Page 22 of The Love Hack

‘Did you have a good time?’ he asked, after what felt like so long I was worried my coffee would be cold.

‘It was great!’ I managed to sound enthusiastic. ‘Er… How about you?’

‘Yeah, it was a top night. I didn’t feel too good on Sunday.’

‘Me neither.’ Although that was mostly because I saw you kissing Bryony.

He smiled in what I guessed was intended to be a rueful fashion. ‘Guess you get to do it all over again at your sister’s wedding?’

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I’m chief bridesmaid. I’ll have to be the responsible adult in case my sister ladders her tights or there’s some emergency like that.’

‘Hopefully there won’t be. I guess you’ll be able to tell me all about when I’m back from Croatia.’

‘I’ll show you the photos,’ I said. Then I smiled too, and returned to my coffee and my work.

There, I told myself proudly. You did it. You had a normal conversation like normal people and no one died. Strong work, Lucy.

But I didn’t feel especially proud of myself. All I could think of was that he was off on holiday and I wouldn’t see him, or laugh with him, or make him blush, for a whole two weeks.

NINE

Dear Adam

I wanted to write to you after hearing a podcast recently by Parker Goldstein, the tech entrepreneur. He was talking about longevity and all the health and wellness stuff he does. If I’m honest, when I got to the bit about how he wakes up at four every morning, I almost switched off. But then he got on to sex. He reckons when he’s with a woman, he can last at least half an hour from first penetration to orgasm. I’m not gonna lie, I’m more a five minutes man myself. How do some dudes manage this, Adam? What should I do differently?

Finn, Leicester

‘So,’ Amelie tucked her foot up on the kitchen chair, resting her chin on her knee and pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands, ‘let’s take a look at these men, then.’

‘Men’s problems,’ I corrected. ‘There aren’t any actual men here. Thank God. Where’s Zack, anyway?’

‘Off manning. Playing squash, that is. He’s in some league and they’re near the top of it, and he hates losing. I mean, it is peak man, right? Plus he says he’s trying to stay in shape for the wedding. Not that a week will make any difference, but at least it gets him out of the house and leaves us in peace.’

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. When I’d asked Amelie if she was free to help me with some of the emails that had landed in Adam’s inbox, I’d expected her to say she couldn’t, given that her wedding was only days away. But she’d agreed enthusiastically, suggesting a ‘working brunch’ at hers – which had struck me as an excellent plan until I’d considered that Zack might be home. It wasn’t so much that I wouldn’t have welcomed his perspective – he was a man, after all – as that I suspected that whatever insight my sister might have given me would have been altered by his presence, diluted, her attention diverted whenever he wanted to talk about his own experiences, or have another coffee, or be kissed.

‘Mind if I have another croissant?’ I asked.

‘Knock yourself out.’ My sister hadn’t touched the pastries I’d brought – but then, I hadn’t exactly tackled the egg white omelette and sliced-up kiwi fruit with much enthusiasm.

‘Right,’ I began through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Where shall we start? Finn, twenty-four, from Leicester do you?’

‘Go on then.’

I propped my tablet more securely on its stand and scrolled through my emails. As soon as I’d seen Finn’s, I’d known that this was a problem I’d need my sister’s help with.

‘So here’s what he says.’ I cleared my throat. ‘It’s a bit cringe, sorry.’

I read out Finn’s letter.

‘Oh. My. God.’ Amelie rolled her eyes so hard I almost expected them to shoot out of her head. ‘That is literally the most tech bro thing I have ever heard. Has this Parker Whatsit ever actually met a woman? Does he seriously believe that we want to lie there while he stabs away like a bloody sewing machine, getting sorer and sorer and boreder and boreder? Just so he can show off about it on his wanky podcast? Jeez, I despair.’

Not for the first time, I felt acutely conscious of the huge gulf of inexperience that separated me from my sister.

‘Really?’ I asked. ‘You mean most women don’t – it’s not just me?’

‘Categorically, one hundred per cent not just you. I mean, I haven’t asked all women. Possibly there are some who like being pounded at like chicken thighs in cling film. But every woman I’ve ever asked about it says the same thing – men who are good in bed make sure the woman’s orgasm happens (or orgasms, plural, ideally) and then crack on with theirs and don’t take too long about it, so you can both have a nice cuddle and a pizza.’

‘So most men don’t… you know. Last ages?’

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