Rory's Proposal (2 page)

My stomach gurgles and I hurriedly pop another Windeze as Martine calls,

‘Rest over ladies, let’s do squats.’

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse.

I climb
into my little Clio and turn the key in the ignition. I can’t believe Devon is engaged. When I tell Luke
perhaps he will also get down on one knee, but I don’t think Luke is ever going to pop the question. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it but how can I not think about it? This is my life. My mother wants grandchildren, more importantly so do I, children that is, not grandchildren, although I will want those eventually. Mind you at the rate I’m going I’ll probably run out of time. I’m going to die a spinster. I push my foot on the accelerator and reverse back. The exhaust roars and all I need to complete the image of a boy racer is loud booming music and a persistent bass. Seconds later there is an almighty crunch. I watch as my bag slides off the passenger seat and I make a stupid attempt to rescue it. I look in my rear-view mirror to see a black Audi coupé car has reversed into me. Great, a posh plonker no doubt and it will be just my luck that the little bugger is driving the car without his parents’ permission. The little bugger climbs from his car and walks towards me. His dark hair is expertly cut, and I should know. I can see he goes to a good class of hairdresser. His bright blue eyes are surveying my car. Close up I can see he is not merely good looking but breathtakingly so. I now vaguely remember seeing him once at the club playing tennis. Devon had commented on his good looks.

‘Now there’s a dish. He’s everything a woman could ever want isn’t he? Handsome, stinking rich and most certainly fit. You’d need to be a socialite to get off with him.’

Obviously, you just have to be a hairdresser to get banged by him, with his car, of course. He’s clean-shaven, fresh-faced and very appealing, more than very appealing in fact. I bet he doesn’t wear Marks and Spencer pyjamas, if he wears any at all that is. I feel myself come over all hot. That’s what happens when you hit thirty, your hormones dance all over the place. That’s my excuse anyway. The truth is it is most likely two years of crap sex. No, don’t think about it, don’t think about it but how can I not think about it? I’d like to think it’s my overwhelming sexuality that tips Luke over the edge after just fifteen seconds but even I’m not that naïve. Perhaps I’ll discuss it with him tonight over some wine, organic of course.

‘You should try that Masters and Johnsons grip. You know, where you grip the shaft and squeeze,’ Rosalind had suggested. ‘Personally though, I think you should be grateful. Anything over five minutes and I feel I deserve a medal.’

Considering just stroking K-Y Jelly on his penis has been known to have Luke coming all over the sheets I didn’t think giving it a squeeze was such a great idea.

I pull my mind back to the present. Best not to be thinking about sex when facing the dish that just banged me up the arse. I glimpse the squash racquet and sports bag in the Audi. At least I can be sure that he will have insurance. Thank God. I look at my car and see a brake light is smashed. Oh, that’s just great. Now I’ve got a faulty exhaust and a broken brake light, if the police don’t do me now they never will.

‘You reversed into me,’ he says calmly.

What? I know for a fact that he reversed into me. I’m not letting him get away with that. That’s typical of posh rich plonkers isn’t it? They don’t want to pay for anything.

‘I think it was you who reversed into me,’ I protest.

‘I was partway out when you suddenly revved up and reversed,’ he says, his bright blue eyes dancing mischievously.

‘I didn’t rev up, I have a hole in my exhaust,’ I say and immediately regret it.

His raises his eyebrows and looks into my eyes.

‘You do,’ he says with a smile.

How does he manage to make a hole in an exhaust sound so sexy? I blush.

‘My boyfriend’s a solicitor,’ I say stupidly and then immediately wish I could take it back.

‘I’m surprised he didn’t advise
you about the exhaust then.’

Damn. My legs
turn to jelly and I lean on my Clio for support.

‘Are you okay? You look a bit shaken up. Why don’t we sit down with a hot drink and we can sort out the car details? There’s a place around the corner, Georgie’s, do you know it?’

