strips of sunlight cutting across it. The time on the clock is blinking 12:13 p.m. Sun seeps through the blinds, and my body is loose, heavy against the sheets, water quietly gurgling in the pipes somewhere to my left. I turn my head to find a piece of paper on the pillow next to mine, and I smile. George and his notes! I have a whole stack of them in a drawer somewhere. Picking up the note, I roll onto my side, blinking as I try to focus.

Brunch with Alan and Shaun. Come and join us! I'll text where we're meeting. Gx

Lying back, I stare at the pattern on the ceiling, chest expanding. He's not here and I don't have to listen and be supportive, and that probably makes me an awful person. I take a deep breath and shut my eyes. It would be so easy to be sucked back into things with George. Despite the cheating, he's good at being close to people, and I've got a familiarity with him that I don't have with anyone else. I don't know whether the closeness is an illusion or if it's real for him. When he says he loves me, what does that mean? Perhaps he does love me in his own way—he just can't be with one guy and stick to it.

Growing up, with five younger sisters and no dad around, my time at home was spent prepping homework, washing PE uniforms, listening to boyfriend problems, and wading in when I had to. Now I want someone to take care of me. I love all the hooking up and the fun, but ultimately I want to find my person. Who doesn't? Hollowness snakes through my stomach. George is great, but the time away in Korea has given me some distance and a bit of perspective, and I need to harden my heart a bit here.

Paws click-click on the wooden floors. Mitzi, with some sixth sense only dogs have, has realized I'm awake. Her fluffy head appears by the bed.

"Hello, missy," I say, leaning over to pick her up. "Did you take cover last night from the noisy, drunk men?"

I hold her above me, arms extended, and she wriggles and stretches down. When I put her on my chest, she licks my face. Laughing, I push her onto the mattress, but not to be outdone, she squirms up, and sniffs around the sheets before coming back to me, putting her paws on my shoulders and licking my face again. I smoosh her down by my side.

"Lie still, torturess."

I pick up the note again. George's friends Alan and Shaun have a habit of gossiping that often takes the conversation swirling down the plughole, and they've made sour faces at me when I haven't dished the dirt on Janus Phillips, who featured heavily in the gossip columns before he got married to Jo. Like I should have a hotline of information on him, which I don't. Listening to their bitching doesn't sound that appealing when I've got a free Saturday to catch up on admin, washing, and sleep. Perhaps even veg out in front of a movie tonight and go to bed early. I stretch out over the sheets and wiggle around. Bliss.

When I pick up my phone, a text from George is sitting on the notification screen with details of a brunch place that does his favorite cocktails. They'll all be pissed . Did he really miss me? Am I immune to his manipulation, or will I ever be? Ugh. Second-guessing my weaknesses with him drives me around the bend. I love him dearly, but I haven't missed this.

Gotta catch up with stuff today. Love you, xx

That will keep him happy, and I can press on. Putting my phone back on the nightstand, I roll over and close my eyes.

I wake again at 2 p.m., Mitzi still curled up beside me, and lever myself out of bed. We head out for a quick walk and then she follows me around the apartment for three hours while I put on two loads of washing, clean every surface, pay a load of bills, and sort out the pile of mail that's accumulated after two months of my being away.

I wade through emails and pull together the schedule on Samsung for this coming week. The next time I glance up, the sky is dark outside. 8 p.m. I yawn, my stomach growls, and I lean back from my laptop and stretch. The tightness in my shoulders has eased off, and for the first time since I got back, I'm ahead of the game, or at least prepared for the problems the new team in the office will no doubt have in store for me. Time for food in the wonderful smorgasbord that is New York: Uber Eats will bring me anything.

But my phone has other ideas. When I open it up, messages light up the screen. There's a text from Felix, and a string of drunken WhatsApps from George, telling me they're going clubbing and begging me to come. A message from someone named Jack, saying he'd love to meet up again. I have no idea who he is. And two suggestive texts from greatabsREAL! I scroll over to Grindr. Has anyone else messaged my profile? I flick through a couple of lewd messages and then a head of dark curls pops up. Alex. Oh my God, it's a picture. My heart thumps in my chest. And shit, I sent him that photo of George silhouetted in the bathroom door. I snort. Frankly, I'm surprised he's responded at all but …

What?

What is this?

The black-and-white photograph is shot close to, from above. A guy's stomach and a head of hair. I peer at it. Son of a bitch . Some guy is kissing down someone's abs. Or possibly something else? Is this an oral sex picture? The hair is messy and dark, eyelashes and a nose pressed into skin: That's it. I can't tell if it's Alex's head or his body that someone else is working their way down. Holy shit .

I lift my head, taking in the black sky and the illuminated squares of the apartment block of the building behind mine. This could be a stock shot, not something Alex took. Why would he send me this? It has a classic one-night-stand vibe, and didn't he say he didn't do that?

Come on, Des , a little voice in my head says, you sent him a naked picture of a guy going into your bathroom.

So, does this mean he does hook up with guys? I stare down at my phone. What was the whole nonsense about taking it slow? If I'm looking at Alex's head, then whoever he was with took the photo and shared it with him, or else it's Alex's stomach in the picture. The last thing I expected was he'd respond in kind. I thought he'd decide I was an asshole and block me.

Is he expecting a reaction? Do I want to give it to him? Was he lying when he said he likes to take things slow and was thinking I would push?

Ugh. Either way, this smacks of game-playing to me.

I'm tempted to block him, I really am, but dammit now I'm curious.