He flashes me a lopsided grin. ‘Go on then. But don’t get caught. She’ll murder me if she catches me boozing.’
‘Tricky bride?’ I say sympathetically.
Well, that’s OK. There are bound to be a few difficult customers once in a while. I’d expect that.
‘You could say that.’ He winks.
I smile. Normally, I don’t find men in suits attractive. For some reason, I’ve never been able to imagine a man in a suit possessing such a thing as a penis. Don’t know why. It’s always been the way with me. I imagine they’ll be completely smooth underneath. But this chap is different. Not my usual type—he’s blond, for one thing, whereas I usually prefer them dark and brooding. But he is male. And he looks as though he’s got a pulse. And after the disaster with Max, who am I to play fussy?
I tiptoe back to the party, find a half drunk bottle of Moët on top of the grand piano, and sneak back to the kitchen with it, ruffling the back of my hair with my hand as I do so. I’m perfectly aware I can never look sleek and chic, so I try for sexy and tousled instead. Unfortunately, a piece of sausage roll pastry floats to the ground as I plonk myself down next to him, but I flap it away with my hand, as though I’m waving away smoke and I don’t think he notices.
‘So what are you doing here anyway?’ he asks as I hand him the bottle.
‘Sorry?’
Blimming heck. I’ve been rumbled, trying to worm trade secrets out of a pro.
‘Bride or groom? And don’t tell me you’re neither. I know that perfectly well.’
‘Oh.’
‘Thing is,’ he grabs the Moët bottle and takes a grateful glug, ‘I don’t think we’ve ever met before, have we?’
‘Er. No.’
‘Thought not.’ He grins lazily. ‘I’m sure I’d have remembered.’
He’s flirting with me.
God, he’s gorgeous. Well, no actually, not gorgeous exactly but he’s averagely OK. Ish. Nice blue eyes. And a mischievous smile. A bit pink, perhaps—his face has that ruddy tinge of the terminally posh. Reminds me of a newborn rat. And his eyelashes are a bit on the sandy side which makes him look a bit squinty. I keep wanting to tell him he’s got crusts of sleep in his eye.
And he is a bit posh for little old me, really. His name’s probably Tarquin or Rupert. But drunken reasoning tells me it’s just as well he’s not perfect. If I’m out for a one-night stand, I don’t want to start hankering after him tomorrow. That would defeat the object of humping and dumping altogether. The rules of Behaving Like a Bloke demand ruthlessness on a serious scale. I need to toughen up. Be as harsh as caustic soda. And it’s therefore vitally important to remain totally and utterly emotionally detached from the whole thing.
So a faint lack of sexual attraction is undoubtedly a bonus.
‘Well, to be honest,’ I confess, quaffing another boozy great mouthful and leaning recklessly towards him, ‘I wouldn’t know either of them from Adam.’
‘Really?’
‘I mean I’ve seen the bride of course. That fucking awful big meringue sort of gave her away. But I wouldn’t know the groom if he came up and slipped me a length from behind, so…’
He inches closer to my golden ham of a thigh and places one hand on it, perilously close to my minky.
Cue mental check for signs of arousal.
Nothing.
Absolutely zilch.
Dry as a goddamn bone. Not so much as a minge twinge. My nipples remain as flaccid as uncooked pancakes.
But I’ve started, so I may as well finish.
And being a top of the range caterer, he’ll be an excellent contact for later.
Better make sure I’m good.
‘And how exactly will you do that?’ niggles an annoying voice in my brain. ‘You’re clueless at casual sex.’
I quash it.
He pulls me slightly towards him and moves in on me, running his tongue over my bottom lip.
And what do I do?
I giggle. And my mouth chooses that particular moment to go into overdrive.
‘I don’t normally make a habit of gatecrashing the weddings of complete strangers,’ I gabble stupidly as he stands up, pulling me to my feet. He’s slightly shorter than me, I notice, but that’s no big deal. It means we can do it standing up.
‘I came with George you see, he’s downstairs, he’s not my boyfriend you understand. He works with the groom.’
He puts a finger to his lips, taking me by the shoulders and leading me into a larder the size of my entire flat. He shuts the door firmly behind us, lifts me onto a chest freezer and kisses me.
I’m surprised it’s so easy, getting men to sleep with you. So far, I haven’t really had to do anything.