One... The Collection: Three fun, flirty novellas, page 20
After scrubbing off my make-up in the mirror – getting through pretty much an entire packet of face wipes – and putting on a vest top and some trackies, my plan is to get in my bunk, get cosy and see if I can fall asleep.
The chances that I’ll be able to sleep, in these weird circumstances, seem slim though. Well, some nights I get into my comfortable bed, in my nice bedroom, in my safe home, with the doors locked, and absolutely nothing to worry about… and I still can’t sleep. I really don’t fancy my chances here.
‘Oh my God,’ I say, jumping out of my skin as I open the door to find Dylan standing there.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump,’ he says with a laugh. ‘But I have a surprise for you.’
‘A good surprise?’ I say. ‘Or a weird one, like you’re taking me to a random house, where I’ll be tortured by a strange girl?’
‘Ah, come on, that was one time,’ he jokes. ‘It’s a good surprise, I promise. Close your eyes and follow me.’
I smile.
‘Go on then,’ I tell him.
I do as I’m told, closing my eyes, allowing Dylan to lead me through the bus.
‘Okay, get in this bunk here,’ he tells me.
I know these bunks like the back of my hand, so it isn’t hard to crawl into one without knocking myself out. I feel Dylan climb in next to me. Then I hear him pull the curtain closed.
‘Okay, open your eyes,’ he tells me.
I do as I’m told and my jaw drops. I’m speechless.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ he says proudly.
‘I… I didn’t even know it was Valentine’s Day,’ I reply. ‘And this is… wow. Dylan this is… yeah… wow.’
I’m in Dylan’s bunk with him and, at the end of the bed there are two laptops. One with our favourite Tom Green movie on, paused at the start and ready to play, and the other with a looping video of a roaring fire. Then, in front of us, there is a plate of various biscuits and chocolates, a couple of cans of pop, and…
‘Are these rose petals?’ I ask.
‘They’re supposed to be,’ he tells me. ‘But obviously I don’t have access to actual rose petals so I just ripped up some red paper. You’ll have to use your imagination.’
‘Dylan, this is just so sweet,’ I tell him.
‘Ahh, it’s nothing,’ he insists. ‘We’re going to watch this movie, eat everything on the plate, and then I’m going to sing you a song, and I’m going to stroke your tummy, and you’re going to fall asleep. I know you, you’re probably already worrying about not being able to sleep on the bus but, I’ve got your back. It will be okay.’
I smile as I sit back, making myself comfortable.
The truth is that, when I told Kitty all that stuff about me loving Dylan, I meant it. I do love him. He’s my best friend and, sure, he has his flaws, but he might just be my favourite person on this entire planet.
‘There is no one I would rather spend Valentine’s Day with,’ he tells me with a smile. ‘You are the love of my life, after all.’
‘Back at you,’ I tell him. ‘It’s a shame you’re a man-child, who won’t settle down, because you would make someone one hell of a boyfriend one day.’
‘I know,’ he jokes modestly. ‘Maybe when that day does come, I’ll give you a call.’
‘What if I’m married?’ I ask him. ‘What then?’
‘Then you’d better hope you’ve found yourself one hell of a husband,’ he replies. ‘Because you know me, when I want something, I don’t stop until I get it. Now, come on, don’t ruin Valentine’s Day by talking about relationships. Let’s play the film.’
I laugh.
‘Okay, okay, fine,’ I say as I snuggle into his arm.
It’s hard to imagine a future where Dylan and I aren’t best friends. Whatever happens with us, with our lives, with our futures… I know that we’ll always come back together.
But right here, right now, I’m exactly where I should be.
On tour – and I believe this now more than ever – you really don’t ever know what tomorrow will bring.
What happens after the morning after the night before?
She never does anything like this – honestly!
After a few too many drinks on a night out, Hayley decides to do something out of character: she goes home with a man she’s really hit it off with, but one she didn’t know yesterday. Well, Chris seems like a dream, and it’s about time Hayley started living life to the full.
