Page 54 of Prove You Wrong

Normally level-headed and calm, Chunk narrows his eyes. ‘Stacey was a piece of work. Just go with the flow, see where you two end up.’

‘We’re going on another date.’

He claps me on the arm. ‘That’s great. If she agreed to go out with you again then — ’

‘I didn’t ask her. I told her.’ I get up, feeling twitchy about Chunk’s overly probing questions. ‘I need to know she trusts me.’ I wander towards the kitchen, wishing this conversation was over.

‘And you need to know you can trust her. I get it,’ Chunk calls after me. ‘But you can’t force it. You can’t make her shut her eyes and fall backwards to prove you’ll catch each other.’

I pivot to face him and he throws a cushion at me.

‘Hey, don’t look at me like you’re actually considering incorporating a trust fall into some sort of date.’

I hold my hands in a position of surrender.

‘Fucksake, Nate.’ It’s a resigned sigh. One where he knows me too well. ‘Are you this out of practice? Ask her if she wants a date and if she’s mad enough to say yes, then take her on a normal date. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Or her, for that matter. Jeez.’

Ella

The claustrophobia that builds up in the office is almost suffocating. As soon as it’s after twelve, I swap heels for trainers and head out to walk around the neighbourhood on my lunch break, trying to get some steps in.

My office is on the shittier side of town, but round a few corners you find the edge of the more upmarket area. Over the last week, it’s been fun window shopping past the designer stores, but my favourite is getting a sneak peek inside the trendy restaurants and bars, planning fantasy nights out with Josie.

Chez René, an exclusive bistro — all shiny windows and pretty lights — glows like a diamond. The doorman makes it tricky to get a good view inside but I know it’s a sea of linen tablecloths, sumptuous chairs, and multitudes of elegant glasses.

There’s not even a menu out the front I can salivate over.

My phone rings and I step to the side of the pavement to answer it, the cream wall of the Edwardian-Baroque architecture to my back.

‘Hey, Josie,’ I say down the line.

‘Am I disturbing you?’

‘Nope. Out on my lunch break.’

‘Who are you and what have you done with my bestie?’

‘Ha, it's the new me.’ I straighten my shoulders, pulling my bag strap up. ‘I’m allowing myself basic human rights like lunch breaks these days. So, you ok?’

‘I’m good, just fancied a chat. Did you arrange that second date with Nate?’

I’d already filled Josie in on the horrifically embarrassing treetops experience where I all but threw myself at him. I don’t know what I was thinking, other than I wasn’t thinking. I came away trying to convince myself I should be grateful he spurned me. But my traitorous stomach flipped when he breathily demanded a second date. And my duplicitous heart leapt when he then texted to ask nicely.

‘I’ve still not replied.’ I wince to myself.

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not sure what I want. When I’m with him, I get swept up in the moment, almost lose control, like some horny teenager.’ I give an embarrassed laugh. ‘But, in the cold light of day, it’s a terrible idea.’

‘Last time you told me you wanted a bit of fun … a hookup.’

‘I saidfun. You said hookup. And oops, we didn’t hook up.’ I try to make light of my disappointment.

‘But you had fun?’

‘Yes … ’

I trail off and Josie says, ‘I feel a ‘but’ coming on.’

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