Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Chapter Ten

Tam is the first to speak, her voice a mere whisper,

“Sophie! Did you forget to put the lid on?”

I grit my teeth and stare at her, not sure which is worse – looking like a pink marshmallow in my underwear with Tam’s brother Rob looking at me, or the vomit-like spray of pink smoothie splashed like modern artwork across my white ceiling and walls. I want to cry, but feel stupid(er)!

“Listen,” Rob has an unexpected calming tone to his voice, “it looks worse than what it is.”

“You reckon?” I screech and spin on the spot, my arms flying angrily, “you mean this; all of this really is OK?”

He’s not shocked by my aggression, instead, smiles and steps towards me, “Yeah!” he shrugs, “I agree, it looks horrific, and of course, you’re traumatised, but, really, it’ll be fine.”

His face is grey and oily, along with his hands and his orange overalls – but there’s something nice behind that dirt and tangy aroma of garage forecourts. His eyes are green and kind as he says, “You go and get cleaned up. Me and Tam’ll sort this lot out.”

“We will?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” he smiles at us both, “we will.”

*

Adrian Ford got the news late yesterday, but Ade was a man who lived by his own philosophy of ‘bed her late than never’. It was a stinger, the £50 entrance fee, especially when Sophie Regan’s night out was being funded by Woman to Woman, but he was certain it’d be worth it; in the long run. His reputation in the Ade Gets Laid column would rocket after bagging the prudent Sophie-I’m-Staying-Single-for-a-year-Regan. He’d done a little research, a little digging, and he’d discovered that she’d been the anonymous lady that had shaken Ben Scott’s foundations for all of a couple of months. Once he’d spun that into the media notch on his bedpost, he’d get even more publicity out of his story. He’d never been speed dating – didn’t see the point of it, nor the need for it, but wanted to surprise her tonight. She wouldn’t be expecting to see him there – and wouldn’t be prepared for his armoury of chat up lines either….

*

I am shocked at how Rob has cleaned up the kitchen. It’s virtually spotless, apart from a faded pinkish stain, like a cumulus cloud in a sunset, which remains on the ceiling.

“Oh wow! This is amazing!”

He’s quickly transforming into the Diet Coke guy as he stands at my sink wringing out a sponge. His smile dazzles, his teeth extra white against his dirty face,

“No problem at all. And you look different too.”

I look down at myself, wearing my yellow summer dress and recalling how I must have looked earlier, with the old grey bra and knicker set and covered in slime. I know I’m blushing,

“Oh, yeah. God, sorry about that. How embarrassing.”

He laughs, “Not at all. I thought you looked kinda, fruity.”

He’s making fun of me and I know it. I smile awkwardly and change the subject.

“Thank you so much for doing that. Where’s Tam? Didn’t she help you?”

“Her? Work in the kitchen? You’re not serious, are you?”

“Oh yeah,” I remember how undomesticated she is, “so where’s she gone.”

“Just nipped outside to make a phone call.”

“Really? Outside?”

He shrugs and pulls a face to show that he can’t fathom his sister.

“Listen, I’ll come and paint this for you, if you like. I got the worst of it out, but it’ll need a new coat of paint.”

“Would you? That’d be great, thank you. I’m crap at painting. Always get brush strokes, you know?”

“Leave it with me. I’ll get your number from Tam and give you a ring – maybe next weekend? Depends on how I get on with this job near the station, but I’m sure I can fit it in sometime soon.”

“Great. That’d be fine. Thanks Rob.”

*

“You never told me your brother was so nice!”

“Nice!” Tamsin’s voice is shrill as we cross Leicester Square, our heels clipping on the paving slabs, “who said he was nice? God, the state of him. I don’t remember what he looks like beneath all that oil and muck.”

“I meant a nice person. He’s offered to paint my kitchen.”

“Mmmm!!” she squeals, pulling a face that my great-aunt would be proud of.

“Don’t be daft, Tam,” I scold. “Anyway, I’m being single for the year. That’s what makes it so easy to just be friends with men. There’s no agenda.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, “you keep on saying that.”

