That flirty thing

On my hour commute, and two bus rides home (I really should look into walking, it would probably take less time), I was thinking about HP and I. Maybe the reason he doesn’t laugh with me anymore is because we don’t do fun things any longer. I’m always working late, and he was just miserable in his old job.

So, I decided that we should go to the cinema after work last, and maybe even dinner. Nothing major, I’m happy with Nandos and a bad action flick. But something.

Imagine my disappointment when I got home to find a house full of people. There was Candy, HP, and Katie (of course), and then there were three other guys I’d never met before.

They are office mates of HP and Candy, they live in the West End like us, and everyone was having pre-drinks before going to the pub. HP half asked if I wanted to go, and damn it, I wasn’t letting him go out again without me. I can be as fun as that stupid slut Candy.

So, I grabbed a bottle and did a round of shots. That’s it. I was going out!

After about two hours of drinking in the house, without food might I add, things got a little fuzzy. Actually, things got a lot fuzzy.

I remember lying on the sofa and this guy with loads of tattoos, a beard talking to me and those stretchy earring holes talking to me (about what I do not remember). I was watching Candy chat with HP. Then she did that thing. That thing all women know is a flirt move, but men are too stupid to realise it. She laughed and lightly touched his arm.

Then he did that thing. That wonderful lovely thing that he always did with me. He bit his lip and looked down, and made a little quiet laugh. Put his hands in his pockets and stepped closer to her.

I think I must have died (or passed out), because the next thing I remember is being in bed and everyone in the house was gone but Katie.

Hearing the television on in the lounge, I got up to find her watching Bad Education. (Candy’s got a much better Tivo set up than our DVR, I don’t know why she watches stuff at my house.) I asked her why she wasn’t out, and she said she has a job. She’s had one for a couple of days, and she’s got to be at work tomorrow.

This was massive news to me, but when I asked what job, she just said, ‘A job. Just a job.’

‘Why can’t you tell me? Are you dealing weed.’

To which she replied, ‘I’m not breaking bad. I’ve just got a job.’

I so don’t trust her, because she’s totally the type to get involved selling weed.

I now keep a bottle of bloody mary mix in the cupboard for hangovers, so I downed a glass (sans vodka) and two ibuprophen and went back to bed.

HP didn’t come home until late, and he was still in bed when I got up. He was half under the covers with one sock still on.

What am I going to do about him? About us? What am I going to do about this fucking hangover. That bloody mary trick did not work. I so want to hurl.


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