But around the time she learns she’s snowed-in with Chris, she also realises the mansion they’re stuck in isn’t actually his. Now she has to spend New Year’s Eve with him.
Has Hayley really met the man or her dreams or has her one-night stand just turned into a nightmare? And when the clock strikes midnight, will she have someone to kiss?
A fun, festive novella set in that strange time between Christmas and New Year’s Eve million copy bestseller Portia MacIntosh.
One Night Only
Portia MacIntosh
Chapter One
First of all, let me start by saying that I don’t usually do this sort of thing.
I know, I know, that’s what they all say but, honestly, I never do things like this – I’ve never done anything like this before.
It’s definitely what girls like me say – girls who are on the brink of being a bad girl, for the first time in their lives – as they negotiate with themselves inside their heads, weighing up the pros and cons of what they’re about to do. I’m trying to encourage myself to go for it, to make a strong case for this being a fantastic idea that I absolutely will not regret.
It’s 2021 (although not for much longer, it is New Year’s Eve tomorrow after all) and that’s as good a reason as any to do whatever the hell I want, right? Each to their own. I don’t judge other people so why should I worry about what people think of me? I am a modern, progressive women. That said, I did have to call my dad last week, to see if he would stop by and change a lightbulb for me in the bathroom. ‘How many blondes does it take to change a light bulb?’ he joked when he arrived. In my defence it was one of those spotlights that are wedged inside the ceiling, the ones that are really hard to get out without – and, yes, I do really hate myself for saying this – a strong pair of hands. I tried, I really did, but my flimsy girly hands were not up to the job, which, by the way, is a flaw with me and not with women generally. I am definitely not of the opinion that women need men, it’s just that I do, sometimes, for some things – the things I’m bad at.
I puff air from my cheeks. None of this is making me feel better, or like I’m doing the right thing. Even if it isn’t the right thing, just not feeling like it was the wrong thing would be progress. I need to try another angle…
I remind myself that I am young, free and single. Well, young-ish, because 32 isn’t exactly old, is it? at least I didn’t think it was, until a barrage of recent sponsored social media adverts started trying to flog me egg freezing services. I really, really hope this isn’t happening because of the demographic I’m in, because that would be sad, if that’s how the world sees me now. Me and my aging ovaries against all odds, unless I pay to have my eggs frozen of course.
Why am I thinking about my eggs right now? I know why it is, it’s because I always have a low-key existential crisis around New Year’s Eve. The thing that I don’t understand is why I’m thinking about it all right now, when I’m in a car with a man I hardly know, heading back to his place.
I’m not going to focus on my age, all I need to know is that I’m free and single. Obviously I’m free, no money is going to exchange money tonight, although I can’t say it wouldn’t be useful. I wonder what I would do, if I woke up in the morning, to find him gone, and a big wad of money on the bedside table. Ha! Big wad of money, I’m valuing myself rather highly for someone who hasn’t has sex in almost a year, aren’t I? It’ll be a miracle if I can remember what goes where. Also, not to poke more holes in my daydream, but we’re going to his house, so he’s not exactly going to disappear in the morning, is he?
Wow, the voice inside my head is talking some serious crap tonight. It’s probably because I’m a bit drunk – which is something I do do. This guy is lucky that I’m saying all of these things to myself, in my head. Thank God I am. Imagine if I started banging on about my eggs to him.
It’s definitely the alcohol that has given me this false sense of self-confidence tonight. I’ll either thank it or hate it in the morning. For now, all bets are off.
It’s so cold out there tonight that the taxi window is fogging up, probably from the heat coming from our bodies, warm from hours of drinking and dancing and kissing all night.