The first promising sign to the speed dating event is the long queue which has formed outside. This promise is swiftly kicked to touch by the people in aforementioned queue. It’s not looking great – a plethora of corduroy trousers, black shirts, and I just spotted a piano keyboard tie, isn’t inspiring me to join in. Tamsin finds it hilarious though, and links my arm, dragging me to the end of the snaking line.

“Jesus, Tam. Look at them!” I’m like a child who doesn’t want to go into school.

She laughs at me, “Just try it. Delaney wants you to write about it, so do it. There aren’t many careers where you can drink on the job.”
Hmm, I’m not convinced by her optimism, since my vodka cherry smoothie exploded all over me, I’ve kind of gone off the smell of alcohol. But I think I’m going to need it tonight.

“So, who were you ringing? From my place?”

Tam looks vague, “Ringing?”

“Rob said that you’d gone outside to make a call. So?”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, “Oh, no-one. Just one of my credit card companies after money. I didn’t want to talk about it in front of Rob.”

But there’s something behind her voice that doesn’t ring true, although I can’t figure it. I’m about to probe a little more when, “Hahahaha,” a deep voice whinnies behind me and I turn to see where the horse escaped from. I’m faced with a portly middle aged man, his eyes like lychees and his lardy chin shaking with mirth. He’s on his mobile phone, so I turn back to face the rather nice door man as we shuffled closer to the entrance. He catches my eye and I smile at him, feeling wretched when he gives me a ‘god-you’re-a-saddo-coming-in-here’ look. I’m desperate to say, “No! I’m being paid for this, just like you. You and me? We’re both working tonight.” However, I appreciate how ridiculous that would sound, so I keep quiet instead. My stomach lurches as we pass through the doorway and follow the line down the stairs and into the darkened nightclub. The first person I see at the bar is Adrian-from-Floor-2, and I notice Tam’s eyes light up when he nods over with a confident ‘hi’…..


Chapter One

Chapter Nine

Chapter Eleven

Our first meet in Second Life - tonight!

I've set up a group in Second Life, called (strangely enough) Staying Single. I'd like to open an invitation to everybody to join this group - hopefully we will get to know each other over the next few weeks, share a few tales of woe and hilarious anecdotes, and have a few laughs along the way.

Our first meet up is 9pm (UK time) -
which is
1pm WCoast USA/Canada,
4pm New York,
6pm Tokyo,
7pm Sydney,
9pm Auckland NZ

This first meet will be in The Blarney Stone Irish Bar, Dublin - to be found at co-ordinates 82,80,25.

If you're not sure how to find it, either email me at singlesophieregan@yahoo.co.uk or find me in Second Life - I am SophieRegan Jewell - I'll teleport you across!!!

Come and join in the fun!! I was a Second Life 'newbie' until a few weeks ago, and everyone is really friendly and helpful - it's a quick and painless learning curve, and you never know til you try!

See you there maybe?

Chapter Nine

Ugh, waking up drunk just isn’t the same as going to sleep drunk. It seemed like such a great idea last night, but I’ve suffered all day long. I know this is flimsy, but I was dreading seeing Adrian-From-Floor-2 at the lifts this morning. I’d worn my Nicole Richie style white-framed sunglasses to hide my tired eyes. Just in case. But he was nowhere to be seen – which is just as well, because I think a whiff of his Macchiato would have finished me off! It was around 11am when I remembered how intexticated I’d been, and I truly cringed at the recollection of the text message to Ben. It simply doesn’t bear thinking about. Especially as I checked my phone at least every hour today, and he hasn’t even replied!

