The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 6

I look over at the bar. Guy with black top. I can see him. I can do this. I put my phone away. It feels very heavy in my pocket. A distraction is exactly what I need.

Guy with black top.

I abandon my drink so I can pretend I need another.

Guy with black top.

I am near the bar.

Guy with black top.

I head towards my final destination.

Guy with black top.

I reach the group and, in a rare moment of courage brought on by having nothing to lose, barge my way in very unceremoniously, tripping over a large man shoe. But I am a woman on a mission. I am here to bang the guy with the black top. Luckily, the owner of the shoe catches me before I fall.

I look up to thank him, but the words catch.

Fuck.

He is also wearing a black top.

There are two guys with black tops.

One, that I saw from afar, with a black sweater; and one with a black shirt and large feet. My head flits between the two, kinda like I’m watching a tennis match. I wonder what Mika meant by ‘top’. Between sweater or shirt, which one shouts ‘top’ more?

Having made quite an entrance into the circle, I am now not saying anything.

I look from one to the other, feeling a mix of horror, amusement and despair.

‘Hello.’ One of the black top men has spoken. The one wearing the black shirt, and now a slightly bruised toe.

I half smile, and a noise, something like, ‘Heh,’ leaves my mouth. It’s not a word, but it is all I can think of to say. Snapping out of it, I remember Mika’s advice. She told me to introduce myself, so this is what I will do. ‘I mean, hi. I’m Paige.’ I hold my hand out, forcing people to shake it as if I’m at an interview.

Black shirt man laughs gently and shakes my hand. ‘Hi. I’m Noah.’ He then points to the other people in the group and says names. I can’t decipher any of them though, it’s all just noise. Through grit and determination, and a lot of ear squinting, I just manage to hear when he introduces the other guy wearing the other black top. The black jumper. Black jumper is very handsome. Possibly too handsome to be good in bed? ‘This is Michael.’ I hold my hand out again and Michael shakes it. It’s a good handshake. But they were both good handshakes.

Meanwhile, Mika is nowhere to be seen. She certainly isn’t close enough to point me in the direction of the right black top, so I’ll have to go on instinct. But the only issue is: my instinct kinda sucks, as the situation with Jas proved quite clearly.

Everyone in the group is still staring at me and I can’t blame them. I start to squirm. I will have to make a decision quickly, or risk losing both black tops. I look between them.

How can I choose?

I start with black jumper guy. But the only thing I see when I look at him is discomfort. It doesn’t look like he is wearing anything underneath the scratchy jumper. I imagine he is very sweaty under there. But I can’t blame him for sweating. I have also started to sweat from the pressure of having to make a decision based on mere seconds of interaction.

I switch to black shirt guy. He’s not traditionally attractive; his nose has definitely been broken and his teeth could be straighter, but I guess both could add to his charm. He has nice eyes, made even better by the laughter lines that suggest he smiles a lot.

But the ability to smile means nothing.

The stretching silence is becoming painfully awkward. Somehow the smiling almost makes it worse.

I need a sign. I need a sign. I need a sign.

And then, as if by magic, the fancy lighting slightly changes, from blue to more of a colourless white.

The sweater is purple.

‘Oh, thank god.’ I hang my head, not entirely aware that I just spoke.

‘Are you OK?’ I look up again, once more into the easy smile of Noah. Noah, the guy in the black top who has lovely smile lines. The only guy in a black top. At least in this group. Oh god – what if I am in the wrong group? I push away the fear and concentrate on the top in front of me.

‘I’m so sorry about your foot.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

I turn to say something to the almost-black-but-actually-purple top guy, but he’s already moved on to a different conversation. Any potential guilt I could have felt disappears.

But Noah is still here, and I’m not exactly upset about it. He gestures around the room.

‘Quite the shindig, huh?’

It’s been a while since I have heard the term ‘shindig’ used. Come to think of it, I don’t know if I have ever heard the word spoken out loud before. Maybe it’s one of those words you are automatically born knowing. It takes me a while to respond, but even when I do, it’s not exactly inspirational.

‘It is.’ I stop myself before I ask how he knows Mika. I know how he knows her and I don’t want to bring it up. Instead I ask another, totally harmless and extremely boring question. In my defence, Mika had said he was a talker, so I haven’t prepared any witty one-liners to dazzle him. ‘So … apart from attending spectacular shindigs, tell me about yourself.’

‘Tell you about myself?’ His tone suggests he thinks this is a slightly strange question to ask.

I shrug. ‘I prefer not to ask people what they do for a living. I think this is a more interesting question. You can interpret it however you like and tell me whatever you want me to know.’

He smiles. ‘OK.’ He pauses before he answers, looking around the room for inspiration. ‘I don’t understand everyone’s obsession with craft beer. I wish it was socially acceptable to play hide and seek as an adult. I changed my jeans twice before I came out this evening. And I use old-fashioned words when I get nervous, especially in front of people I want to impress.’

I smile back.

Mika does have good taste.

Three hours and five (maybe six?) drinks later, and we are fumbling in the hallway outside his apartment.

‘Ah!’ I break the kiss off as I hit into something. That’s gonna leave a bruise.

‘Shhhhh!’ He tells me off, but the accompanying smile tells me he is joking. ‘You’ll wake up my neighbours.’ But he doesn’t seem to care, and instead goes back to kissing my neck.