‘No, really I’ll be fine,’ I insist.

‘It’s the least I can do after
you
reversed into me,’ he says with a wide smile. ‘It’s only around the corner, you’ll be quite safe.’

I hate to say that being shaken up is more to do with missing breakfast, kettle bell swinging and Devon’s sparkling solitaire than the accident. Two minutes later we are sitting in Georgie’s and I am surveying him over a steaming mug of tea. He’s warm and friendly and not in the least bit stuck up as I had imagined he might be. He’s deliciously attractive and I’m finding it hard to take my eyes off him.

‘Do you want something to eat?’ he asks. ‘It’s lunchtime.’

Ooh, the temptation. The only place Luke and I go to is Healthy Juice. I really shouldn’t be eating here, not on our regime. Christ, I sound like I’ve escaped from rehab. The smell of frying bacon seduces me; I can have a couple of rashers can’t I? It’s not like I’m going to have a massive coronary is it? I’ve just worked through a kettle bell session after all and if anything was going to give me a coronary it would have been that. Anyway I’d just be replacing the calories wouldn’t I? We head to the counter.

‘Next,’ calls the assistant.

‘What would you like?’ asks Mr Audi.

‘I’ll have a bacon butty,’ I say feeling somehow liberated, ‘but without butter.’

‘You want Flora instead?’ asks the assistant.

Oh, very funny.

‘No butter or Flora.’

‘You want a bacon butty without butter or margarine?’ the assistant says in amazement.

Honestly, anyone would think I was asking for a bacon butty without the bacon.

‘I’ll have mayonnaise,’ I say.

‘You want mayonnaise on your bacon?’

I’m paying aren’t I? Well, hopefully Mr Audi is but you know what I mean.

‘Yes, what’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s your stomach,’ he says flippantly, pulling on gloves like a surgeon. He snaps them over his wrists and scoops up the bacon rashers.

‘Make that two,’ says my companion, ‘one with butter and not mayonnaise. I’ll leave that combination to you,’ he smiles at me.

‘Bap, ciabatta, flat bread, pitta?’ asks the assistant.

‘Ciabatta,’ I say.

‘Large or small?’

Christ, it’s worse than Subway, not that I’ve been to Subway recently of course. Luke wouldn’t be seen dead in there. He says all fast-food restaurants are a coronary on a plate. Oh well, I’m not likely to come in here again am I?

‘Large please.’

Well, might as well make the most of it. A kettle bell session, a car accident, and an engagement have all made me ravenous.

‘Both?’

Mr Audi nods.

‘With or without salad cream?’

Obviously I don’t want salad cream if I’m having mayonnaise do I? Anyway, who has salad cream on bacon?

‘I’ve got mayonnaise,’ I point out.

‘No salad cream on the bacon,’ says Mr Audi.

‘I have to ask,’ snaps the assistant.

‘Just the bacon and mayonnaise is fine,’ I say.

‘So you don’t want salad?’

‘Well yes, I thought that was automatic,’ I say grabbing serviettes.

‘Not unless I can read your mind, and I wouldn’t be here if I could.’

‘But no lettuce in my salad and I don’t want the salad in the butty and a separate dressing please, I don’t like it on the salad.’

‘You want a salad without lettuce?’ he asks his eyes widening.

‘Yes, I don’t like lettuce.’

Mr Audi smiles and says.

‘I’ll have it as it comes.’

I give him a sideway glance. Yes, I bet he has it as it comes. He’s very good looking, even better looking than Luke. At a guess I’d say he is about thirty, and like me, no ring. I wonder if he’s having a hard time getting engaged. With his handsome face and obvious wealth I would think not. We squeeze our way into a corner to wait for our order. At that moment the door behind him swings open and he pushes himself towards me so the person can come out. I feel the heat of his body against me and his hand brushes my hip. The feelings that run through me are so powerful that for a second I can’t breathe. I’m jostled from behind and have to reach out with my hand to steady myself. It lands on his chest and I feel his heart beating through his shirt. Our eyes meet and lock and for a few seconds I completely forget where I am. I’ve never experienced feelings like these in my life. Our faces are so close and I find myself leaning towards him, or is he leaning towards me? I pull my eyes from him and squeeze past to sit on a chair.