Early night tonight. I’m signing off for the day…

*

My dreams are deep and confused, littered with the many men by whom I’ve been hurt or dazzled, ditched or delighted to get rid of. Mike, the recovering alcoholic who’d said, “You looked better when I was drinking,” (and meant it, although, he insisted not in a cruel way. He was so focussed on his recovery; he had no idea what a crap thing that was to say!) Jimmy, who’d taken me on a week-long holiday to the Maldives and then had the nerve to say that the sight of my arse going in to the sea turned him off me. I was only 19 at the time and I remember feeling desperate about myself. I’d suggested that we complete the holiday as friends and go our separate ways when we got home. Which we did, and I kept a brave face on it, but was deeply and privately devastated at his wicked comments. Which were deepened on meeting him 2 months later with a proper ‘fat-bottomed-girl’ on his arm. Alex treated me terribly, until my self-esteem lay in tatters, unlike my knickers, around my ankles. He didn’t want sex and made the most ridiculous excuses not to. We were together for 4 years and, around year 2 he began to turn his arse to me in the bed. He had the nerve to say to me once how he’d had so many women prior to me, that he’d overdosed on sex. I’d looked at him in disgust and retorted, “Funny that, being as Mick Jagger is twice your age and never had that problem!” Needless to say, the relationship was going nowhere and so I jumped – both the sinking ship, and then, his best mate, Carl! Who was the most fabulous indulgent guy that I ever had! Carl was a free spirit who believed in open relationships, and the medicinal, healing elements of sharing his free love…. Which is glorious when you’re not emotionally connected or are blissfully ignorant about his life for those 23 hours a day that you don’t see him. But when you start finding him interesting and sexy and realise that he’s fucking with your head as well as your body, things start to change. And how they did. I became obsessed with Carl and his harem. So when he stopped calling me and avoiding my calls it was clear that I’d mutated into the complete opposite of his free-love paradigm. Bloody ‘Free Love’, what did he think love was, bloody Tibet or something?

*

I’m woken just after 10am by my mobile ringing and I knock over my bedside glass of water as I grope blindly for it beside my bed. It’s Tamsin,

“Morning Soph. All geared up for tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“You still asleep? I’ve woken you, haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” I groan, flopping my head down onto the pillow once again and closing my eyes.

“Sorry. Thought you’d be out getting spray tanned ready for our speed dating night.”

“Yuk, I’d forgotten.”

“No you hadn’t. You’re just in denial. Anyway, I’ve been thinking. It’s madness, me coming to pick you up. Why don’t I get Rob to drive me over to you and then we can get the Tube from Belsize Park to Leicester Square. It’s only a few stops on the Northern Line.”

“OK, whatever you think. Will Rob mind though? Bringing you here?”

“Course not. He’s got a big job on somewhere near Belsize Park station and he’ll be heading that way. Some guy with a fleet of cars that he wants repairing. You know Rob, any chance to keep his overalls on and get his head under a bonnet! Anyway, I’ve done so many favours for my brother – it’s about time I started getting some back!”

“Whatever you think, I’m too tired to use my brain. See you about 7.30 still? I’ve leave the door on the latch.”

“No,” Tamsin replies, “maybe 7, as we’re getting the train.”

“OK,” I’m too tired to listen, so I nod and cut her off, “7.30 it is then….”

*

By 6 I’m compos mentis once again and gyrating to ‘Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves’ around the kitchen in my underwear as I wait for the hair straighteners to hot up. Rooting through cupboards as I shake and wiggle, I look for something to eat but nothing takes my fancy. It’s an unspoken rule, prior to going out for the evening, to avoid wheat to prevent bloating (I don’t want to look 6 months pregnant at speed dating – there’s something unethical about that!), I don’t want anything remotely garlicky, or any food items that requires stirring, flipping or beating. The noodles look decidedly tempting once again, but a glance at my neglected fruit bowl convinces me to go for a large cherry and banana smoothie.

“Standin' on their own two feet, and ringin' on their own bells,” I sing as I throw fistfuls of cherries into the jug along with a bag of frozen chopped banana. Grabbing the vodka bottle, I pour a generous 4 seconds worth in too. Well, a girl can’t go through a trauma like speed dating without a little social lubricant! Pushing the lid down tightly I flick the switch to extra fast and leave the kitchen quickly, the squeals of solid lumps of frozen banana being sucked toward the blades drowning out Aretha Franklins sisterly vibe. My wrap dress lies obediently on the bed, its left arm over its head, like a body from a crime scene and my Moschino sandals wait patiently, toes forward, facing the mirror. Catching my reflection I notice that the Johnson Holiday Tan has begun to take effect, leaving me with freakishly unattractive slices of white on the backs of my arms and left shin. This isn’t good! That’s not what it says on the tin! I despise myself for making such an effort, but it’s a tricky dilemma – going to speed dating, knowing you’re going to hate it, but desperate that someone will like you. Wouldn’t it be deemed as an heinous crime to go speed dating, and for guys to decide they didn’t like you – based on only 3 minutes to chat? It surely doesn’t get much more self-esteem shattering than that! I hadn’t decided to stay single to go to these efforts with my appearance, but I am categorically not going speed dating looking like I intend to be single! As Aretha comes to a halt I’m aware of the blender, still screeching in the kitchen. Walking back through to switch it off my house phone rings so I grab it on the way through. It’s my faux American Mother,

“Hey babeee, I got some fab news honey. He’s asked me to marry him! Can you believe it!”

