Page 68 of Strictly the Worst

I’m sanding the living room walls when there’s a knock at the door. Zoe’s at her friend’s house. It’s Maisie’s birthday and they decided to have a last minute sleepover, even though Zoe spent most of the last week telling me how much she missed me.

I still remember what it was like to be a kid and being excluded from parties. So I agreed that she could go as long as we have lunch out together tomorrow.

The knock comes again. I put the sander down and run my hands through my hair to put it in some kind of order. I jump over the hole in the floor that the electrician insists has to stay open for the next couple of weeks while they finish rewiring and make my way to the front door.

Angela’s standing on the stoop and as soon as she catches sight of me she starts to laugh. “Loving the dusty hair,” she says. “Did you get it done in the Bahamas?”

I look at the hand I just used to push my hair back, and sure enough it’s covered in drywall dust. Ugh. “Come in,” I tell her. “But look where you’re going.”

“I know the holes in your floor like the back of my hand,” she tells me. She’s carrying a brown bag that smells suspiciously like my favorite takeout, along with a bottle of sparkling wine from a California vineyard that we both love.

“Zoe called me,” she says, following me inside and closing the door behind her. “She told me she’s stood you up on a Saturday night and begged me to come over to entertain you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Though my stomach is glad she did. We walk into the kitchen and I grab some plates and glasses from the formica cupboards. She pulls out silverware from one of the boxes and starts to set the tiny kitchen table.

“Yes I did,” she says, opening up the wine. “A chance to talk to you all alone without little ears listening? Who would turn that down?”

“Zoe’s ears are big,” I say and Angela grins.

“I know. That’s why I can’t ask you about sex with your co-worker while she’s around. When did she get to be so perceptive?”

“I don’t know.” Angela’s brought my favorite Thai food from the restaurant two blocks down. I open the lid and groan when the aroma wafts up. I swear my stomach does a little happy dance.

I serve out our dinner, then carry the plates over to where Angela is sitting, already sipping at her wine. “Don’t drink too much,” I warn her. “After this you’re going to help me with the sanding. I want to finish it tonight.”

Angela forks up some noodles and puts them into her mouth. “Dear God, I’d marry the chef if I could eat this every day.”

“He’s about eighty,” I remind her.

“That’s why there’s Viagra,” she says. Then she catches my eye. “Speaking of which…”

She knows all about my days with Linc, because she was the first person I called when I got back.

“He hasn’t called,” I say softly. And the truth is, I’m still not sure how to feel about that. I really thought he’d at least check in with me after I arrived back home. Even a ‘Hi, how are you? Thanks for the great sex but it’s not going to happen again’ would have been better than radio silence.

“That rat bastard.” She takes a sip of wine. “It doesn’t get any better than this, does it? Let’s just give up on guys and eat and drink ourselves to oblivion.”

“Sounds good to me.” Except it doesn’t. I hate to say it, but as much as I love eating and drinking, having sex with Linc was no comparison.

It was out of this world. I take a sip of the wine and remind myself that he’s not the only man who can give good orgasms. There are plenty of men out there.

“Maybe he’s just really busy,” she says hopefully. “You did say he had to fly to Paris then Vegas, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“And you said he was nice.” She’s talking with her mouthful now. Not that I blame her. This food is too good not to eat.

“He is. Or was. I don’t know.” Nice. Sexy. All consuming. “But I guess it was like a vacation fling.”

“Seriously?” She frowns.

“Yes.” I’ve been thinking about this a lot. We had a good time. We didn’t make each other any promises. And yeah, him ghosting me is a little dickish, but I haven’t messaged him either since his reply.

And right now I think that’s for the best. I don’t need drama in my life. I’ve had enough to last me until I retire. I just want fun and happiness. I’m not going to let his lack of communication get me down.

“But the sex…” She pouts, looking completely disappointed.

“Was great. But that’s it. He’s not interested, and I’m glad about that. There’s no way he could fit in here.” I gesture at the kitchen, the broken cupboards, the old fashioned stove. He must be used to everything shiny and new.

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