So maybe your life is in shambles and you run away to London to get your head straight. Sure, you don't really have a plan but the Universe does, and before you know it, some kid from Kingston has completely turned your world upside and your body i...
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BZZZZ!!!! BZZZZ!!
You opened one eye, slowly coming out of your slumber.
BZZZZZZ!!
"Nooooooooooooo," you half groaned, half sobbed into your pillow. Someone was leaning hard on your door buzzer and not letting up. Your head started pounding and your tongue felt like sandpaper. Water. You needed water. You stumbled out of bed and the door went off again.
BZZZZ!!
"Oh for fuck's sake!" you yelled and winced as your brain thumped against your skull. You groaned again, grabbing your head. You staggered over to the kitchen lifted your jeans from their crumpled corner on the floor.
"Coming," you growled, tripping over your own feet as you tried to hurriedly pull the jeans on.
"Oh hello, dear. Got a package for you." It was your neighbor, Mrs. Padworth -elderly, nosy, and usually toasted by midday. She peered through the crack of the door that you held ajar, trying to get a glimpse inside your flat.
"Thank you, Mrs. Padworth," you said attempting a smile but failing miserably.
"My dear, you look a fright. Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, Mrs. Padworth," you gave a little wave and shut the door before she could say anything else. Nosy, old cow.
You looked down at the package. It was pretty light given its size. It was also from the States. Care package from Ma? You opened it.
**Thought you might want these. - Jason**
Inside was a stack of old photos, concert stubs, even old notes you and your ex exchanged in college.
"Why the fuck would I want these, Jason?" you muttered to yourself, flicking photo after photo across your apartment floor. At the bottom of the stack was a pic of you at what- 18? You had a Spider-Man tee on, giving the thwip sign and Jason, with his tongue out, giving the universal sign for jerking off. Classy. Why did it take you so long to divorce him, you thought. Insecurity, fear of being alone, fear of not being loved, fear of financial distress. Yeah, that sounded about right.
Your phone chimed with a text notification. Unknown number.
UNKNOWN: Remind me to say 'no' to older women when they offer to buy me shots of whiskey.
Your stomach leaped with elation. It was Tom. Why were you suddenly so nervous? You texted back, holding back a smile.
Y/N: Hate you break it to you, pal, but you paid for the drinks. Plus, she was only trying to get in your pants.
You kicked Jason's box across the floor and made your way to the bathroom. Mrs. Padworth was right. You did look a fright...and you smelled worse. You peeled off last nights clothes and stepped into the shower, leaning against the tile. The water pelted down on you and you closed your eyes, breathing in the steam. You remembered pieces from last night: drinks, the boys, that kiss in the hall. You remembered being alarmed by how good he made you feel. You remembered the way he looked at you, like he was ravenous. What did he even see? Did he see some exciting and mysterious older woman who could teach him a few tricks? How disappointed he would be if he found out you were just a pathetic 35 year-old divorcée with a knack for running away from problems. Unpacking your suitcase was even too big a commitment. It'd been nearly three weeks but you still looked at everything as a temporary fix. At some point you would get your shit together and sort it all out. Right? For now, just keep swimming.
You heard your phone chime again and you turned the water off, stepping out to read the text.
TOM: I currently have no trousers on, so she could easily have another go!
Cheeky. You shook your head slowly, smiling to yourself and glanced up at your reflection.
"Nineteen. Where could this possibly go?" you asked the woman in the mirror. You studied her closely. She was youthful and fit, with smart and sarcastic eyes. Her lips always curled in a smirk. And when she did finally smile, her face turned into something beautiful.
"Wherever the hell you want it to go," the woman in the mirror replied. And she did smile back at you, and behind her eyes was a longing to feel the way you did last night. Not just the kissing and groping, but the stolen glances from across the table and the way his fingers caressed your face.
"To hell with it," you said pressing the call button and putting the phone to your ear.
He answered the phone, "I didn't think you'd actually go for the whole no trousers thing," he laughed.
"I want to see you," you said seriously.
"When?" he asked.
"Sooner than later," you replied.
"I can be there in an hour....sooner if I can find my trousers."
"You won't need them," you purred.
He was silent and you swore you could hear him gulp.
"I'm kidding," you said.
"Damn," he sighed.
"You know I can almost see the shit eating grin that you have on your face right now."
"It's not shit eating. It's handsome and distinguished and women faint at the sight of it," he scoffed.
"I'll be sure to have some smelling salts on hand. See you in an hour." You hung up and looked in the mirror again.
