Lindsey Kelk 6-Book ‘I Heart...’ Collection. Lindsey Kelk
arms in the air could take it.
‘39th and Lexington,’ I said to the driver, sitting back against the cracked seats. Alex didn’t give me a chance to wonder if he would make a move, wait for a sign or even for the cab to pull into traffic before he stretched his long, lean body right across the backseat and took my face in both of his hands. As the taxi bolted through the late-night streets of New York City, I was thrown into a half-sitting, half-lying position on the back seat. Even though the night wasn’t cold, there was a chill that was completely dispelled by the warmth of Alex’s body as he pushed himself against me. I could feel his hand travel down my side and on to bare flesh at the top of my thigh where my dress had ridden up, and although I knew things were moving altogether too fast, I didn’t want to stop him. Before I had to make a really difficult decision, the taxi pulled to a juddering halt, throwing us both into the foot well. I giggled nervously, straddling him and trying to work out how to get up, off and out without giving everything away.
‘Do you want to come in?’
The words were out of my mouth before I even thought about them. So this is what women are talking about when we complain that men let their penises make all their decisions for them.
‘I really want to come in,’ he said, helping me push myself back into a sitting position, ‘but I’m not going to.’
I looked at him, surprised. Not that I thought I was such a prize catch who would never get blown out, but that I just really felt that was where this was going. And when we were kissing, I’d felt something else that biologically suggested that he thought the same.
‘If I come in now,’ he whispered, leaning across and opening my door, ‘what’s left to guess?’
I smiled shyly. I could hardly pass for coy, but I hadn’t expected him to be such a romantic.
‘Can you wait a sec while I see the lady to the door?’ he asked the cabbie, who grunted something along the lines of an agreement.
Alex pushed my hair behind my ear, holding my gaze just a moment more than he needed to. ‘I had a really good time, Angela,’ he said, giving me one of his gentlest kisses. ‘Will you call me?’
I nodded, having completely lost the ability to speak, and watched him get back in the cab. Malicious bleached blonde aside, I thought the evening had gone fairly well.
I was on my third Starbucks venti wet latte on Sunday morning before I was prepared to accept that writing a blog wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. I stared at the blank white screen waiting for inspiration. I knew Mary wanted the intro and three diary pieces and I knew it would make sense to do Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Mary had been quite insistent on the dating theme, and that would cover my first dates with Tyler and Alex. But I didn’t know how to talk about the dates without a) sounding like a total tart, and b) sounding like I was gossiping about two different guys with the whole city. Wasn’t that rude? Should I blog about Tyler and Alex without their permission? Was I genuinely sitting in Starbucks in New York all hopped up on caffeine asking myself ridiculous questions? I necked the dregs of my coffee and started typing. Instead of worrying about what other people would think, I tried to think about what I would want to read. So I started out writing about something easy. Something I loved.
My lovely, lovely Marc Jacobs handbag.
The Adventures of Angela: How a handbag healed a broken heart
I gave it a loving look and a gentle pat, nothing potentially damaging though, obviously. I still couldn’t quite believe I’d spent half a mortgage payment on a bag. On some bits of leather and metal, stitched together to hold my stuff. Stitched together by angels … Why had I never bought something so fabulous before? Probably because I didn’t think I deserved it. Probably like I didn’t think I deserved to be dating gorgeous guys like Tyler and Alex. Probably like I thought I didn’t think I deserved the blogging job. Probably like I didn’t need another coffee. Oh, wait, that I didn’t need, but it was what I had. Like the bag. Sod it. I started typing and went for it. All the details. It was almost fun, the Angela in my diary was living such a great life and without any of the pesky concerns that plagued the real Angela. Once I’d finished, I went through and deleted anything that would upset my mother. Then I put it back in. No more coffee for me.
With the diary pieces in place, I went back to the introduction. I had to front my break-up while I was on a roll, Mary was expecting it, but even as highly caffeinated as I was, this was much trickier than writing about dating. All my life I’d been someone’s something, Annette’s daughter, Louisa’s friend, Mark’s girlfriend, but who was I now? I had run away from being Mark’s ex, the bridesmaid who ruined the wedding, the girl who lived with her mum. For the last week, with Jenny, Erin, Vanessa, I’d been the slightly crazy girl with the bad/heroic break-up. With Tyler I’d been the quirky English girl who liked to break men’s hands, and with Alex, I’d managed to barter my way down to just a slightly quirky English girl. With any luck, I’d be able to have someone describe me as ‘just some girl I met, I think she’s British’ by the end of the month.
I decided there was only one thing to do. Be completely and brutally honest. I opened up the diary I’d written back in The Union and re-read it. It was all there, finding Mark in the car park, yelling at Louisa, bashing Tim with my shoe, right through to pissing in Mark’s toiletry bag. This was the version for Mary. Maybe not the weeing in the toiletry bag. I apple-X-ed the incident, but still sat there with a little smile, imagining the look on his face the next time he went to use his badger hair shaving brush. Yes Mark, it does smell a bit funny.
Despite Jenny’s insistence that it was absolutely fine to date two men at once (and blog about it), it still felt a bit weird going out with Tyler less than twenty-four hours after seeing Alex. I’d even wondered what the protocol would be on suggesting Jenny dated him instead, he was just her type, but when I opened the apartment door and saw him standing there, head to toe in black Armani, I reconsidered.
‘Hi,’ I said, accepting his kiss on the cheek and feeling distinctly underdressed in a little Splendid T-shirt dress and Havaianas. ‘Erm, you did say cinema, didn’t you?’
‘I did,’ he said, nodding towards a cab across the street with its engine running. ‘But then I thought, you’ve only been in the city for a week, and I’d really be doing New York a disservice if I took you to a multiplex to see some Cameron Diaz movie, so I had a rethink. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all,’ I said, getting into the waiting yellow car. ‘I just, am I dressed OK?’
Seriously. Black Armani suit, white shirt open at the neck, and there was not even a hair out of place.
‘You’re dressed just fine,’ he said, sliding his arm around my shoulder. ‘You’ll love it, I promise.’
I shrugged and smiled. So far, so good. A little surprise like a change of venue couldn’t hurt.
A few tense horn-honking minutes later, we pulled up outside a theatre.
‘It’s kind of like going to the movies,’ Tyler said, opening the door and letting me out. It was nothing like going to the movies. It was absolutely like going to a Broadway show. I was so excited. ‘I managed to score some tickets to Wicked from a guy at work. It’s supposed to be really good, have you seen it?’
I shook my head. ‘That’s amazing! I wanted to see this in London but never made it. Musicals are my guilty pleasure.’
‘Well, you said you liked music,’ he said, leading me through the lobby like a pro. It was an interesting interpretation of my liking music but I wasn’t complaining. What a thoughtful, nice man. And with his arm around my waist, guiding me into my third-row seat, I was reminded that the nice man attended the gym very regularly. ‘So, have you broken any hands since I last saw you?’
I shook my head, starting to regret having