Girls Night Out 3 E-Book Bundle. Gemma Burgess
seems to reassure her.
‘Neither have I,’ said Henry. ‘We’ll go together. What’s your favourite place to go on holiday?’
They’ve been flirting a lot. Henry is following Robert’s just-make-conversation tip, and Charlotte is twinkling back. Plum is in brilliant form, and I’ve laughed so much that my face is aching. Even the inevitable discussion about Peter doesn’t upset me.
‘Now’s the time to tell you, I never liked the guy,’ says Henry.
‘But . . . I thought that you got along!’ I say. ‘You always came over for dinner, and we watched rugby together . . .’
‘We did get along,’ he says. ‘But we were friendly. Not friends.’
‘You’re way out of his league,’ agrees Plum. ‘You smile so much more now.’
I put a small black olive over my incisor and grin at them all. There’s no point in talking about Peter. Or his brother. Who cares about the affair? I am bulletproof. Nothing affects me.
Another text arrives from Jon, the blind date guy.
Hey! Just checking you got my text earlier. I had an awesome night. Would really love to do it again. Jon
Delete, ignore, continue. To hell with karma.
And now we’re at the housewarming. It’s in a top floor flat in Notting Hill, and you can hear the party from the street before you even get in.
‘Raise the roof, raise the roof,’ sings Henry as we walk up the stairs, and does a little dance. Plum, Charlotte and I fall against the wall giggling.
As we walk in, the first person I see is Robert, propped in a doorframe with his arms folded, talking to a blonde girl wearing, frankly, way too many sequins.
‘Survive, did you?’ he calls to me, turning away from her.
‘Just,’ I say, and turn around to help the others with the wine that we picked up from the off-licence. Charlotte and Henry have already charged into the overcrowded kitchen, and Plum is talking to the guy who opened the front door for us. I turn back to Robert, and see the girl he was talking to gazing at the back of his head balefully, before stalking quickly down the corridor.
‘Your sequinned blonde is leaving,’ I say in a low voice, walking over to him.
‘She’ll be back,’ he says. ‘Come on, let’s find your sister. She’s pretty hammered.’
‘Thank you for tonight,’ I say. ‘Especially the Peter thing.’
He grins. ‘Enough with the thank yous. I’ve had experience in dealing with similar revelations.’
As we walk into the living room I’m hit by a tsunami of happy, party noise. There’s about sixty or seventy people in here drinking, whooping, dancing, smoking, laughing or shouting over each other. The music is turned up full blast and half the crowd is wearing wigs and sunglasses for no apparent reason.
It’s not one of those parties where everyone looks to see who you are and then dismisses you. It’s a party where you walk in and immediately feel like laughing for the delightful indulgent silliness of it all. I also immediately identify five girls wearing outfits I want to copy.
‘I was going to introduce you to everyone,’ says Robert. ‘But I think we’re one drink too late for that.’
We smile at each other for a second, but I’m quickly distracted by a guy charging into the wall next to me in an attempt to walk up it, à la Donald O’Connor’s ‘Make ’Em Laugh’ routine from Singing in the Rain. It fails miserably, and he crashes noisily to the floor.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask, leaning over him gingerly.
‘Did anyone see?’ he squeaks through his armpit, which is somehow over his face.
‘Um . . .’ I’m not sure what to say.
‘That’s JimmyJames,’ Robert tells me. ‘He’ll do anything for attention . . .’
‘I will NOT do anything for attention,’ says JimmyJames from the floor. ‘I draw the line at nuns and dogs.’
He grabs Robert’s proffered hand and pulls himself up with a bounce. Jimmy, I can now see, was built for power, not for speed. Or climbing up walls. He’s about my height and barrel-shaped, with scruffy brown hair.
Before I can reply, or ask why he’s called JimmyJames for that matter, I’m distracted by a shout behind me. ‘Sistaaaah!’
I turn around. It’s Sophie, uncharacteristically dancing on a coffee table to ‘Bust A Move’ by Young MC. She screams my name in joy and reaches her arms out to me, and promptly falls off the table. For a split second, I imagine her plummeting headfirst onto the floor and breaking her nose, too drunk to even put her hands out to stop herself, but a moment later Robert has caught her and places her safely on her feet. She doesn’t even seem to notice, and collapses happily into me. ‘I missed you so much!’
‘Thank you, oh my God, that was close,’ I say. Robert smiles and turns back to JimmyJames.
‘Tell me everything about speed dating!’ says Sophie. She doesn’t usually get drunk like this. Someone has been giving her shots.
‘Tomorrow,’ I say, shaking my head.
Sophie grabs my hand and makes me do the (rather pathetic) bendy arms breakdancing move we perfected as children. Laughing, I turn to look at Robert, but he’s staring at a very pretty girl, with big slanty eyes like a Siamese cat.
‘Robbie, can I have a quiet word?’ the girl murmurs in a husky voice. God, I wish my voice was deeper. I swear I sound about seven on my voicemail.
‘Olivia! Of course. I’d love to,’ he says. ‘Let’s go to the kitchen. Abby, do you want a drink?’
‘Lukey is over there, come and say hi,’ Sophie says, grabbing me by the hand.
‘Yes, and I’ll have anything,’ I call over my shoulder as Sophie leads me away. ‘I’m clearly too sober for this party,’ I add to myself.
‘Sobriety kills,’ says the guy standing in front of me. We make eye contact. Holy sensory overload of gorgeousness. I turn to Sophie to break eye contact with him.
‘Abigail, this is Dave,’ says Sophie.
‘Hello,’ I say, and – stunned into rudeness – turn quickly to Luke before Dave can say anything back. ‘Hi, Luke.’
‘Hello, nearly sister-in-law,’ says Luke, kissing me on the cheek, before dipping Sophie into a huge movie star snog. I have no choice but to turn back to Dave. Oh God. The handsomeness.
‘Can I interest you in a shot?’ says Dave. He has a bottle of tequila strapped to his chest in one of those water bottle holders normally used by runners, with six shot glasses on either side like bullets. In an iPod holster on his left arm is a small salt shaker, and he’s holding a plate of sliced lemons in his right hand. He’s clearly responsible for my sister’s present state.
‘You couldn’t rig up a contraption to hold the lemons with?’ I say. Hold it together, Abigail. His eyes meet mine and my face tingles painfully. I’m blushing.
‘I was hoping to strap this plate to a dwarf’s head,’ he says. ‘But my go-to dwarf is on holiday.’
‘Bummer,’ I reply, my eyes flicking up to meet his and then quickly away. Funny too. Shit. Come on, Abigail. Pull yourself together.
He’s just so handsome. Short dark blonde hair and extremely blue eyes that I can’t look into for more than a half-second. Very tanned, like he’s just been skiing or sailing or something. A huge smile that almost takes over his face. Tallish and fit, perhaps a little on the thin side, but as long as his jeans aren’t smaller than mine I don’t care. In summary, hot as hell. And probably out of my league.
‘Places!’