I adore the American accent, but my mother does it no justice whatsoever, her Irish twang like flat notes throughout.

“What? Hang on, let me turn the blender off.”

“Babeee, what the heck is that? We’re getting married Sophieee, a Christmas wedding.”

“What? Mum! That’s only seven months away. Are you sure? Hang on; I’ve got to turn this off.” Her voice switches back to her South Dublin accent immediately, “Oh for Christ’s sake girl, you wanta get yourself a life! Jesus, you only live once.”

And at that split second, the lid flies from the blender, shooting thick pink smoothie like a chocolate fountain, all over my kitchen.

And me.

I scream and close my eyes as the thick liquid hits me in the face.

Momentarily, everything stops, except for cherry smoothie as it leaps from the glass jug.

I open my eyes to see it dripping in gloops from my hair, sliding down my walls and cupboards slowly and hanging like stalactites from the ceiling.

In the sudden silence my Mum screeches down the telephone,

“Sophieeee? Babeee? You OK? You been shot, babeee?”

And then I hear another voice. It’s Tamsin’s.

“Bloody hell, Soph. What happened? You OK?”

And as I wipe the slime from my forehead and eyes and see her standing, with Rob, at my kitchen doorway, I realise that I’m still wearing only my grey underwear and am polka-dotted with fruit juice.



Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Ten

Monday, April 30, 2007

Chapter Eight

I hate to be shallow, and buy into that whole porn queen persona, but having a bald muff is really sexy! Now I’ve got over that initial horror at the pink, turkey plucked skin, it actually feels really nice. It’s a beautiful sunny Friday and my white gipsy skirt is billowing in the breeze. I’d like to think I look like Marilyn Monroe standing over the vent, but I catch my reflection in the revolving door smoked glass windows and realise that I don’t look anything like her. More like Marilyn Manson.

“Hi Sophie,” Ellie, the receptionist smiles at me as I glide across the marble-floored reception area. It’s great when people start to recognise you at a new job, but it takes a while sometimes. Ellie seems really nice and I smile back at her, with a little wave. I wait for the lift, aware that she’s looking at the back of my head and wondering whether she can hear my stomach rumbling. In an attempt to be on time I didn’t get the chance for any breakfast, and I’m starving already. I try to focus on how I’m going to handle the speed dating event in a bid to ignore my hunger pangs. I’m both nervous and excited about speed dating, but feel slightly less worried as I’ve tried to reassure myself that I’m there for research purposes only. I’d love to ask Maria Delaney whether she’s ever been speed dating. She seemed so enthusiastic about me going and it got me wondering. She is married though, to a guy who, like her, seems to work all the hours god sends. Maybe their entire marriage is speed dating – they probably live and breathe the 3 minute slots! The lift pings and the silver doors slide open silently. I step in, along with another guy who arrives at the last minute. The doors nearly catch him as they slide closed.

“Whoa, that was close,” he grins, a twinkle in his eye. “Must stop buying my breakfast from Starbucks!” He holds up a large Styrofoam mug, a small waft of steam snaking from the tiny mouth hole cut into the lid and shakes a couple of brown paper bags. The smell of the coffee is heavenly.

“Mmmm, you can’t beat a good coffee first thing in the morning,” I offer, wishing that I’d thought of calling in for a takeaway before work. “I’m always too late to stop off on the way, and that smells great.”

“Too right! Can’t start without my Macchiato! Floor number?”

“Oh, 3 please.”

He smiles, “Knew it. Woman to Woman offices isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I’m blushing! How embarrassing. What’s my skin trying to do – make a complete fool out of me? Suddenly I’m acutely aware of my waxed poontang and it’s as if he knows. He smiles at me as the lift stops at number 2.

