Same jawline as the boy from two Saturdays ago in Peckham. Different name on the guest list. I smiled like I didn’t clock it. She definitely clocked that I clocked it.
Tag: socialite
That Girl From Recomply
Saw her again at a birthday in Shoreditch. Last time she was crying in a bathroom about him. This time she’s on his shoulders. I have the old voice notes. Tempting.
We Threw A Secret Afters
Official night ended at two. Ours started in the kitchen with whatever was left in the freezer. Ten people. One speaker. The neighbours will survive. Probably.
Group Chat Named Him
We never use real names. This week he’s “Mayfair Suit.” Last week he was “Wrong Uber.” Sophie clocked the pattern. Said I need a hobby that isn’t collecting aliases. Rude. Accurate.
Sunday Roast Turned Into Gossip
One bottle in and suddenly everyone’s ex has a name, a job, and a disappointing bedroom habit. I contributed. Obviously. I’m not going to sit there looking saintly.
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 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.
Someone’s Fiancé Bought Rounds
He said they were “on a break”. The ring tan said otherwise. I still let him pay for the vodka sodas. Research, innit.
I Snogged The Best Man
Wedding afterparty in Chelsea, open bar, I was only meant to be content. Best man had a fiancée on table nine. She found me in the cloakroom redoing lipstick. Awkward doesn’t cover it.
Members Club Then Sticky Floor
Started at 22. Ended in a basement where the floor pulled my heels off. That’s the London arc and I refuse to skip either half.