‘Not the best place for a loo,’ I say shakily as the assistant calls our order. Mr Audi excuses himself and comes back carrying a tray.

‘Two bacon butties, two salads, one without lettuce and dressing on the side, plus two mugs of tea,’ he says, placing two plates on the table.

I stare at the food and feel my mouth water. No one would believe I was on the colonic clean out diet would they?

‘Tuck in,’ he says with a smile. ‘You’ve been working out.’

I won’t let on it was only a twenty-five minute session and that I’ve done more panting than exercising. He watches me over a mug of tea. If Luke could see me now he’d have a dozen canary fits, because of all the food I’m eating not because I’m with another man. We eat in silence
until he says,

‘Come here often?’

I lift my eyes to look at him and we both laugh.

‘It seemed a sensible question when I asked it,’ he laughs.

‘No, I don’t actually. I usually go to Healthy Juice after my class.’

He lifts his eyebrows.

‘Seriously?’

I look at him and nod. He is breathtakingly handsome and much more laid back than Luke. He has beautiful eyes and very kissable lips.

‘I’m supposed to be on the colonic clean out diet,’ I say confidentially before stuffing the last of the bacon butty into my mouth.

‘I can tell,’ he smiles.

‘My boyfriend is into health fads, well I am too. I just …’

‘Lapse sometimes?’ he laughs.

I nod.

‘I have a bit of a sweet tooth.’

A bit? That must be the understatement of the year. I’ve more stash hidden away in the flat than the great train robbers. I so wish I was wearing something nicer and that my hair was down. Not that I fancy him or anything but it would have been nice if he had seen me with some make-up on and my hair looking decent rather than all damp with sweat. I really should offer to pay for his car. God, more money I don’t have and I daren’t ask Luke. He’ll only say I was irresponsible which I suppose is the truth. I should be more mindful.

‘We should sort these cars out,’ he says, reading my mind. ‘I’m really sorry about that. I’d like to settle it with cash if that’s okay. The excess on the insurance will be more than the damage.’

Before I can speak, he has pulled out his wallet and is counting out ten-pound notes.

‘It’s just the brake light a hundred should do it, if it’s more you must let me know.’

‘Oh no, I should be …’ I begin, but he pushes the money across the table.

‘Don’t worry about it. I’m Tom by the way,’ he says, holding out his hand. I look at it for a second and then place mine in his feeling that powerful surge of emotion again as I do so. He has a South London accent, similar to Luke’s but softer and more cultivated.

‘Flo,’ I say, ‘and thanks for the lunch, and there is really no need to pay for the car …’

‘I want to,’ he says, looking into my eyes.

I blush and see that he is still holding my hand. I look down and he takes his hand away.

‘I’m sorry I’ve got to go. I’ve got a meeting. Look, if you should find any other problem with the car email me. Send it here, it will get lost in the system if you send it to the business address.’

I take the card and glance down at it.

Email me

[email protected]

He grabs his jacket.

‘Do you have an umbrella?’ he asks. ‘It’s tipping it down.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I say in my martyr voice.

‘I’ll walk you back to your car, we can share my umbrella.’

Before I know it, he has his arm around my waist and we are running in the rain. I look at his profile and find myself wondering what his girlfriend is like. He escorts me gentlemanly to my car.

‘Don’t forget to email
if there is a problem,’ he calls as I start the engine. An overwhelming urge for a Crunchie consumes me and that’s when I remember. Shit, I’d booked a home delivery with Rory’s online. Oh shit, I’m late. I just hope they are not on time.