AMBY AWARDS TOP PICK 2023 ❤️
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"You think I can't act like I'm into you?" He asks in a whisper. He reaches out, and strokes a finger down my cheek, and I feel myself shiver at the touch.
"You think I can't convince everyone that I have f...
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So . . . About last night . . .
I genuinely don't know what I was thinking. I must have been temporarily possessed by some sort of succubus or something. Although I'm sure succubuses (succubi?) generally have a far higher success rate than I did last night.
After drinks with the girls, I remember exiting the taxi feeling like 50 shades of shit. Declan's final text message had hit me hard. The finality of the tone of it squeezed tightly at my already bruised heart. The idea of having to start over - again - had me briefly wheezing, and contemplating permanent celibacy.
I'd let myself into a deathly silent, dark flat. Ric was clearly out for the night. Or sleeping. But I was pretty sure it would be the former option - I had already got the impression he didn't get much in the way of kip. The dude had classic insomniac written all over him.
My stomach rumbled grumpily at me, which reminded me I hadn't eaten since lunchtime. We'd planned to get dinner while we were out but - as is often the way - been distracted by the lure of cheap cocktails.
I grabbed a pack of macaroni out of my cupboard and started rustling up some cheesy cajun pasta. It was one of my signature easy dishes - the secret is you cook the pasta in the stock, and then add a tub of cheese spread. Not terribly healthy, admittedly, but very delicious - ideal for a post-night-out meal. Try it - you'll thank me later!
I was actually, surprisingly, in the mood for music. Maybe it was because the flat was so damn quiet, and I was desperate to fill the silence, and drown out my Sad Gal Thoughts. I opted for the happy, empowered portion of my recently curated single girl playlist, and had a bit of a shimmy while I stirred my ingredients, singing along to Dua Lipa. I had made way too much pasta, I realised, biting my lip as I stared down at it. Oh well, it would probably do me for a couple of days worth of leftovers.
"If you're under him, you ain't getting over him," I warbled, as I danced over towards the draining board for a clean bowl. "I got new rules, I count . . . Oh!"
When I'd turned back round, Ric was there, peering into my pan of pasta. Was he some sort of ninja? I hadn't even heard him come in. Mind you, my off-tune singing may have drowned out any other noise.
"You gave me a fright," I said accusingly.
"Sorry." As always, he sounded anything but apologetic. He shrugged. "I didn't want to interrupt your concert. You seemed pretty into it." There was that smirk again. He nodded towards the pot. "Don't suppose you'd let me have some of this? I'm starving."
I sighed, exasperated as always by this guy, but I'd already established I had way too much, so I nodded. "Sure." I grabbed another bowl and slopped a massive amount of gooey pasta into it. "Here you go."
"Cheers, Abby." I expected him to head to his room with it, but much to my surprise he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and settled himself down at the kitchen table instead.