Shit, am I being reckless? No, I’m not, I could be way more reckless, for sure. I may have only known this guy for half a day, at the most, but he’s been sort of pre-vetted for me already. I met him at a work party, which means that he’s been through all the same strict checks I had to go through. Another detail that may or may not play on my mind tomorrow is that he’s kind of my new boss. Is that good or is that bad?
OK, scrap everything I just said, that is reckless, isn’t it? I might know for sure that he isn’t a murderer but that isn’t to say he won’t kill my career.
He wouldn’t do that, would he? Oh, like I’d know, I just met the guy. Being a good dancer or a seriously skilled snogger don’t mean he’s a decent bloke, do they? I’ve no reason to think he isn’t though, and we have had this absolute dream of a whirlwind romance over the course of the evening, so I have every reason to be optimistic.
Honestly, I’ve never felt such strong butterflies in my life. I can’t feel them right now, probably because I’m too nervous, or because they’re pissed and passed out from all the Prosecco I’ve put away tonight.
I’m nervous, but I’m excited. It’s a good feeling. A good feeling for a free, single, strong, independent, blah blah blah. I need to just get on with it. I know exactly what I’m doing. I think.
The last year or so has been seriously crappy but, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that we should all live in the moment, have fun, take chances – ideas I hadn’t previously subscribed to, I’ve never really been an easy-going person, but that’s why I need to force myself out of my comfort zone tonight. I’ve never felt such an instant connection with someone, I can’t let that go to waste.
Do you know what? I’m not going to worry about it. Not right now. I’m not going to overthink it – not anymore, at least. I’m not going to let the old me get in my head and, if there are consequences off the back of my night of passion with a fellow employee, well, that’s a problem for future me to worry about.
Tonight I’m just going to have fun. I’ll worry about tomorrow in the morning.
Chapter Two
My head is absolutely throbbing, the feeling of the bedsheets on my skin is inexplicably excruciating, I’ve got that deep feeling in my stomach where you simultaneously feel absolutely starving but also like you’re about to throw up a vital organ. I recognise all of it – this is a hangover.
On the flip side, the strange dark room, the unfamiliar smells, the naked man who I hardly know lying next to me. None of this is familiar at all – this is a one night stand, I’ve never had a one night stand in my life. Not until last night, obviously.
I dare to cast my mind back to last night. I definitely knew I was going to have a one night stand, this wasn’t exactly an accident, I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing (although I was potentially too drunk to make the best decisions). I knew that I was venturing into one night stand territory without a map – technically. I say technically because what I do remember very clearly about last night is that Rowan and I really hit it off. Sure, going home with someone I hardly knew was a gamble, but it seems like one worth taking, an investment in the chance of a future relationship. It really seemed, and felt, like we were on the right track for something more than this.
Of course, I say all that like I can fully remember what his face looks like. Oh, God! That’s not good, is it? This doesn’t feel good at all.
Rowan is asleep next to me, his face buried deep in between two pillows. The room is quite dark, courtesy of the thick blinds. The only light is coming from a digital clock in my eyeline – a clock that tells me it’s 11 AM. It’s enough light to make out shapes, but not enough to see him properly.
I can make out his muscular shoulders, and I can feel the weight of his arm because it’s draped across my body, holding me down, strapping me in like I’m on a rollercoaster, reminding me that the ride isn’t over yet. So to speak. Oh my God, this was a mistake, wasn’t it?
There is absolutely no way I can get out of this bed without waking Rowan up, but as I muster up the courage to speak, and search for the right words to say, eventually I feel something coming up... it isn’t the right words though, or even the wrong ones, it’s the contents of my stomach. They’re on their way.
‘Erm... excuse me,’ I say weakly. ‘Excuse me!’
Rowan wakes up suddenly, flipping onto his back, and I can just about make out that he’s trying to open his eyes, but he hasn’t been awake long enough.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks sleepily.
‘Bathroom,’ I say. ‘Quickly.’
‘Over there,’ he says, pointing just behind me.
I can see the outline of a door so I run to it. I hit the light switch on my way in, spot the toilet and kneel in front of it. And then it all comes out.
