Million Love Songs(48)

By the time I’m out of the car, Mason is standing leaning against my bonnet. It’s fair to say that he’s looking pretty hot. He’s wearing a crisp, white shirt, designer jeans and shoes that are most definitely handmade rather than from Next. He folds his arms and gives me a direct stare. ‘You’re avoiding me, Brown. Why’s that?’

‘I’m not.’

‘I’ve called you dozens of time and they’ve all gone to voicemail. I’ve left you invitations for dinner and yet nothing. Have you stopped eating?’

‘I’m busy. I did mean to return your calls.’ That sounds as lame as you think.

‘Like hell you did.’ He’s clearly not buying my excuses, yet he’s smiling when he says it. ‘I’m not used to being given the run around.’

‘That’s not my intention.’

‘Then come out with me now.’

‘Now?’

‘I’m going up to the club. Get your gladrags on and let’s hit the town. The night is young.’

‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock.’ That didn’t seem to bother me when I was asking Joe for coffee, did it? ‘I’ve got work tomorrow and I have a boss who’s pure evil.’

‘I’ve heard he’s a pussycat. And extraordinarily handsome.’

‘I can’t come to the club, Mason. It’s late and I’m tired.’

‘Charlie said you’d gone to watch a film.’

Thanks, Charlie. Remind me to kick her in the shins tomorrow. ‘Yeah, I did.’

‘A date?’

‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Love, Actually.’

‘What kind of date is that?’ He turns up his nose.

‘A nice one. I enjoyed myself.’

‘So why home so early?’

‘I told you, it’s none of your business. It wasn’t a date, anyway.’

‘I can do nice, cheesy dates, if that’s what floats your boat. Come on,’ he wheedles. ‘Don’t make me beg. Play out with me. I’ll drive you home afterwards. You can have as many sparkly cocktails as you like.’

‘I’m not that easily bought.’ Though he already knows, to my eternal shame, that a weekend in Paris is my price. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea, Mason. We should continue our relationship on a purely professional footing.’

‘Bollocks,’ is his view on that. ‘We’re good together and you know it. Come on, Brown. Let your hair down. See what I did there? I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.’

I can help but smile which only encourages him.

‘Go and get changed. Or come as you are. You look great either way.’

I sigh. I have no idea why but Mason is wearing me down. His club is nice, sophisticated and I think that one drink – or maybe two – wouldn’t hurt. I know what he’s like now. There’s no way that I’m going to get suckered in again. Besides, what am I going to do? Sit indoors by myself thinking about Joe and a date that might never happen? What if he was just trying to be polite? What if he has a change of heart and decides to warn me off again? Oh, man. This is doing my head in. I’m young – sort of – single, and I can either have an early night or live dangerously. I shouldn’t sit here waiting for a man that’s too busy to see me. Right? I’m looking to you to enable this.

‘An hour,’ I say. ‘That’s all. I want to be in bed by midnight.’

‘I can arrange that too,’ he deadpans.

‘By myself,’ I stress. Not with you. Not with Valerie or similar. ‘Will I do like this?’

‘You look fabulous.’

‘Now I know that you’re lying.’

‘Get in the car,’ he says. ‘There’s a Porn Star Martini with your name on it.’

I shake my head at him. ‘Charmer.’ Yet I get in his car, nevertheless.

The Vibe Lounge is busy for a weekday, but we’re shown to a reserved sofa in the corner. For the record, I have three sparkly cocktails – two more than I had pledged would pass my lips. What can I say? I have a weakness for the coloured drink. And for Mason Soames too, it seems.

We have a great laugh. He’s fun and naughty and it’s hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. He chides me again for not returning his calls. He makes me feel on top of the world and, when he takes me in his arms on the dance floor, we move well together in time to the smoochy music. Damn him. When he’s like this, I like him. A lot.

When I look at my watch it’s one in the morning. I groan. ‘It’s waaaaay past my bedtime. I’m never going to get up in the morning.’

‘Come on, Cinders, I’ll take you home.’

‘I can get a cab.’

‘Won’t hear of it.’ So I take the last sip of my drink, grab my bag and we head to his car.

My eyes close as we drive through the deserted streets of Costa del Keynes and Mason turns up the stereo. Adele fills the car with hit tunes and I think I might sing along in a slightly drunken way.

When Mason pulls up outside the granny annexe again, I feel that I’d be happy to sleep in these comfy leather seats all night.