Page 81 of The Love Hack

‘Hold on,’ I could see awkwardness radiating from him, and I tried to smooth it over with a joke. ‘You think women faking orgasms is hot?’

‘No!’ he protested. ‘I don’t want you to fake any orgasms for me, ever.’

Then that familiar blush rushed up over his cheeks, and he pressed his hands over his face to hide it. ‘Oh Jesus. I’m just digging myself further into a hole here, aren’t I? Forget I even said that.’

I giggled again. ‘No, I think you’re all good. We can establish right now that I’ll never fake another orgasm for you, and move on.’

He peered at me between his fingers and smiled. I smiled back. And I felt – something. Like a tingle that went from my lips right the way down through my body – a slow-motion electric shock. As I looked at him, I could imagine it flashing across the table, through his hands, meeting his own smile and then coursing deliciously downwards.

I fancy him. I really, really do. And I think he fancies me too.

‘Ross?’ I asked. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘You know what, I have no idea,’ he said. ‘I dumped my bag at Penn Station when I got the train in from JFK. I was planning to get a room in a Holiday Inn or somewhere.’

I took a deep breath. ‘You can crash at my AirBnB in Brooklyn, if you like. There’s plenty of room. It’s booked for another two nights and I should probably get a flight back tomorrow – or even this evening – so you’d have the place to yourself.’

‘Really? That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.’

Again, I felt that thrill run through me. I knew what it was now – desire. And with it, there came a sense of power – a power I’d never knew I had. The ability to flirt with a man.

‘Which offer?’ I asked. ‘The apartment with me, or the apartment to yourself?’

There it was again – that blush. It was intoxicating – I could do this to him any time I liked.

‘I – I don’t know,’ he mumbled.

‘Then it depends,’ I said, ‘on which option you’d prefer.’

‘I think you probably know the answer to that,’ he replied, and I felt my own face turn absolutely scarlet.

‘Let’s head back there now, then.’ I felt overcome with shyness all of a sudden.

‘But first we should eat,’ he said. ‘Hope you don’t mind cold grilled cheese.’

‘I can’t think of anything nicer. Except maybe one thing.’

Our eyes met. We grinned and blushed in unison, and then we tore into our food like we hadn’t eaten in weeks.

But before I’d finished the second half of my sandwich, I was interrupted by the thrumming of my phone in my bag. I realised that I’d momentarily forgotten about the situation with Amelie, and the incoming call brought my awareness springing back to her, like an invisible cord between us was being tugged.

I rummaged in my bag, located my phone and looked eagerly at the screen. But the number there wasn’t my sister’s.

‘Greg,’ I mouthed across the table to Ross, and his eyebrows raised in sympathetic anticipation. ‘Hello, Lucy speaking.’

I kept watching Ross’s face as I spoke to my boss. His expression went from curious through amused, concerned to alarmed, and by the time I ended the call he’d already asked for the bill and paid it, leaving a twenty-dollar tip for our patient waitress.

‘Shit,’ I said, dropping my phone back into my bag. ‘We need to get back to Brooklyn, like, right now.’

THIRTY-ONE

Dear Anon

Well, aren’t you the catch with your fancy car and your big job and your fancy apartment and ego to match it all? I bet your new wife feels like all her dreams have come true, married to a guy like you. Not.

Seriously, Anon, when I encounter a man like you I feel frankly ashamed of my own sex. Not just because you’re treating your wife appallingly – although you are – but because your lack of self-awareness shows in every word you write. You really do believe you’re God’s gift, don’t you? And not only to your wife, but to your employer, your colleagues and the woman you’re thinking of having – or, most likely, by the time this reply reaches you, already having – an affair with.

Here’s the thing, Anon – you’re not. Without decency, integrity, trustworthiness and kindness, you’re nothing. Those are the attributes that make a man, and I can see very little (to be generous) evidence of any of them in your letter.

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