Page 14 of All Of My Firsts

My mind drifts to other things like what I’ll wear to work tomorrow, the report I need to file for the new clients from Jess’ charity who are now having regular sessions. The organisation of my desk, my office, my wardrobe. Anything except what this man is saying in front of me. His lips are still moving, but it’s all Greek to me.

“…don’t you think?” He ends his sentence, making my stomach drop suddenly because I honestly have no idea what he is asking me. My face flushes a shade of red that makes Louboutin’s look pink. “Uhh, you know I’ll be right back.” I excuse myself to the ladies’ room, hoping he won’t want an answer when I get back.

Finishing up in the toilet, I check my reflection and top up my red lipstick. Well, it’s Jess’ but since she steals most of my things, I decided to do the same tonight because that’s what sisters do. I should give the guy a chance. I should be getting to know him. My dating life has been non-existent for well over a year, and yet I don’t feel anything for him. I promised myself adventure and excitement and sadly he isn’t it.

Maybe it’s because you keep thinking about a certain playboy.

No I'm not going there. It’s platonic, two friends, helping one another. I can’t let myself think about him naked again, or his toned abs, the contrast of his tattoos on his olive skin, how he made me feel so safe when he caged me into his strong arms. Brandon should be exactly what I want. He has a great job (not that I can remember anything about it) probably has a house somewhere in Richmond waiting for his future wife to fill it with kids. That white picket fence life that I so thought I wanted; he could be the guy. Except he really isn’t. My body deflates as I face myself in the mirror and decide that the date is over.

After paying the bill secretly, I walk back to our table and sit back down, finding Brandon on his phone. When he looks up again, he grabs my hand and kisses the back of it. “You’re beautiful, Nora,” he coos.

“Thank you,” I say politely, like I’m thanking someone for letting me go ahead of them in supermarket line. I subtly move my hand and tuck it under my thigh out of his reach. “I’ve had a lovely time, but I should probably get going.”

I see the moment his shoulders deflate in disappointment. I feel bad for a second and then the feeling is gone, and relief floods my mind. He gestures to the waiter for the bill, but I interrupt, “Oh, I’ve already settled the bill. Please, it was my treat.”

His mouth gapes open when he realises what I’ve done. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I’m guessing he’s not used to many women paying for dinner. “Oh no, honestly, it was my treat.” It definitely wasn’t a tactical move on my part so I can leave, especially as my phone pings telling me my Uber is here.

I stand to leave, and he follows my lead, offering me my jacket like a gentleman and I slip my arms in. I chastise myself one more time, wishing that this date worked out. The guy is attractive; he has the kindest eyes, and that therein lies the problem. He is safe, not exciting, and right now, I need a little more excitement in my life.

As we walk into the cool night, London traffic rumbles past us. Wanting to be polite, I turn to embrace my date as he awkwardly tries to kiss me, ending up planting his lips on my eyebrow. It’s probably not the worst thing that’s happened to me on a date, but that’s another story entirely.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Brandon. Take care.”Take care, the most British way to say, Please, kindly fuck off now.

I barely register him talking behind me as I open the door to my Uber and duck inside, the safety of my getaway car soothing my fraying nerves.

I pull up my phone and text Jess telling her I’m on my way home, considering it’s only 10pm, she’ll know exactly how my date went.

When I get home, I haven’t heard from Jess, and the house is quiet. Wondering if she’s at work still, I slip off my coat and toe off my heels, relishing the feeling of the cool wood on my bare feet. A loud rumble of laughter has my ears perking up. It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen. I’m not entirely used to having another person living with us yet, even if it is Liam, who we’ve known forever (minus a ten year hiatus). I’m not sure how I’m supposed to resist Grayson when Liam is his best friend and boss, and now he’s helping me with the list. He’s going to be everywhere, and I need to figure out how I feel about that, without input from my sex drive.

My tired feet pad slowly towards the door and when I open it, I see Liam and Grayson sitting at the table, drinking beer.

“Oh, hey Nor. I thought you were out tonight?” Liam asks.

Grayson tips his beer back in that stupidly attractive way that men do, as his eyes crawl over my body. I’m used to him checking me out; the man thinks with his dick, but I’m not used to the way my body suddenly decides to respond to the attention. Ignoring the hammering of my heart and the sudden need between my thighs, I shuffle over to the kettle and flick it on. “I was on a date.”

“With Brandon?” Grayson asks, his voice low and deep. The way he says his name has a hint of something lacing it.

I nod, not turning around. “How do you know his name?” I ask trying to remember how much I told him this morning.

“Jess told us earlier on the phone,” Liam says, interrupting us.

Warmth suddenly floods from behind me, and I smell the familiar smell of one Grayson King. “The date went badly?” he whispers. I turn to face him. His dark hair needs a trim. It’s getting a little long, although running my fingers through it wouldn’t be… no, I mean it would be a bad thing.Christ, Nora.

“The date was boring. He wasn’t… anything. It was a bust.” The bubbling kettle behind me takes my attention away from a smirking Grayson in front of me, and I’m grateful for the distraction. “Do either of you want tea?”

“Nah, we’re good. Actually, I promised Jess I’d pick her up from work after the wedding she’s working tonight. I’d better get a move on. See you later, Nor. Grayson, see you at work.”

Liam leaves, and the silence that fills the room is deafening. The tinkling of me making my tea is the only sound echoing around the room. In truth, I’m grateful for the moment of quiet. The thought of yet another failed date under my belt grates on my nerves. I inhale and exhale deeply just as I see Grayson put his beer on the side next to me.

“You wanna talk about it?”

My head jerks to where he’s now leaning against the kitchen worktop, his tattooed arms crossed over his body. I see swirls of black ink underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, which I know is an extension of the lion tattoo on his chest. His King of Hearts tattoo peeking from the underside of his forearm is probably my favourite. It has a crown sitting off the edge of the card and an ace slotted behind it. The worn looking card intertwines with the other images. He flexes his forearm as if he can sense me staring, rippling the tattoo and snapping me out of my trance.

“Not really,” I reply flatly. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Is that why you’re grumpy?”

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