He was sweet in the dark and mid in daylight. I finished my coffee, blocked the number, and borrowed Sophie’s concealer. Efficient. Some would call it cold. I call it Tuesday.
I Told The Wrong Story
Recited last Friday to a girl at a lunch who turned out to be his sister. She laughed like it was funny. It wasn’t. I still finished the anecdote. Commitment to the bit.
We Compared Notes In The Kitchen
Mia’s boy versus mine. Timing, stamina, whether they asked for water after. Scientific. Petty. Necessary.
We Never Made It Upstairs
Hallway. Shoes still on. Someone’s Amazon parcel as a pillow. Romance is dead and I’m throwing the funeral.
Sophie Made A Chore Chart
It now includes “remove strange men before 9am” and “buy more loo roll after weekends”. I initialled it in lip gloss.
Bathroom Stall Was Unexpectedly Romantic
Romantic is generous. Functional. His belt buckle kept hitting the dispenser. I still came. That’s the bit I’ll leave in.
Sophie Caught Us Mid Thrust
Thought she’d gone to her mum’s. She hadn’t. Door opened, I was on all fours, he didn’t stop. She just said “for fuck’s sake Chels” and shut it. Breakfast was awkward.
I Lied About The Taxi
Told them I went west. I went east. With him. The receipt is still in my coat and Mia has a nose like a bloody sniffer dog.
I Kept The Hotel Keycard
Not because I’m sentimental. Because the lighting in that bathroom was criminal and I might need the room number if the photo does numbers. Research. Obviously.
Her Husband Watched From Chair
She asked. I said yes because I’m nosy and horny. He didn’t touch me, just sat there. Weirdly hot. She texted the next day like we were booking lunch.