How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(58)

‘I was waiting for Jodie,’ I shout. ‘But it doesn’t look like she’s coming.’

‘Ah don’t worry, hang with us. Tasha, pour Kits a voddie would you, babe?’

The girl called Tasha pulls a bottle of Grey Goose out of the ice bucket on the table and sloshes some in a glass for me.

‘Mixer?’ she asks.

I shake my head. ‘That’s fine, babes. I like it neat.’

She grins as she passes the glass over, like she’s in the company of the Queen or something. I’m trying to keep my eye on who’s coming in and out, but the Extras keep firing questions at me.

‘Love your dress, babe, who is it?’

‘Paloma Wool.’

‘Is Ben coming tonight?’

‘No idea.’

‘Is it true that Maisie is seeing Rupert now?’

‘Er … yeah.’

‘Did you know he used to go out with Sophie?’

‘No, I did not.’ Who the fuck is Sophie?

I sort of tune out after this and the Extras get bored of the novelty of having me at their table. I’m too busy scouting the place to see if any footballers have turned up yet. I mean, that’s why I assume the Extras are here. I’d bet a kidney – not one of my own – that becoming a WAG is as ambitious as they get.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, there’s a huge squeal from Emma/Emily/Tasha/whoever.

‘Look. That’s Raphe Reynolds, isn’t it?’

I glance over and see someone who looks barely old enough to even be in here move through the crowd, which parts for him like the Red fucking Sea. He’s undeniably good-looking but after seeing the hate-filled bile he’d sent, his attractiveness level had dropped to sub-zero. His eyes are already darting around the club, taking it all in, searching for his prey. His gaze meets mine for a split second, then I look away. When I turn back a couple of beats later, he’s still watching. This time he breaks our shared gaze first. We are engaged in a game of eye tennis, the first step of flirting. This is good. When his eyes return to meet mine again a few seconds later, I reward him with a flirty smile, before I pretend to spot someone I know. This time I don’t look back. If he thinks pulling me is too easy, it will lose the appeal for him. A phrase Ben or one of his friends coined springs to mind, ‘A worthy cunt needs a hunt.’ I know, delightful. But it’s true, I need to let Raphe think he’s chasing me. I need to be the prey right now. I pop a straw in my drink and take a sip. The straw draws attention to my mouth, which will apparently get him thinking about the other things I can do with it. Thanks for that tip, Teen Vogue.

I try to involve myself in what the Extras are talking about. They’re all sneaking looks at Raphe and the guys he’s with. I presume they’re all footballers too, but I’m not sure. I’m not like these girls. Being a WAG holds absolutely zero appeal for me.

Emma or Emily is talking about Raphe in a low whisper. ‘You know he treats women like absolute dirt apparently? Did you see all that stuff on Twitter?’

The brunette I think is called Tasha shrugs. ‘I don’t even care. It’s all been taken down now anyway so was probably nothing. Look at him, what I wouldn’t give for one night with that. What do you reckon, Kitty?’

‘He’s cute, I guess.’

The girls giggle as Raphe struts over to the table.

‘Ladies,’ he says, holding his glass up like he’s Leonardo DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby. If you think extremely average white men have a confidence they don’t deserve, imagine one with money who has been gushed over since he was about twelve.

The Extras titter and giggle, but I stay cool. And, as predicted, it gets Raphe’s attention.

‘Kitty Collins,’ he says and squats down next to me. ‘Don’t often see you here.’ His hand is on my right thigh and he’s leaning in close to talk to me.

I shrug. ‘A change is as good as a rest, so they say.’ I hold his gaze for a bit longer than feels comfortable, then look away. ‘I’m actually just leaving, to be honest. It’s not really my thing.’

‘Oh, come on, stay. For me.’ He puts his hands together in a pleading gesture and makes puppy-dog eyes at me.

I fake a laugh. ‘I’ve had too much to drink already. I need to get to bed. It was nice talking to you though.’

With that, I say some quick goodbyes to the Extras and leave, hoping my trail of breadcrumbs will work. Sure enough, just as I step outside, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

‘I can’t let you go home by yourself like this,’ Raphe says, all caring gentleman.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, adding a little stumble to my walk. ‘Oops.’

‘See, you’re not fine. At least let me get you a ride or something?’

‘Or something?’ I turn the flirt dial up to full.

‘Why don’t you come back to mine for a coffee and I’ll get a driver to take you home safely later? I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you. You shouldn’t be stumbling around alone like this.’

I give him a nod. ‘Okay. But no funny business. Got it?’ I prod him playfully in the chest. ‘And you’d need to drive my car. I can’t leave it here.’

‘As long as it’s nothing made by Germans, I’ll happily drive it.’ He grins. ‘They beat us last month in a friendly,’ he explains. ‘I’m not a racist!’ It would have been quite sweet if I didn’t remember the horrendous Twitter grabs Tor showed us.