Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 20

That evening, I’m zipping up my heeled ankle boots when my phone on my bed pings. I read the screen and my heart contracts as I see it’s another message from Asher.

Come meet me downstairs when you’re ready xoxo

My insides turn all bouncy. I tap out a quick reply.

On my way xoxo

We’ve been signing our messages with kisses and hugs ever since the day at his office earlier in the week, and I’m still getting used to it. Which is not to say I don’t like it because oh, my, I love it. With Asher being out of town for work over the last few days we haven’t been able to see one another since then, so tonight is our first official date, and I am beyond excited.

I slide my arms into my cropped black leather jacket and do one last check of my appearance in the mirror. My pretty floral dress falls a couple of inches above the knee and I’ve styled my long dark hair so it falls in soft curls over my shoulders.

I’m ready for my first date with Asher.

I pat a slumbering Stevie in her basket and tell her to be a good girl for Aunt Lottie while I’m out. I top up her water and food bowls, then I collect my clutch from the kitchen bench and breeze down the hall to Lottie’s room.

“I’m heading out on my date. Asher’s waiting downstairs,” I tell her.

She looks up at me from her book. “How romantic.”

“Romance with Asher is such a weird concept.” My belly does a flip.

“Weird but nice?”

I grin at her. “Definitely weird but nice.”

“You’d better get down there. You don’t want to leave Prince Charming waiting.”

“Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck.”

I skip down the stairs to the street, feeling as light as a feather. Once outside, I come to a sudden stop. I don’t know quite what I expected to see—Asher is just as much a devoted user of the Tube as me—but it’s certainly not this.

He’s is waiting on the footpath, and when he spots me, a grin spreads across his face. “Good evening, Ms. Huntington-Ross,” he says to me with an incline of his head. He’s wearing a black jacket and a pair of form-fitting jeans and boots, which makes him look so staggeringly hot I’m amazed I don’t pass out, right here on the footpath outside my flat.

“Good evening, Mr. McMillan,” I reply with a giggle, playing along. I try my hardest to keep my voice steady while my heart bangs against my ribs like a caged tiger, fighting to get out.

He sweeps me up in his arms and I breathe in his delicious Asher scent as he brushes a brief but electric kiss across my lips. “Zee, you look…wow.”

I beam at him, my heart doing all kinds of crazy things. “You look pretty wow, yourself.”

“I thought we could go on our first date together in style.” He gestures at a double decker bus, parked on the street.

“In a bus?”

“It’s a totally London thing to do. How many couples go out on a date in a double decker?”

“Teenage ones who can’t afford an Uber?”

“Well, there is that.” He smiles as he reaches for my hand. “Come on. I want to sit up top.”

“You are such a tourist,” I reply as we step onto the bus and I nod and smile at the driver. We climb the narrow spiral staircase up to the top level, where we take a seat at the very front of the bus. “How did you get an empty bus to stop outside my flat?”

“I know people,” he replies mysteriously, and I laugh.

“You know people at Transport for London? Does your influence know no bounds?” I tease.

The bus begins to rumble and pulls away from the curb.

He drapes his arm casually across the back of the seat, and I feel the warmth of his body against mine. It’s weird and exciting and wonderful, all at the same time. “You have so much to learn about me, Zee. So much.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like the fact that I know people. That’s what.”

He leans in and his breath tickles my neck, making my little hairs stand on end in the most delicious way. “Can I let you in on a secret, wifey?” he asks, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak at a normal, human volume as electricity tingles down my back. “I have often wondered what it would be like to take you on a real date. What we’d do, where we’d go. I’ve had a lot of time to plan.”

“So, I should have pretty lofty expectations about tonight?”

“Is that a pun?”

I glance down at the cars and rows of buildings and trees. “Not an intentional one, but I’ll take it. Where are we going on this private bus?”

“We’ve got the whole night, so I figured we’d go do some fun stuff. Stuff I’ve always thought I’d like to do in London with someone special.”

I nudge him in the arm with my elbow. “You sweet talker, you.”

“I try.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never done whatever these things are with any of the multiple women you’ve dated here?”

“It’s hardly multiple.”

“Oh, it’s multiple. As your BFF, I’ve been a silent witness to your active dating life for waaaaay too long, remember?”

