Page 46 of Not That Complicated

I realised that I was standing in my hall with my back to the door, gazing into the middle distance with what was no doubt a ridiculous look on my face, thinking about a man who wasnotthe man who’d just had his mouth on mine.

I scowled.

I would not let him cockblock me. Heartblock me. Whatever. Get in my romantic life.

I was starting something with Liam Nash, and that was all there was to it.

Apparently, Liam didn’t get thememo about our brand-new relationship, I thought, glumly poking at my phone a week later.

He hadn’t called to arrange another date. He hadn’t called at all. Or messaged. I checked the app notification settings, and I got Giselle to text me in case my iPhone was having another timeout. It had developed a personality since that time I’d dropped it into the toilet bowl. It still worked. It just had the odd mood swing every now and then.

Giselle’s texts came through. It was working.

Liam didn’t message.

Was I supposed to message him, I wondered? Were we playing chicken? Challenging for the top spot in the relationship? Did I care?

On reflection, no. I did not.

Maybe I’d take the initiative and message him in another week. As for everyone else on Grindr, meh. They were all like Liam. Mid-thirties to forties. Busy, professional men.

I didn’t think I had all that much to offer them.

I didn’t want to have a one-night stand, I didn’t want an FWB, and I wasn’t ready to commit to middle age like some of these comfortable-looking guys were.

I wanted to live first.

In the end, I didtake the initiative and call Liam.

Unfortunately, it was on a professional basis.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Work was going great, butit wasn’t all that challenging. Perhaps I did need to branch out. I should start calling myself a graphic designerandan artist, think about taking up painting again. There were only so many logos, websites and brochures you could design, you know?

While work was steady, my emotions were all over the place. Adam had picked up my calm (boring) life like a shiny glass bauble and tossed it carelessly to the floor. I found myself wanting things I couldn’t name, and everything was deeply, desperately, unsatisfying.

The dating experiment had turned out to be a bust. Screw the love life renovation. I decided to focus all my energy on getting my house in order.

The new carpet in my bedroom looked fabulous, and made me want to repaint the dingy off-white walls. The new, cheery primrose-yellow walls demanded a new chest of drawers in a soft cream with a slate-grey top, and a wardrobe to match.

I framed one of my best paintings back from my art college days, and hung it on the wall.

For the finale, a new bed. I’d replaced the mattress after Fraser left, and now it was time for a new frame.

My room was perfect.

I didn’t stop there.

The guest room was next.

I repainted first. I didn’t bother to put down a drop cloth since I was going to replace the carpet after. And I decided to save some money and do it myself rather than try to cajole Craig into doing it or, worse, get the other guy, Mason. Although I was fairly sure they’d both turn me down flat.

A sweaty, grunt-filled hour in, I conceded that pulling up carpet was a lot harder than Craig and Kevin had made it look, and they hadn’t made it look easy. I was prepared for the thick rubber sealant and carefully scraped a Stanley knife all around the perimeter of the room, detaching the carpet as best I could first before I started yanking.

Craig and Kevin must be so freaking strong. My arms were buzzing and felt like overcooked spaghetti. I managed, though.

I rolled the old carpet and flaking underlay to the far side under the windows, and it dawned on me that I’d also have to wrestle it out of the room, down the stairs and off to the recycling centre by myself. I could always cut it up into smaller, more manageable pieces.

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