is all,’ he said, resuming his position behind me. ‘Wasn’t a great break-up.’
‘I can more or less see any bad break-up and raise you,’ I said, skimming the subject. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Bitter friend of the ex, made perfect sense. I just wished I could believe Louisa was making up bitchy lies about Mark, but she was probably swapping cupcake recipes with ‘Katie’ by now. Alex replied with a gentle kiss on my neck and I let myself relax into him and the music as the main band took to the stage.
‘They were so good,’ I said as we emptied out onto the street at midnight. I loved the post-good-gig-buzz. ‘Just, wow, really good!’
Alex laughed and took my hand. ‘You want to go get a drink or something?’
I looked at my watch and pulled a face. It was already after twelve and even though I was having a great time, a tiny part of my mind kept reminding me that I was seeing Tyler on Sunday evening and I really didn’t want to show up looking like complete crap. But the look on Alex’s face and the way he was squeezing my hand made it a really difficult decision. Well, the look on his face, the hand-holding, and the four beers I’d already had on nothing but Ring Dings for dinner. Any more to drink and I didn’t know if I’d be able to make my best judgements.
‘I should really think about getting back,’ I said, not really believing the words coming out of my mouth. ‘I told my roommate I’d be back and …’ He gave me the same puppy dog look I’d seen him work on the waitress at Manatus.
‘Just one drink?’ I said, allowing myself to be pulled down the street.
Really, just one.
Three drinks later, we were nestled in a tiny dive bar with a fantastic jukebox and cold, fizzy beer. We talked about music, about gigs we’d been to, about gigs we’d missed, argued about our favourite albums and dreamed up our ideal festival line up, him headlining, of course. Soon three drinks turned into four, and just after twelve turned into almost two before I remembered I was supposed to be home by now. I was drunk enough to have to watch my step on the way to the toilet, but sober enough to recognize that I was well on my way to wasted. Thank God for weak American lager. Checking the gig damage to my make-up in the mirror, I figured I still looked OK and managed not to apply any more make-up (so I couldn’t have been as drunk as I thought), but slicked on several layers of lip balm. Alex’s kisses were getting more aggressive with each swoop and I was starting to feel a little bit tender. And more than a little bit turned on. I traced my lips with the tip of my index finger, this was so strange. Tyler’s kisses had been firm and gentle, whereas Alex wasn’t backwards about coming forwards. The old me would have freaked out at any kind of public display of affection, but the new me seemed to be pretty OK with it. And with dating two men. And with hanging around in nasty toilets for more than the necessary amount of time. Ew. I really had to get home, my head was starting to teeter between ‘go home with him’ and ‘go home and vomit’ and in those cases, there was only ever going to be one winner.
Heading back out to the bar, I saw Alex talking to a couple of girls, laughing easily and giving them the same soft smiles and intense eyes that had made me feel like the only girl in New York. It was definitely time to go. ‘I should probably make a move,’ I said loudly. The girls looked at each other, smiled gleefully at Alex and dropped onto my empty seat, one on top of the other.
‘Sure, let’s go,’ Alex said, standing up and putting his arm around my shoulders. I smiled a tiny smile to myself, head down, and let Alex guide me out of the bar, leaving the girls sulking in my seat.
‘Murray Hill?’ he asked, as we jumped into an empty yellow taxi before one of the other dozens of couples with their arms in the air could take it.
‘39th and Lexington,’ I said to the driver, sitting back against the cracked seats. Alex didn’t give me a chance to wonder if he would make a move, wait for a sign or even for the cab to pull into traffic before he stretched his long, lean body right across the backseat and took my face in both of his hands. As the taxi bolted through the late-night streets of New York City, I was thrown into a half-sitting, half-lying position on the back seat. Even though the night wasn’t cold, there was a chill that was completely dispelled by the warmth of Alex’s body as he pushed himself against me. I could feel his hand travel down my side and on to bare flesh at the top of my thigh where my dress had ridden up, and although I knew things were moving altogether too fast, I didn’t want to stop him. Before I had to make a really difficult decision, the taxi pulled to a juddering halt, throwing us both into the foot well. I giggled nervously, straddling him and trying to work out how to get up, off and out without giving everything away.
‘Do you want to come in?’
The words were out of my mouth before I even thought about them. So this is what women are talking about when we complain that men let their penises make all their decisions for them.
‘I really want to come in,’ he said, helping me push myself back into a sitting position, ‘but I’m not going to.’
I looked at him, surprised. Not that I thought I was such a prize catch who would never get blown out, but that I just really felt that was where this was going. And when we were kissing, I’d felt something else that biologically suggested that he thought the same.
‘If I come in now,’ he whispered, leaning across and opening my door, ‘what’s left to guess?’
I smiled shyly. I could hardly pass for coy, but I hadn’t expected him to be such a romantic.
‘Can you wait a sec while I see the lady to the door?’ he asked the cabbie, who grunted something along the lines of an agreement.
Alex pushed my hair behind my ear, holding my gaze just a moment more than he needed to. ‘I had a really good time, Angela,’ he said, giving me one of his gentlest kisses. ‘Will you call me?’
I nodded, having completely lost the ability to speak, and watched him get back in the cab. Malicious bleached blonde aside, I thought the evening had gone fairly well.
I was on my third Starbucks venti wet latte on Sunday morning before I was prepared to accept that writing a blog wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. I stared at the blank white screen waiting for inspiration. I knew Mary wanted the intro and three diary pieces and I knew it would make sense to do Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Mary had been quite insistent on the dating theme, and that would cover my first dates with Tyler and Alex. But I didn’t know how to talk about the dates without a) sounding like a total tart, and b) sounding like I was gossiping about two different guys with the whole city. Wasn’t that rude? Should I blog about Tyler and Alex without their permission? Was I genuinely sitting in Starbucks in New York all hopped up on caffeine asking myself ridiculous questions? I necked the dregs of my coffee and started typing. Instead of worrying about what other people would think, I tried to think about what I would want to read. So I started out writing about something easy. Something I loved.
My lovely, lovely Marc Jacobs handbag.
The Adventures of Angela: How a handbag healed a broken heart
I gave it a loving look and a gentle pat, nothing potentially damaging though, obviously. I still couldn’t quite believe I’d spent half a mortgage payment on a bag. On some bits of leather and metal, stitched together to hold my stuff. Stitched together by angels … Why had I never bought something so fabulous before? Probably because I didn’t think