He is a really good kisser. Together we are good kissers. Sometimes when kissing a person, you can tell that their technique is fine, but it doesn’t complement your own. Noah and I have very complementary techniques. It’s intoxicating. The more he kisses me, the more I want to be kissed.

But these hallway lights are very bright. And we really might wake up his neighbours.

‘Noah.’ I push him away slightly, but don’t put in too much effort. After all, I don’t actually want to break off the kissing. If I could have one magical power right now, I would like to be able to teleport. Right into his bedroom. Or maybe on to his couch if the lounge lighting isn’t too harsh.

His hands are roaming, well, one hand is roaming. The other is glued to my butt cheek, pulling me towards him so I can tell just how excited he is.

All of a sudden, I am extremely thirsty.

‘Noah.’ I push him away a little more firmly than I did before and he eventually stops kissing me, but only after making his way back from my neck to my mouth via my ear. I momentarily forget why I needed to speak to him. When I do remember, the words come out quite forcefully, as though I know I am at risk of getting distracted. Again. ‘I really want to have sex with you, but I’d prefer not to do it in the hallway.’ I’m out of breath, even though I haven’t been doing much of anything. Except kissing. A lot of kissing.

At the mention of sex, he stops looking at my mouth and instead looks right into my eyes. I wonder if his eyes are a reflection of my own. Slightly hazy. Shining a little brighter. Full of lust. And probably a little too much alcohol.

He nods and smiles. ‘Yes. You’re probably right.’ He fumbles around for his keys and unlocks the door. He feigns a mini bow and makes way so I can go in first.

His apartment is not at all what I expected. True, between all the talking and making out, I didn’t have much time to think about what his interior design scheme would be, but I would not have expected this. As someone who never lets men sleep over in her own house, I’ve seen enough men’s houses to know that you absolutely can judge a book by the apartment it lives in.

Sparse is a word that often comes to mind.

But not here. Noah’s apartment is really—

‘Water?’ Noah appears by my side, offering me a glass. I had been so busy taking in the couch that I hadn’t noticed him disappear into the kitchen.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

He nods.

I take the glass from him and start to drink. He really might be the perfect thing to keep my mind off Chris.

It is so liberating to know that I am safe with him. Safe from expectations of more. Feeling empowered and liberated, I put down my glass before making him do the same. I purposefully make sure our hands linger. I am absolutely rubbish at flirting using words, but I am OK at flirting through touch.

‘I wanna see your bedroom.’ The lighting in the lounge is a little brighter than I like. At least for things to go further. I reach up on my tiptoes to nibble at the side of his mouth, posing an unspoken question. A proposition. A dare.

He takes the bait.

The water was cold, and it’s made his kiss feel really refreshing. I make an encouraging noise, and once again he picks up on the cue and guides me down a short corridor and towards a door.

Once inside his bedroom, he starts trying to undress me. But, to be honest, he doesn’t do a great job. I am not too surprised, as it is a slightly tricky outfit. The dress has a hidden side zip, which is always a bit of a trap. Plus, it’s quite dark in here. Just the way I like it.

‘Hold on.’ I help him out and unzip myself. Once I’m done, I motion for him to resume. ‘OK, go.’ At this he wastes no time in pulling the dress upwards. It gets a little caught over my face and I pray to the sex gods, just this once, to let my hair fall down perfectly. Of course it doesn’t, and I know I look more like Cousin It than Brigitte Bardot.

But Noah doesn’t seem to care. He pushes the hair back from my face. I’m ready for him to resume the sexually charged kissing, but instead he changes pace and kisses me really tenderly. Just the once.

I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely so turned on.

I reach for the buttons on his shirt and start undoing them whilst he works on his belt and jeans. He is a lot quicker than I am and stands for a while, watching me struggle.

‘Just rip it open.’

If I had been walking, I would have stumbled.

‘Did you say—’

‘Just rip it open.’

The repetition isn’t helping. I am still shocked.

‘But your shirt will be ruined.’ I go back to trying to undo the buttons. They are really hard to undo. The holes must be too small. My fingers have even started to hurt a little.

‘I don’t care about the buttons. I have plenty of shirts.’ And with that, he has what I would describe as a Tarzan moment, and rips his shirt open. The buttons fly everywhere. I am even more shocked. I wonder if this is all part of his act?

At least until I look down. I can’t help but laugh a little, and point to the one remaining button that has held on against the odds.

He sees the button and laughs.

‘Oh thank god.’ His head hangs. ‘For a moment I thought you were laughing at something else. You shouldn’t point down there and laugh.’ He cups my face. ‘I was at risk of retreat.’ He hugs me into him and kisses the top of my head.

I hadn’t thought of this. I pull away slightly and look sheepishly back at him. ‘Sorry?’

He pulls me back in, and a mumbling noise into my hair is his only reply.

I reply in turn by undoing the last button and easing the shirt off his back.

For the first time this evening, he is motionless, waiting for me to make the next move. So I take charge, reaching one hand around to cup a (delightfully pert) butt cheek, my other hand pulling the elastic of his boxers, getting ready to take them off. I give him the look that says, ‘I’m about to give you a blow job.’ All women know it, and all men hope for it.

Because that’s all men really want.

But finally, he breaks his stillness and moves again, only to stop me from pulling down his boxers.

He briefly kisses my neck. That bit right above your collar bone. My arms go a little slack.

‘No.’ He pushes me against the bed, so I am now sitting on the edge, and kneels in front of me. ‘You first.’