The Art of Upgrading a Book Boyfriend (The Uni Files) (3 page)

“Yes,” I squeak.

So not cool.

“How do you feel about skipping out of
here? I could cook you dinner? We could go for a drink, see where this goes.”
His lips seek mine out again and I melt back into him, feeling myself slide
deeper and deeper under, until for one split moment I can completely see where
this could end up.

It is only for one split second, because
as his hand with his beautifully long firm fingers comes to a rest cupping my
right butt cheek I have the mental wake-up that happens to me too often.

I’m not that girl.

I didn’t move to London to throw it all
way on a one night stand with some guy who will blab about it all over the
office. I’m just not the kind of girl who will have a one night stand. Ever.
That’s the stuff I read about in books, and I can’t believe that Tom the very
sexy IT guy will be interested in much more than a one night stand with me.

It would be safer for me to go home and
find out what happened to the hot cowboy I was reading about last night.
Safe.

I pull away breaking the electric
contact with his mouth.

“Thanks for helping me out today Tom, I
did appreciate it.”

He offers me his slow sexy corner lip
hitch and it nearly makes the words falter in my throat.

“But I didn’t appreciate it that much.
I’ll buy you a sandwich next week as payback.”

I start to walk away, even though my
legs put up a distinct fight and I feel a little shaky tottering in my stupid
heels.

His fingers link through mine before I
am even four paces away and he pulls me around to face him. “That is so not
what I was implying, I was just attempting some conversation, which I guess I
sucked at.” The hand not holding mine runs ruefully through his hair and I get
momentarily side-tracked wondering what it would feel like against my fingers.

“It’s okay just forget it.”

“No.” His gaze is intense in the half
light. “I just want to spend some time with you. Believe me I don’t break the
company infrastructure for just anyone, I’ve been waiting to speak to you for
ages.”

I look at him, like really look, nope,
he is so far out of my league it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

Giving his hand a squeeze I offer him a
smile, and then I gather my wits around me like a protective cloak and walk
away.

I don’t find Anabelle and John. I just
get my coat and head to the cool January air outside. Time to head home to my
life of safe, just the way I like it.

Monday

The cowboy was rubbish in the end.
Actually he was a bit of a whore, and I felt disappointed and let down when the
novel simpered to its final, lack lustre, finale.

The combination of Friday night,
combined with a rubbish book unable to erase the memories left me feeling all
disjointed.

Should I have been braver and just seen
what happened? I gave up a night with Tom Carter to read a book that turned out
to be shit. Surely that’s got to be a lifetime low?

In truth I spent most of the weekend
wondering what Tom Carter was up to, and then hating myself for doing so. I
also spent a vast amount of time twitching about restlessly while writing lists
for myself to confirm why I did the right thing.

I did do the right thing, didn’t I?

Now I am back in the office and all
thoughts of Tom leave me because it's crunch time. If Tristan doesn’t get back
to me with his article, or whoever's article it is, within the next half an
hour I am going to have to admit that I have fucked up and can't release the
current issue.

Then I will be going back home again.

Tom Carter: Going to have to turn it on.
You ready?

Me:
Nooooooo
!!

Oh and by the way I thought about you
all weekend. . . Imagining what your fingers would have felt like under my
dress not over it, and just where your mouth would have trailed to if I’d given
it the chance.

Maybe not.

Tom Carter: Five minutes

Me: Okay

Tom Carter: Can we talk about Friday
night?

Me: Probably not, no

Me: Sorry

I feel bad, but I am far too busy
panicking at the prospect of losing my job. Five bloody minutes! I doubt
Tristan is even sodding awake at this time in the morning.

I’m just about to go and face Theresa,
the mega bitch, when my inbox shows one new message.

Tristan.

The jammy son of a bitch.

I don't even bother to read it. I
message Tom straight away.

Me: Go. Go. Go.

I know the server is back online because
the whole office breathes a sigh of relief.

As soon as I can, I upload Tristan's
file and feed in all the subscriber data. It's rather a lot, this is one of our
most successful publications.

Then I hit send and it is gone.

What a relief.

About an hour later I notice that the
office is deadly quiet, far quieter than normal. It's a bit odd but maybe
everyone is just really busy.

Suzy, my replacement on reception
messages me.

Suzanne Holden: Bold choice
Zo
, did you check it out with Mega Bitch?

My stomach sinks to the bottom of my
feet.

Oh my god, what have I done?

I suddenly realise why the office is as
silent as a graveyard. They are all reading. They are all reading my release,
the one that I didn’t check.

With a sinking sense of trepidation I
open up the email from Tristan. I can't read it on my computer. I need it on
paper. It's one of my quirks; I can't take in any information at all, if it is
not on paper in front of me.

All thoughts of Tom, and the Friday
night that could have been evaporate, and I hit send to the printer I grab my coat
before marching out of the door.

Outside I walk to the Deli. It's been
two days, I can't hold a grudge that long, and also I am in need of decent
coffee. Once ensconced in the steamy warmth, with my double shot latte, I
unfold the print off.