He takes my hand in his and we lace our fingers together. “There’s no hiding anything from you.”

Other the fact you were married.

I push the thought from my mind. We can deal with that another time. Tonight is for Asher and me. Tonight is for romance on our very first date.

We sit together and watch the cityscape change as we move through the busy streets. I lean my head against his shoulder and snuggle into him as we chat. We talk about anything and everything. From Stevie to his work to what we think of the London mayor. We cover it all, and it feels so right. Like it’s us, but a new, different us—if that even makes sense.

The bus lurches to a stop and we instinctively press our feet against the front to stop from lurching forward, too.

Asher looks out the window and says, “This is our stop.”

“Considering we’re the only people on the bus, that would make perfect sense.”

He stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s go, wifey.”

We thank the driver and step off the bus onto the street. I look around but don’t recognise the area.

“Where are we?”

“London,” is the facetious reply he gives with a grin. “Less questions, more walking, please.”

We make our way down the street until we come to a stop in front of a door. I read the name on the large picture window. Stan’s Bowl Land.

“You’re taking me bowling?” I ask.

“I figured we’d mix it up tonight,” he replies as he pushes the door open for me to step through. “The double decker bus was a touch of England, and this is a touch of America.”

Once inside, I eyeball the place. It isn’t anything like the bowling alley I used to visit as a kid. It’s got black walls with fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, purple seating, and each alley is lit up with soft blue strip lights. “This place is cool.”

“I know, right?” His gaze lowers to my high heeled boots. “Let’s go get you some more sensible footwear.”

“You didn’t tell me to bring thick socks. I’m not going to put on some yucky pair of shoes worn by stacks of other people. Because ew.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a pair of plain white socks. “I’ve got you covered. British size five, right?”

I blink at the socks in his hand. “You really have thought of everything.”

He gives a self-deprecating shrug. “I told you: I try. And I wanted to make sure I thought of everything.”

“So far, you’re hitting it out of the park.”

His eyes dance. “A baseball expression? I’m so proud of my young Padawan.”

“Aren’t you mixing baseball and Star Wars there?”

He plants a kiss on my cheek. “I love that you know that.”

“You are so easily pleased,” I reply with a laugh.

We go to the counter where we get our shoes and a glass of champagne, because this isn’t your typical bowling alley. We then take our seats on one of the purple velvet sofas and Asher begins to input our names into the computer to start the game.

I inspect the bowling balls. They’re all decorated with different famous art works, from Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa to Edvard Munch’s The Scream. I recognise them all. I have Lottie and her London museum tours to thank for my art knowledge, you know.

I pick the one with the contorted face of the person screaming and hold it up for Asher. “This sums up my bowling ability.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Well, in that case, I guess it’ll be America beating England tonight because I am pretty good.”

I glance up at the screen to see he’s input his name as America, and mine as England. “It’s like that, is it?” I say with a lift of my brows. “Bring it on.”

“Oh, I plan to.” He grins at me. “Ladies first.”

I test out the weight of several of the bowling balls before I decide on one with an Andy Warhol Marilyn picture. I get myself in position, say a little prayer I won’t completely embarrass myself in front of Asher, and then bowl that baby, right down the lane. Well, when I say I bowl it right down the lane, that’s how it starts out, at least. Despite me offering the ball loud, explicit instructions to stay right, it makes a bee-line for the left and rolls into the gutter, almost coming to a complete stop before it disappears next to the entirely untouched pins.

“Oh, bad luck,” Asher says when I turn to face him.

“I never claimed to be good at this.”

“No worries, wifey. How ’bout I give you some pointers?”

“Isn’t it your turn now?” I say as I flop down onto the seat.

“You get two turns per frame.” He takes me by the hand and hauls me up. “Come on, I’ll show you how.”

I collect another ball—this one has a painting by Gainsborough I recognise from our visit to the Tate—and Asher shows me how to hold it.

“Did you put your fingers in the holes last time?” he asks me.

“Of course I put fingers in the holes. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”

The edges of his mouth twitch. “So, you’re telling me you’ve spent time perfecting your gutter ball?”

I nudge him in the side with my elbow. “Shut up.”

