Page 1 of It's All Sun and Games

1

‘I’m talking you, me, marriage, kids, the big house, the family car – everything you’ve ever wanted. We’ll get a dog – and a cat, and hope they get along – and every day will be an adventure. So, what do you say, Robin?’

He waits for my reply with bated breath – but really it is me who is having trouble breathing right now. Breathing, like anything you do on autopilot, is one of those things where, as soon as you realise you’re doing it, you overthink it.

I need to suck it up and say something. I can’t just leave him standing there, his words hanging in the air, while I try to remember how to breathe again.

Honestly, though, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear James say anything even close to this to me, and now that he’s saying it, I’m forgetting all of my basic bodily functions – although I suppose there could be worse ones to forget right here, right now. Still, there’s nothing quite like hearing something that makes you feel alive to inadvertently remind you about, well, death. Maybe this is just a me thing, something that comes with being a naturally pessimistic person. I’m not a ‘glass half full’ person, but I’m not a ‘glass half empty’ kind of girl either. I’m more of a ‘oh my God, this glass is so fragile, what will I do if I drop it’ kind of chick but, ahh, I don’t know, I guess I’m just used to things not going my way.

‘Robin?’ James prompts me. ‘What do you say?’

I open my mouth to speak – something else I don’t usually have a problem with – but nothing comes out.

James laughs, only softly, as he awaits my answer. I love the way his icy blue eyes sparkle when he finds something funny, the way they – ironically – melt my heart and make my legs feel weak. He’s just so cool, with his tousled dirty blond hair. And his smile, wow, I love the way it curls up at the sides as though he’s always on the verge of saying something naughty. He has this eternally flirtatious vibe, one that I can’t get enough of, but hearing him say what he’s saying today – something serious – is what I’ve really been fantasising about ever since we started working together a couple of years ago.

‘Robin?’

You would think the third time would be a charm but, still, I’ve got nothing. In my defence, though, this is a pretty weird situation.

‘Nah, I’m not buying it,’ a voice interrupts us, snapping me from my thoughts.

Ugh, it’s Liz. Of course it is.

I know this is going to sound childish coming from a thirty-one-year-old woman but Liz Martin is sort of my rival. It’s not that I want to be constantly competing with her, not at all, but unfortunately I’m not getting much say in it. Liz and I are the same age, in the same job, at the same place, and we both so obviously fancy James, which means everything is a competition between us. If I’m not fighting her for James’s attention then I’m fighting her for our boss’s approval – which would be fine, except Liz plays dirty any chance she gets – and somehow, right now, she’s doing both.

‘What’s the problem?’ James asks her, moving his attention in her direction.

‘You mean besides you and Robin clearly not seeming like a believable match?’ she dares to joke. Well, she makes it sound like a joke, but I’m certain she believes it.

Liz and I may be the same age, in the same job, wanting the same things, but the similarities between us start and stop right there. In every other way you can imagine, Liz and I couldn’t be less alike – in fact, we’re pretty much one another’s opposite.

Liz is (almost annoyingly) beautiful, with her sleek, pin-straight glossy black hair. She has those almond-shaped eyes, which she always cloaks in a smoky eyeshadow, giving off a seductive Bond girl vibe. She’s super slim, with legs for days, and confidence surges through her veins to the point where she practically glows with it. On a warm June day like today she’s lounging in her chair, without so much as a bead of sweat on her brow, wearing a silky vest top without a bra – she looks cool in every way imaginable.

And then there’s me. I’m about half a foot shorter than Liz, and what I lack in height I make up for in curves, which means that I’m (quite literally) sweating my tits off in an industrial-strength bra under my T-shirt. My long blonde hair is naturally wavy – which is neither here nor there but takes a lot of effort to edge one way or the other – and any kind of weather, be it rain or shine, seems to make it frizz. My green eyes are rounded, like my cheeks when I smile, whereas absolutely any emotion Liz seems to feel only makes her look more chiselled. And yet, despite our flirting (with James, not each other), neither of us ever seems to come out victorious. The main rivalry between us is when it comes to work and, believe it or not, that’s what this is all about right now.

‘Okay then, Liz, what are you thinking?’ Rick Wiseman (an ironic surname, if ever there was one), our boss, chimes in.

I retreat back into my seat a little, standing down, making way for Liz. For a moment there I was letting myself get so carried away with what James was saying that I forgot where I was, or what I was doing. I’m in the boardroom at work, pitching ideas to the team so that we can choose the best one to take to the client.

‘Let me show you how it’s done,’ Liz says, getting up from her seat, marching over to James and plonking herself down on his lap.

Liz wiggles her neck, as though she’s loosening up to get into character.

‘I like the look of you, I know you like the look of me, so what say we both get out of here?’ Liz says. ‘I don’t need to know your last name, or what your job is, or how you take your coffee on a morning. Life is short so let’s live it.’

James’s eyebrows shoot up at her direct approach. Reluctantly, I’d say it was pleasant surprise on his face.

‘And then maybe, on the screen, there’s the line: Matcher – forget “the one”. Get some.’

Liz, remaining on James’s lap, hooks an arm around his neck to steady herself while she looks to Rick to see what he thinks.

I know what I think, I think it’s a terrible idea. I should say something, right? I should defend my idea, and say why I don’t think Liz’s idea works, and I need to do it now, or I’ll miss my chance.

‘It’s just, er, it’s not that I don’t like the idea,’ I start, offering up a compliment to try to smooth over what is to follow. ‘It’s just that I don’t think it’s what the client wants.’

‘Erm, the client is Matcher, they’re a hook-up app,’ Liz reminds me, as though anyone in the country doesn’t know what Matcher is. It’s the ultimate dating app.

‘Right, but in the client meetings, they have been consistently telling us that they want to move away from being seen as a hook-up app. They want the world to see them as a viable way to find love,’ I explain. ‘The whole point of this campaign was supposed to be to show them in a different light.’

---