Fast and Loose

‘Well, he shouldn’t,’ I said gruffly. ‘I’m all right, Til. You can go. I’ll be out in a minute.’

She didn’t leave. She stood there, chewing her lip and playing with her brac

elet.

‘Just, while we’re alone in here,’ she said, once the dryer had ceased its deafening roar. ‘I did wonder whether you and Miles…last night…?’

I turned around, doing my best to arrange my face into shocked surprise.

‘Me and Miles? Are you kidding? No. Not my type. At all.’

‘Really? He’s not bad-looking. And quite sweet, when he wants to be.’

‘Don’t match-make, Til. It’s not going to happen.’

‘Oh, come on, Ella. I’m not suggesting you order the wedding flowers. But you could do with a bit of fun. You’re not still pining after Crowley, are you?’

Oh, God. The Name had come up. I hadn’t been expecting it, and it was like a blow to the below-the-belt area.

‘Pining? I’ve never pined in my entire life,’ I said, a bit too hotly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t need a friend with benefits, that’s all. I’m fine as I am.’

‘All right, no need to bite my head off, dear. It’s just that I’ve seen a lot of women waste a lot of emotional energy on Crowley, and I don’t want you to be one of them. He ain’t worth it.’

‘It was one night, six weeks ago, Til,’ I said, but inside I was quivering and my blood was rushing to my skin so fast I thought it might burst through my pores at any moment. ‘I think I’m over it now.’

‘Good,’ she said decisively. ‘So, are you coming back? Your email alert pinged eight times while you’ve been in here.’

‘Shit, really? Eight? What’s happening? Is there some kind of big news story going on?’

‘Nah, just traffic stuff, I think. Come on.’

Sitting back down at my desk, I almost moaned with arousal as my bare bottom slid against the cold, sleek lining of my skirt. My thighs were immediately damp. This was going to be a challenging day.

At lunchtime I took a corner table in our favourite coffee shop with Tilda and determined to tackle the subject of her relationship with Tom. It had been on my mind all morning, and I needed to know the worst.

The seats in the coffee shop were moulded plastic, and they made my knickerless state all the more unavoidable as I slid and slipped around on the shiny orange surface, scared to cross my legs.

‘So, you seem really down on Tom Crowley,’ I said, as casually as I could, tearing open my sandwich package. ‘Is it just from observation, or is it personal?’

Her eyes flashed up at me and she paused in the action of raising a cup of soup to her lips.

‘Who’ve you been talking to?’ she said.

‘Nobody. Just…from what you were saying in the loos earlier.’

‘Hm, well, I stand by that.’ She paused, taking a sip of tomato and basil. ‘He’s a menace to womankind.’

‘But was he a menace to you?’

She sighed, put down the mug, looked all around the café as if assessing the best escape route, then turned back to me.

‘I don’t like to talk about it,’ she said. ‘But yes. I’ve been there. And I wish I hadn’t. All right?’

It was unsettling to see Tilda like this. In the couple of months I’d known her, she’d always struck me as strong and feisty, nobody’s fool. But a haunted look had come into her dark eyes and she seemed to lose some of her twenty eight years years.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. He really hurt you?’

She looked down for a second, then back up again, full Tilda service resumed.