‘It’s OK, let it all up,’ Rowan says.
He’s in the bathroom with me now, which is fantastic. Can’t he leave me to throw up in peace?
‘I always feel better after I’ve thrown up,’ he continues. ‘Oh boy.’
I look up to see Rowan standing over me, peering down into the toilet.
‘Do you mind?’ I say. ‘Can I have some privacy please?’
Rowan takes a few steps back and sits down on the edge of the bath.
‘Sorry,’ he says, holding his hands up to signal his retreat.
I’m relieved to report that he’s wearing boxer shorts. And now that I’ve finished throwing up I can see that I’ve got my underwear on. This whole scene would have been a lot more embarrassing if we were naked – especially me.
I finally take in the room – it’s massive.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘This is a really nice bathroom.’
‘It’s not bad, is it?’ he replies modestly.
It’s not just nice, it’s amazing. Like something out of a catalogue. It’s a huge room, not just for a bathroom, but generally. From the marble tiles to the huge shower to the massive freestanding bath. It’s only now that I’m noticing how fancy it is that I’ve realised the floor is heated too – thank God, I was worried something terrible had happened while I was throwing up. Now that I mention it, it would be great if he left the room, so that I can pee, but I can’t bring myself to stand up.
I reach for a towel, yanking one off the towel rail, which is also heated. I wrap it around myself and lie down on the floor. It feels so good.
‘I just need a minute,’ I tell him.
Rowan laughs.
‘This isn’t funny,’ I say.
‘It’s a little bit funny,’ he replies through a cheeky smile.
Last night – as best I can remember – I thought he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in real life. Today his good looks annoy me. That dirty blonde hair that looks perfect, even though he’s just got out of bed, and those dimpled cheeks that make him look like he’s up to something – ergh. Last night he was a dream but today I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare. Well, look at me, lying on his bathroom floor, throwing up in his toilet. And my memory of last night may be hazy but I’m pretty sure he’s my new boss, so I may as well kiss my job goodbye.
I close my eyes. I’m not opening them until he’s gone.
‘Can I use your shower, please?’ I ask.
‘Sure,’ he replies. ‘You’ve found the towels already, so you’re halfway there. Go for it. I’ll meet you in the kitchen – I’ll be putting the coffee on. You seem like you need it.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, although what I actually need is to go home, immediately fire-up LinkedIn, and start peddling the old ‘I just feel like it’s time for a new challenge’ line.
Rowan leaves me to it, closing the door behind him. A second after he does so the lighting changes to something much dimmer. Such a soft, warm relaxing glow. All bathrooms need lighting options – I’m officially sold on it now. The only option I have in my bathroom is to have the lights on or off.
I want to get up, get in the shower, and get out of here more than anything, but I’m just so warm and cosy on this floor. How can lying on tile feel so nice? It’s like the heat creates this padded effect, making the hard floor seem soft.
I close my eyes. Just for a second. I’ll just lie here for a minute, tops, and…
Shit! I fell asleep. How long was I asleep? It honestly could have been seconds, minutes or hours – I have no idea. That said, I’m sure if it had been hours, Rowan probably would have nipped back upstairs to make sure his grossest employee hadn’t died on his lovely bathroom floor.
I pull myself to my feet and head for the shower cubicle. It seems silly, calling it a cubicle, when it’s more like a room of its own. And, oh my God, it has a seat. I’ve never been so happy to see a seat in a shower. Again, something else I’d like to take away from this ordeal with me – sitting in the shower. Of course, I can’t afford a shower room like this, so the best I can probably do is stick a garden chair in my bath, under the showerhead. But, you know what? I’ll make it work.
The water pours down on me from the large shower head, like my own personal raincloud, but with such soothing warm water – and I swear it’s giving me a massage. Can a fancy shower do that or am I still a bit drunk? I’m not really a very good drinker.