“Oh, my stop.” Thank god for that, I’m desperate to say. But I don’t. Instead, I move toward the buttons and press 3 again. He blocks the doors as they slide closed, with his foot, housed in a rather large tan leather shoe,

“Here,” he holds out one of the brown bags to me, “seeing as you didn’t have time to stop for breakfast. Have one of these.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. It’s OK, really.”

“Go on,” he urges, his brown eyes dancing and white teeth looking really good. I’m hating myself for being so easily swayed, “it’s a lemon muffin. A skinny one too.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I owe you one,” I quip, completely genuine, but think maybe he takes me up the wrong way.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that,” he laughs as the lift doors begin to close. He says quickly, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Sophie. My name’s Sophie.”

“Great!” his voice is muffled now as the doors are virtually shut. I hear him shout, “See you around Sophie. I’m Adrian.”

*

I wish I had a work friend. In my old job I could have breezed into the office and Katie and Liz would have wanted to know all about the gorgeous guy in the lift when they’d noticed the huge muffin on my desk. I sit closest to AJ and have no desire to even look at her, never mind talk to her. The muffin tastes great, light and citrus on my tongue and I just know the poppy seeds are scurrying into the small crevices between my teeth. I really want to turn around and gurn at AJ, a mouth full of muffin and crusty seeded teeth – but I don’t. I’m too busy checking our online directory and super-sleuthing my way to find an ‘Adrian’ who works on floor 2…..

*

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Adrian was pulling his elbow back sharply, praising himself on his smooth tactics. He’d deliberately bought an extra lemon muffin with the sole intention of giving it to Sophie and it had paid off, waiting around in reception for that extra fifteen minutes. And so his plan had begun. He was going to be the one to make Sophie Regan break her shallow ‘vow’ to remain single. Let Woman to Woman write a feature on that! He was glad that he’d decided to leave yesterdays t-shirt on his floordrobe, choosing instead to wear the new Paul Smith one. It looked fucking hot under his faded blue jacket and jeans and never failed to give him an air of urban playboy. Now he’d made the initial introduction, luring Sophie Regan into bed would be like taking candy from a babe.

*

I’m sick. Don’t let me drink again. I’m serious. I can’t handle it. It’s been such a great day at work. I knew it would be, after such a great start. And my smooth snatch and great day finished off with a bottle and a half of Pinot Grigio has made a fool out of me. The laugh’s on me. Again. And those bloody mobile phones! I don’t even know why I have one!

I know, I’m not making sense. But it’s like this. I’m laying on my sofa and the room is spinning. Just a little bit. And I turned over the telly and who’s on bloody Jonathon Woss show? Ben Scott. Yes! The Ben Scott. Chat show host Ben Scott who I went out with for five months and who I really really liked but didn’t like me as much as I liked him obviously! And it’s made me sad. And made me realise how much I liked him and how lonely I am and how I wish I had someone to show off my new poontang to. And I did the unthinkable. I texted him.

“I know it’s stupid!”

But I did it. It wasn’t that bad. No, I don’t want to tell you.

OK – I will. It said something like ‘hey big boy – I’ve got something here for you to unwrap if you think you’re man enough.’

I know, it’s shit. I pressed that damned button too quick. But it’s worse than that.

Afterwards I sent another one. Because I felt so stupid, that’s why.

It just said ‘please ignore that text – it was meant for someone else.’

It’s all going Pete Tong….

Chapter One

Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Nine


Pulling Power #3

The third in this series.. Please send in links to your chat up/dumping YouTube vids, or email mpegs video'd on your mobile to Sophie for inclusion in this 100 week documentary!



Sophie wants you to be these documentaries - so get out your mobiles or camcorders and start filming!

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Listen to podcast of week 1 chapters

I have podcasted the chapters from Week 1, broken down into bite sized chunks.
Feel free to download these audio files to listen to when you're bored at work, or sitting on the train watching that really gross man stuffing a cereal bar into his mouth or when your friend/boyfriend/kids are moaning and you want the equivalent of sticking your fingers in your ears and singing 'lah lah lah,' really loud!...;)