It's entitled Love at First Sight, and
right away I know Tristan was not joking when he told me he wasn’t writing it.
The touch is too light, and the subject matter is at once too delicate, but
also too funny to be something that Tristan could pen. Or type, as the case
might be.

Set as a diary, it tells of a woman, not
entirely unlike myself, starting University and recalls her first day. There is
the first meeting with her
bestie
to-be, and their
trip around campus where they get chased by scary geese. A host of other
characters are in there, a dodgy twin brother, a Goth Chick, and a car with a
name. And then there is the moment when she first sees him, and it really is
him.
The guy. And I just know he is going to be the love of her life. It’s
written between every line on the page.

No sorry for yourself cowboy for this
girl and no running away from the prospect of a hot night of sex with the
office IT guy.

It ends with the first day of term, and
by the time I have finished reading, my heart has an ache inside it that I have
never felt before. The way she describes the comfortable familiarity these two
have with each other makes me feel something hollow on the inside.

I want more. I need to know more. I want
to know what happens next.

Tristan didn't write this I know that
for a fact, but I need to meet the person who did. I want them to finish it for
me. I really want them to finish it for me.

It's not our usual fare but as I walk
back into the office I am confident that I haven’t made a mistake.

The confidence lasts until I get to my
desk and find a message.

Mega Bitch: My office ASAP

Oh crap.

Walking in I find her typing furiously
at her computer.

"Ah Zoe!"

"Mm, it's me."

Sack me now let’s get it over with.

"Interesting choice of article. Did
you write it?"

"No!"

She looks me up and down slowly.

"It needs work if you did."

"I didn't."

"Okay. Listen, Bob Robson wants to
see you next door."

"Next door?"

"Yes, next door. He thinks you have
an eye for a story. Why don't you pop over there later and see what he
wants?"

"Uh, okay, I guess," I say
turning to leave.

"Oh and Zoe. Could you make sure
you get the releases out on time in future?"

"Yep, won’t be a problem," I
assure her.

I go back to my desk and find a brown
paper bag on my keyboard. It has a post it note stuck on it.

The guilt was too much. Here is
lunch on me, maybe we could have dinner as well? TC.

I peek inside. As expected there is a
chicken escallop with crispy bacon on white, and for a reason cannot explain my
heart does its second squeeze of the day.

Going Home

I went to see Bob.
Bobidy
Bob. Yes I may be a little drunk. He took me to a wine bar, and well basically
offered me a job.

Something to do with me being brave,
with a fresh approach to literature. “An uncanny ability to see through the
crap of publishing today and look for something unique and quirky.” So he said.

I didn’t want to tell him that I failed
to read the article before I published it. That it was a complete fluke an
unreliable source sent me an amazing article to randomly upload.

It really is amazing; we’ve had our best
figures ever and it has spread like wild fire on the net - a story for
romantics from a romantic they are calling it.

This is new territory; I may have to
send Tristan a box of wine.

I am just packing up my desk (again) in
a good way, when reception buzzes up. Due to my incessant twirling of my phone
cable it is crackly, and well not as clear as a bell. All I hear is McCannon.

Tristan.

I don't care about his super model
girlfriend, that man is getting a full on snog for this major breakthrough in
my career.

I dash down the stairs not bothering
with the lift, but instead of Tristan there is a girl waiting for me who I’ve
never seen before. She has shiny bobbed hair the colour of melted chocolate
which is tucked behind her ears, and she is watching me with the most amazing
grey eyes I have ever seen. You can see them from right across the foyer.

I have no idea who she is but I like her
instantly, actually she kind of reminds me of me. Just normal and in the middle
of everything, neither tall, or short, nor plump or skinny. Just average, with
exceptional eyes that flick over me with astute awareness as I head towards
her.  

"Lilah McCannon," she
introduces holding her hand out.

"Zoe Benedict," I return grabbing
her hand tightly. "And you have just made my career."  

"Well you just saved my
bacon," she laughs.

"Really how?"

"Fancy a coffee?"

"Could do." I agree, although
I am not much in the mood for a coffee. I am exhilarated and also a little
tiddly. I want to celebrate. My face must give me a way.

"Fancy a glass of wine?" she
suggests instead.

"Now that I could do, it has been a
bit of a day."

***

Wow.

Delilah McCannon may have to go down in
history as a legend. We have been at the pub sharing a bottle of wine and she
has told me the whole story. The story of her, and her Ben.

By the time she finished I was literally
on my hands and knees, begging her to write it down for me. I need to know
everything. I need to know every look. I need to know every touch and I need to
know every conversation whispered between them in the dark.

More than that, I know that everyone
else is going to need to know it too.

I won’t be the only one.

Lilah admitted that it was always her
intention to write it all down. That when the time came for Ben to leave, she
knew it was the only thing to do, because she would never want to forget. Never
want to forget the boy with blue eyes and guitar that changed her life.