Page 53 of Festive Flings

~ Jamie ~

Owen is acting weird. I can tell something is wrong and he is putting a happy face on for me. I really want to enjoy tonight but something feels off.

He has been the perfect gentleman, even down to opening doors and pulling out my chair. He is everything I could ever want and need, but my stomach continues to swirl in apparent nerves.

I should learn to trust my gut instinct. I finally start to relax into our date when a voice I have heard before, in a circumstance I have tried my hardest to forget, assaults my ear drums.

“Jamie. What are you doing here? Are you two on a date?”

My ex-boyfriend, Carl. Geez, how did I ever find him attractive? He looms over his table at me, looking like a prize prat with a bloody cravat tucked under his shirt collar. His eyes are filled with a simmering anger and his cheeks turn red.

“Yes, we’re here on a date.” Owen stands and shakes his hand and introduces himself to Francesca, Carl’s soon-to-be wife. I stand and greet them, wanting the ground to open and swallow me whole. Why, universe? Why me?

Francesca greets me like a long-lost friend, hugging me and kissing both my cheeks. “Darling, you look lovely, so much better now that you’re over the shock.” She starts to laugh at her poke at jest. I don’t find it funny.

“How lovely to see you, Francesca. I almost didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.” It’s a cheap shot, but let’s not forget, she was the one who was screwing my boyfriend, in my bed, behind my back.

“JAMIE!” Carl gives me a warning stare as he states my name, and when the back of Owen’s neck turns red, I know this is riling him.

“It was… nice… seeing you, but we’ll let you get back to your date now.” I thank the lord that Owen is such a diplomat; however, Carl and Francesca are not taking hints. They ask the waiter to pull the tables closer, and I nod in agreement when Owen mutters under his breath… “For fuck's sake.”

“I always knew there was something going on between you two.” It's not so much a statement but more an accusation from Carl. There is a petty part of me that would love to get one over on him and say, ‘Yes, we were also screwing behind your back,’ but it simply isn’t true.

“Actually, Jamie and I only recently started dating,” Owen replies, and I place my hand on his and give it a gentle squeeze of support.

“She never wanted to come to places like this when we dated. She never wanted to do anything when we dated,” Carl sulks, and I want to punch him right in the face. How dare he blame this all on me? It wasn’t as if he had put any effort into dates and stuff.

“I suppose coming here on a date with you and your friends just wasn’t appealing. But hey, you’re here now with your fiancée so it doesn’t matter any more, does it?”

Francesca clicks her fingers at the waiter and orders an expensive bottle of wine. She’s going to need a couple of them if this night continues this way.

Whenever we try to break off into our own chat, Carl ruins it by trying to draw us back into a conversation. I had been looking forward to coming to the OXO with Owen but now I can’t wait to leave. This whole situation leaves me feeling awkward and out of place, and the feeling just continues to grow.

“Are you seriously telling me nothing happened between you two until a few weeks ago?” Carl continues to press the issue, and I know Owen is starting to lose his composure. I don’t blame him, but I don’t like the turn this is taking. This isn’t a pissing contest. I am no one’s prize.

Francesca orders another bottle of wine. And as she gets drunker and drunker, the accusations start to fly my way. “I mean, the backlash Carl and I faced because of you, Jamie, was just ridiculous; we can’t help it that we fell in love. We had to invite you to the wedding because Ted and Gerry are business partners, but I found it crass that you accepted with a plus one. Carl is in love with me now, so your little parade won’t make him jealous.”

“I am here on a date with my boyfriend. I couldn’t give two hoots about you or Carl or what your opinion of my relationship status is. I left him, remember?”

The maître d’ comes over to warn us that we will be asked to leave if we continue to raise our voices. Carl makes another snide remark, and Owen comes over all caveman about how I am his girl now.

I excuse myself to use the bathroom, but it’s just a cover. I walk right out the door instead. I flag down a taxi and return to my flat. This has been one of the worst dates I have ever been on. I pull on my new pyjamas, the ones I got to match the slip I left at Owen’s. When my phone rings, I answer, and it's Owen.

“You walked out and left me here? What the fuck, Jamie? Your ex and his new tart are arguing away, and I got left sitting like an idiot on my own.”

“Don’t you dare shout at me. You made me feel like a fucking possession, the booby prize for winning the pissing contest with Carl… What the fuck was that all about?”

“I know. I’m sorry, he really got on my nerves, and I was already in a mood. You didn’t have to bail on me though, Jamie. Just talk to me.”

I’m too angry to talk to him right now. I knew there was something wrong, but I am not having him thinking he can act all macho man because my ex-boyfriend makes him feel insecure.

“I need some space. Just leave me alone, Owen.” I cut him off and then burst into tears. What a mess. I had been looking forward to spending time with Owen and this is what happened. We are wasting so much of the little time we have left together that it breaks my heart.

I realise I am being harsh on Owen. He isn’t responsible for how Carl treated me, or how inadequate I feel around Francesca. After I finish crying and have calmed down, I call Owen back, and then my doorbell rings. I place my phone on the kitchen island while I answer the door, hoping it's Owen so we can make up properly. But when I open the door, I get the shock of my life.

“Carl? What are you doing here?”

His knuckles are bleeding, so I quickly bring him in and wash his hands and try to patch him up. “This is a nice place you have here. How long have you been dating him really, Jamie? I knew there was something between you; I could sense it. The way you would talk about him all the time and the way he would constantly look at you while throwing daggers at me.”

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