Page 39 of Still Falling for You

She checks that nobody is listening and whispers, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I love the gifts, but I’m also allergic to anything scented. It makes me sneeze.’

‘I guess you can always pull a Rachel,’ I suggest, and she laughs. I know she’s aFriendsfan.

We end up talking about mid-2000s TV shows and spend a solid forty minutes discussingPushing Daisesbecause Chuck is the most iconic undead character that has everlived, and her fashion choices are the thing of dreams to which Becky readily agrees. I sip my glass of wine slowly because I’m worried about what drunk Holly might do or say. After my third glass, Becky and I share a bowl of fries and pepper-stuffed olives.

‘I must admit I’ve always had a crush on Ned. There’s something about brooding, emotionally detached men.’ Becky titters; she’s passed the tipsy mark by about a mile. She searches the bar with her eyes, stopping at Alex who’s spent the last twenty minutes there, drinking and talking to the barmaid despite Jane leaving a while ago. No doubt avoiding me. A few people have a friendly chat with him despite professing at work he’s the bane of their existence. But Danielle sticks the longest, involving Alex in what is obviously a one-sided conversation. Eventually, she returns to her side of the table, crestfallen. Despite Alex being on the opposite end of the room, I sense his eyes watching me.

Half an hour later, the party takes a wilder turn. I’ve had two piña coladas, and my body feels light as a feather. I’m convinced that if I lift my feet off the floor, I’d instantly go up in the air like a helium-filled balloon.

Alex eventually returns to our table, drinking his fourth gin. Not that I’m counting. I notice he never finishes a glass but don’t think much of it.

Around half ten, a few tables are pushed to the sides and some people start dancing on the makeshift dancefloor, Danny and Danielle among them.

John keeps flitting between different people, but like a yoyo, keeps coming back to his seat to speak to me. Every time he does, he leans a little closer despite me sending a clear message I’m not into him. When he does that the fourth time, his fingers rest on the area where the collar meets my bare skin. It’s an overfamiliar gesture that draws attention. I squirm, but he doesn’t register my reaction. My attention snaps to Alex whose gaze is Velcroed to the place where John is touching me. What must he think of me? First, I kiss him, and now I let John manhandle me in front of everyone. I pull away from under John’s octopus-like touch once again, making a vague excuse of going to the toilet.

For someone so shy, Becky gives it her all. She gets so drunk she ends up what can only be described as hollering along to Rihanna’sOnly Girl, but because she doesn’t remember most of the words, everyone’s in stitches. It doesn’t stop her from trying. Eventually, Joanna takes her to the bar to ply her with some coffee to sober up so she can carry on in her rendition of Shakira that’s to play at her request later on.

By that point, I’m ready to go home, so I push through the dancefloor to say my goodbyes to Becky, but the small crowd is denser than I expected, and I have to elbow my way through.

‘Aha. Our sexy femme fatale.’ John appears out of nowhere and grabs my waist, forcing me to his side. He’s sweaty and drunk as a lord. I push against him when he attempts to sloppily slide his hand below my waist while still holding a drink in the other. By the smell of it, it’s rum and coke.

‘Ha, ha,’ I say without humour and try to pull out of his icky grip once more. I’m close to committing second-degree murder if he doesn’t release me soon. ‘Let go,’ I command him, but he either ignores it or doesn’t hear my order.

I’m ready to give him my first-ever hammer fist punch on the jaw that I learnt from a YouTube tutorial when he dips his head to the crook of my neck, but immediately he’s plucked off me before I spur into action, his falling drink narrowly missing my shiny shoes.

‘Get your hands off her,’ a male voice grinds out from behind me. I swipe my head to the side to catch Alex glowering at John who, suddenly, almost sobers up. Alex’s fists are tightened, his knuckles white, ready to squash John with his big hands until he’s the size of a pocket Rubik’s Cube. I’ve never seen him this incandescent. I fear that if I don’t do something, he’ll rip John’s head off. Not that John wouldn’t deserve it for being a gargantuan sleazebag. Heedless of the attention he’s attracting, John wobbles on his feet, and his smile turns into a laugh.

‘I knew it,’ John roars victoriously. A few people whisper curiously while still pretending to dance. I hate making a scene and think of a quick and quiet escape.

‘You’re shagging, aren’t you?’ John spins drunkenly to pin me with a disgusted look. ‘I thought you had better taste than that.’

My mind whirls. I see the situation play out in front of me in slow motion. Alex’s eyes flare with the rage of a thousand volcanic eruptions. His body sets into motion, his fist ready to wipe the smirk off John’s face. Before it lands, I jump between them and splay my palms against Alex’s chest and push. It feels like trying to budge a wall, but it stops him in his tracks.

‘Alex, don’t. He’s drunk,’ I croak, barely audible over the blaring music.

When he registers my hands on him, he slumps. His expression softens before it steels again. We’re almost the same height, but I feel fragile next to his powerful body. All I feel is lean muscles under my hands, and his heart, pounding almost painfully against my skin.

‘Sleep it off, jackass,’ Alex spits at John who salutes before he swivels around with a wobble like a clumsily twisted spinning top and buggers off the dancefloor.

I rear back when I realise I’m still latched onto Alex. As soon as I break contact, I feel strangely bereft.

Alex turns unapproachable once again. ‘We need to get some things straight.’ I nod nervously, for once in agreement with him.

We walk to the edge of the dancefloor. When he checks everyone is immersed in Bruno Mars, he takes my hand and leads me away from the main area of the lounge. His grip sends shivers up my arm, but I try to focus on where we’re going instead. My forehead puckers when he weaves through the crowd to the back of the lounge where an unused private room is. The sign on the wooden door saysnot in use, but Alex pushes through the door anyway.

When he’s happy we’re alone and the music becomes muffled behind the solid door closing shut, he lets go and rotates to face me. I look around the room and inhale shakily. It’s mostly empty save for a few pieces of furniture covered in off-white dust sheets. The only window in the room is draped in purple curtains that hang shapelessly against the wood-panelled wall and drag on the tiled floor. The room is bathed in semi-darkness, and a hideous tulip-shaped light casts shadows across the room and Alex’s expression in an almost ominous way.

His usually pink lips are the colour of raspberries in the dim light. His hair, usually short, has grown since September and now is almost messy around his delicate cheekbones. He looks more like the Alex I knew.

He stares at me with those bottomless green eyes. I want to look away or step back, but I don’t do either and just stand there, feeling more and more fidgety under his scrutiny.

He bites the corner of his bottom lip, an old habit from where his piercing used to be. There’s a tiny scar that mars theotherwise soft skin. X marks the spot, that’s where Alex should be kissed. As soon as the errant thought materialises in my head, I try to force it out, but it clings to me with its tenacious limbs. The force of the emotion makes me sway. When he reads my body’s reaction, he inhales deeply.

‘I can’t think when you look at me like that,’ he exclaims at the same time I say, ‘I know what you’re going to say.’ My thoughts scramble when I process his words.

‘I doubt that.’ His voice comes out hoarse.

To my shock, he places both his hands on my waist and pulls me to him until we’re as close as we can be without touching. Heat radiates off his body in waves. I don’t dare to breathe. When I don’t protest, he pulls me even closer, until there’s no space at all. That’s when he smashes his lips against mine.

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