“Okay, so you need to stand like this.” He demonstrates and I follow suit. “No, no, no. Like this.” He stands behind me and wraps his arms around me, demonstrating how to hold the ball. The warmth from his body causes my heart to thud and a pack of excited butterflies take up residence in my belly. He moves me gently into position.

“Like this?” I ask.

“Yup. Now lift the ball and aim at the middle pin,” he says, his voice low and soft, like he’s whispering sweet nothings into my ear rather than instructions on how to bowl a ball at a bunch of pins.

I do as he says, still hyper-aware of his manly bulk next to me.

“Now you pull your arm back and then bowl it, keeping your sights set on that middle pin.” He pulls away from me, and I miss him. I actually miss him.

You have got it bad, Zara Huntington-Ross.

Doing my best to concentrate on bowling and not on how good Asher felt just now, I swing the ball behind me and then bowl it right at the middle pin. The ball goes flying down the lane and crashes with a satisfying clunk against the pins, knocking over all but three of them.

I leap off my spot, ecstatic that my ball not only made contact with the pins, but that it did its intended job, too. I turn to Asher, whose grin is stretched across his ridiculously handsome face. “Did you see that?”

He high-fives me. “Nice job, young Padawan.”

We work our way through our turns, me with mixed results, and him with strike after strike, until it’s obvious that in this particular instance America reigns supreme over England.

“Kinda like the War of Independence,” he teases as we return our bowling shoes and leave the alley.

“Does that make me King George?”

“Oh, you’re way too hot for King George,” is his reply that has me blushing and doing metaphorical cartwheels. “What?” he asks as he takes in the look on my face.

“I don’t know. It’s weird to hear you say things like that.”

“I get it. It’s new.” He slings his arm around my shoulders as we begin to walk down the street. “I’ll tell you what, Zee. If I tell you you’re hot every day, you’ll get used to it pretty dang fast.”

I snort giggle. “Only say it if you mean it.”

“Oh, I mean it.”

I’m doing all kinds of air punching and leaps of joy inside.

He glances at the time on his phone. “We’ve gotta go to our next thing.”

“Is this another America versus England activity?”

“I think you’ll agree with me that this one has a very clear winner, and here’s a hint: it’s not Uncle Sam.”

We reach a Tube stop and hop onboard a train. We chat like we always do as we travel through the underground of the city, and the weirdness I’ve been feeling about being on an actual date with my BFF is already a distant memory.

We pop out of the Tube at Tower Hill, and hand in hand, we walk for five or so minutes until we reach the iconic Tower Bridge.

“Fancy a walk across the water?” Asher asks.

“A human impossibility.”

“Not if you’ve got a glass skybridge. Come on.”

“Seriously? I’ve never done that.”

He grins at me. “I know. I’m your best friend, remember? I know most things about you.”

We purchase our tickets and head up to the glass bridge that stretches from one end of Tower Bridge to the other. The view up here of the sun setting over the city, reflecting in the River Thames is nothing short of spectacular, and looking down at the bridge traffic and river below our feet is both thrilling and nerve wracking at the same time.

As we stand and gaze out at the view, I slide my arm around Asher’s waist. He turns his head to look at me and our gazes lock.

“Thanks for bringing me to this. I love it.”

“Sometimes you’ve gotta be a tourist in your own city.”

“I forget how amazing London is. I’m so used to it, I don’t stop to smell the roses.”

“I’m not sure London smells like roses, exactly. More like traffic pollution, food, and some unidentified bad aromas I try best to avoid.”

I giggle. “You do understand I was using a metaphor. Don’t you?”

His eyes are soft. “I do.” He turns his attention from me to the view. “As I said before, you’ll agree this is a clear win for England.”

I watch as the glow of the sun bathes the entire city in a blanket of gold. “Definitely.”

We stand side-by-side and watch the way the light changes the cityscape, our arms wrapped around one another. We point out different buildings and sights, and fall back into companionable silence. And then, without a word, he turns to me and gently cups my face in his hands, leans down, and brushes his lips against mine. I kiss him back, breathing in his delicious scent.

It feels so comfortable, so right to be here with Asher on our very first date. When he looks at me once more, I gaze up into his warm brown eyes, and I swear my heart skips a beat.

I know this is knew. I know this is only our first date. But this thing between us feels big. Huge. And just looking in his eyes, I know he feels it, too.