My Odeo Podcast

Chapter Seven

OK, so going speed dating means I need to look good. So much for my plans to just be ‘me’? If I’m so intent on staying single, on not worrying about what ‘look’ I’m portraying, if I’m so hot on being happy in my skin, what the hell am I doing here? Laying on a beauty therapists’ couch listening to classical music and breathing in the heady scent of ylang ylang, in a g-string? Am I mutating into my ex, Jonny? I’m sure I’m being waxed from the ears down! So far I’ve been stripped of my armpit fuzz and leg stubble and I’m now sticky and sweaty as the pneumatic-chested therapist is prepping my bikini area. She’s promised me a tidy landing strip – and I’m terrified! Thankfully I’d been forewarned by Jennifer to spend a little time trimming my lady garden, which, she told me, means that it won’t hurt as much when the hairs are ripped out at 100mph on a 10cm strip of calico. I hope this will all be worth it – I’ve booked in for a pedicure and back massage afterwards, in the hope that it’ll relax me between traumas. The first one being deemed as the woman who chose to stay single, the next one being the wax of my entire topiary of pubic hair, and the last (but probably not the least) one being my night at speed dating. I mean, what if you meet a guy and you get on really well for the 3 minutes – could you spend a lifetime simply fitting him in for 3 minute slots? It’d take a lot of pressure out of the relationship problems and would leave loads of lovely free time to have more beauty treatments, see friends and go shopping! I’m almost looking forward to the speed dating event and it’s helping take my mind off of the awful Danny-the-chav-Mullins!

*

Adrian Ford noticed Sophie before Ellie had pointed her out, and he hadn’t been disappointed. She was cute with her long brown hair and nice arse – it was the icing on the cake to find that she was Sophie Regan. She was slightly girl-next-door, but he hadn’t let that put him off before. Tossing chicken strips into a hot wok and twisting the lid from a jar of sweet lemon sauce, he wondered which approach he’d use on her – the fellow journalist route, the I’d-like-to-be-friends, or just the good old reliable I’m-interested-in-your-life one? Either way, he’d soon put paid to her staying single promise. He sang loudly to his Stereophonics CD, changing the words to,

“And she’ll be gagging for meeeeee, by the end of the month!”

*

“So Tam, it’s bloody agony. I’ve had to come straight home, strip off and starfish, naked in bed. Even the cold duvet against my bald pube area hurts.” I lift the duvet and look down the plane of my body, at my bald and pink pubic mound. “It looks like the tip of a Swan Vestas! But hey, at least my toenails look the nuts!”

“Ha ha! It’ll be fine by the morning. I’ve had a Brazilian loads of times.”

“Yeah,” I groan, “but I bet only when you’ve been in a relationship? Nobody would have this done if they were resolutely staying single!”

“No,” she giggled, “probably not!”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m actually going speed dating to meet anyone, so why did I bother?”

“Because you said that your legs were like kiwi skin and you wanted to wear a dress on Saturday! Anyway, it makes you feel good and boosts your confidence. God, Sophie, why shouldn’t you feel good about yourself. If staying single means turning into a yeti then you’re gonna be single for a whole lot longer than a year!”

She makes me laugh sometimes, with her bluntness, “OK, point taken. I’m going to wear my wrap dress and Moschino sandals. That screams, ‘take me seriously, but respect my femininity’ don’t you think?”

“Em, no. Not really, Soph, but whatever you feel comfortable in. Listen, I was talking to one of the A&E nurses today; she went speed dating last week and loved it. Until she realised that she was sat opposite an ex boyfriend.”

“OhMyGod! What did she do?”

“Well she said that she saw him in the room and counted along, realising that it was inevitable that he’d be one of her 3 minute slots. She just gritted her teeth, managing to make a sneaky exit when he was 2 tables away. But she said the night was going great until then. 4 guys asked for her number and she’s got dates set up for the next fortnight.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going for that. You could though, Tam? How serious is it between you and this Pete guy?”

Tamsin sounds strange as she replied, “Serious? Sophie, I’m mad about him. I’d never cheat on Pete. Ever.”

I’m surprised at her reply. I wasn’t suggesting that she cheat on him; simply have a few laughs on our speed dating night out.

“OK, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I know you like him. Maybe I’ll get to meet him properly soon, eh?”

“Yeah. You can. I’ll sort it for sometime soon.”

“Right then, I’m going to sleep now. Pick you up Saturday at 7.30pm, OK?”

“Great. See you then, Soph.”



Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Eight