Page 5 of Heart Match

We end up all talking about work again, this time not about mine. I’m barely present in the conversation, my tipsy mind roams to a different place: an old dream that, to happen, something needs to change, and it has to come from me.

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I don’t recall the last time I was this hammered. Lately I have been getting wasted on green tea to keep me up and work like a slave. Right now I do my best to step out of the car without tripping on the pavement in front of my building. I don’t even know how I ended up in an Uber. The driver offers help but I wave him off. The whole way he seemed worried staring at the rear-view mirror, probably afraid I would puke in his car.

I open the old, noisy wooden front door of my building after almost tripping on the front steps. My heels are killing me, and as tipsy as I am, it’s like I’m walking on an ice rink, even though it’s summer in London. I spot the lift on the ground floor, a guy has just stepped on it and the doors are beginning to close.

Oh God, I need to pee. Don’t let the doors close on me.

I don’t think I can climb the five floors of steps to my flat right now. I also can’t wait for the slow old lift return to the ground floor before the need to release becomes unbearable. I hurry to catch the ride up.

I hope the bastard waits for me.

He does. He waits for me, and as soon as our eyes lock, I forget about my need to pee.

‘Thank you,’ I say, finally moving from where I was standing and stepping onto the lift as graciously as I manage on these heels.

He nods, with a half-smile. And what a smile. Not just the smile, the whole package.

He’s wearing sports clothes. White running shorts and white T-shirt and black cap backwards, a big backpack slung over his shoulder.

How can he be so sweaty and still smell so good?

Our eyes meet, and the look on his face is a mix of shyness and confusion. I don’t know why. Anyways, he takes off his cap, quickly runs his fingers through his inky and sweaty hair, only to place the cap back on. I can’t avert my eyes from the muscles on his arm flexing with the movement. I almost feel sober again with the electricity running through me.

God, he’s cute. Haven’t seen him in the building before.

I’m now trying to balance myself on my heels, so I just lean by the metal bar under the mirror for support. If he weren’t here I’d have taken off my heels by now. I keep watching him from my peripheral view. His profile is soft and rough all the same, it might be the combination of his sharp jawline and the stubbles. Goddamn it, his stubbles are perfection.

Am I staring? God I’m staring aren’t I? Maybe that’s why he’s looking at me like that. Amused.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. My heart is pulsing fast and funny under the effect of the alcohol. I really shouldn’t have drunk this much. When I open my eyes again I’m staring at the button panel and realise that he pressed the button to the sixth floor to the penthouse. He’s quiet, but I feel his eyes on me.

‘Shit.’

Oops, did I say that aloud?

I forgot to press the button to fifth floor, and so I do it as fast as I can, but the doors have closed and it’s too late for it to stop on my floor before reaching the penthouse. This lift is that stupid. So not environmentally friendly.

I hear a laugh-snort behind me, when I look back I see the gorgeous human being standing there at the corner, now relaxed, playing with a bunch of wristbands around his left wrist. His middle of the ocean deep piercing blue eyes catch mine.

‘God you’re cute.’

Was this my voice I just heard? Shit!

This time he lets out a delicious laugh, his gaze still connected to mine, his mouth twitching just a little on one side showing a dimple and his big white teeth.

‘Is that so?’ he asks, amused.

I’d say he’s blushing but I’m not so sure of anything right now apart from the fact that I’m making a fool of myself. Even drunk, I’m perfectly aware when I’m making a fool of myself.

‘God, I’m never drinking more glasses of rosé than my e-established limit a-again,’ I stammer and do my best not to burp. Burps are disgusting. The words roll slow out of my mouth. I hide my face with my hands.

I hear him smiling through his nose.

‘And what’s your limit?’ his voice is deep, but soft, and he has just dropped a cute accent, on the last word. He’s not from around here.

‘One bottle, it seems. After that I start doing and saying things I shouldn’t,’ I say, my voice muffled by the palms of my hands, still unable to look at him.

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