Page 54 of The Wedding Game

‘So my taxi drove off into the distance, and I was full of regret about leaving you standing there and about how I had to get on a plane and how much of a missed opportunity it was, and that for the rest of my life I’d be filled with regret about – I don’t know about what – because I could hardly force you on the plane, could I, so … what did I have to regret?’ he says. ‘But hours later you and Josh werekissing.’

‘Actually it was more like ten minutes later that Josh and I were kissing,’ I tease, to smooth out my embarrassment. ‘I’m a fast worker.’

‘Clearly,’ Chris replies, but there’s humour in his eyes. ‘How … how come that happened?Wedidn’t kiss, so why did you kisshim? I need to know this. Was it a timing thing – end-of-the-night erection section?’

‘Erection what?’ I splutter.

‘The dancing at the end of weddings is always slow-dancing, isn’t it? Everyone couples up, gets a hard-on and then they get off with each other.’

‘That’s grim. Actually the last dance was, suitably enough, “New York, New York” with can-can moves. Or was it “Sweet Caroline”? Ooh, I’m going to put that on my wedding-bingo grid for the next one I go to. So no, the non-existenterection sectionis not how it happened. It was the bingo game.’

‘Thewhat?’ Chris leans forward, puts his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands as if he’s in for a treat of a story.

I can’t remember if I even told Chris about the bingo game at the wedding, and clearly I didn’t because he looks slightly startled as I explain the concept.

‘So, I had to kiss the best man. Josh was the best man,’ I finish.

Chris makes a face like he can’t believe what I’m saying, and then proves it by exclaiming, ‘This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard … all year.’

‘Really? I met a man in real life and I liked him, although that was an unexpected segue from the bingo game. I didn’t have to be swiped on. The game worked out well for both me and Josh. You should try it. Next wedding you go to: give it a shot. It passes the time nicely.’

‘For crying out loud,’ Chris exclaims, but he’s smiling and then his phone dings and he checks his message. ‘I have to run in a minute,’ he tells me. ‘I’ll escort you back to your hotel if you want?’

I nod. ‘Thanks.’ And now I’m nosy. ‘You got somewhere to be?’

‘I told Kayla, the woman I’m seeing, that I was over on her side of town tonight, so we said we’d meet for drinks. I may head back to hers after.’

‘Oh,’ I reply. He doesn’t need to give me any more detail, and I don’t want any. ‘I’m a stopgap until you can get to your real date?’ I say light-heartedly.

Chris gives me a look and then it turns into an uncertain smile, before he brushes aside my silly comment with, ‘Maybe we can hang out a bit more while you’re here. Somewhere less touristy?’ he jokes.

‘I’d love that. Empire State Building next?’

‘Absolutely not.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I spend the next fortnight in New York in a whirlwind of hotel and showroom tours, budget discussions and ideas meetings, as well as strategising over lunches and coffees with Max and various others in the company. It’s lovely, finally feeling part of a permanent team, even though I won’t be here with them in person much longer. But working by myself in London, at something I love, is better than being in a bustling office doing something I hate.

I spend my evenings doing the most touristy things I can think of. A late-night trip to the Whitney Museum of American Art, a walk through the ridiculously busy Times Square. It is exactly as it looks in films – the ratio of neon lights to people is 50:50. I plug in an audiobook and grab some food from a vendor and have a little al-fresco solo dinner while I walk along the High Line.

Throughout my time in New York, Max comes out with me for dinner twice, choosing a fabulous little sushi place and then a Vietnamese joint, and it’s nice, getting to know him away from the office. He lets his hair down a little more, tells filthy jokes.

The rest of my free time I fill by booking tickets and exploring on my own after work. I’m enjoying going out andseeing what’s in this vast city, killing my credit card once again and living an amazing life for two short weeks.

Chris’s offer to entertain me some evenings doesn’t materialise, and why would it? He’s seeing someone and I’m seeing someone. I figure his mind works the way mine does – and that the two of us being close friends is a step too far. We don’t want to betray anyone. That’s OK. It’s for the best, and we hang out in the office and by the coffee machine. He’s always getting a coffee at the same time I am.

I’m probably overthinking it and he doesn’t still care about me at all. He’s too busy getting laid and rejoicing in the $1,500 he gets for recommending me for the job.

I’m too busy to care anyway, as I’m shopping a ridiculous amount, it being the run-up to Christmas. I don’t know why I do this to myself. But I do have lovely presents for family and friends – Scarlet is going to love her bundle from Sephora – and a few treats for myself. I venture back to the office carrying yet more shopping bags on one of my final lunch breaks, and Chris gives me a look of mock-horror.

‘Shoppingagain?’ he asks.

‘It’s Christmas,’ I exclaim.

‘No, it isn’t. It’s November,’ he says playfully.

‘I’m getting a head start. The shopping in New York is immense. I can see why you live here.’

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