Page 83 of Hexed Up

“I don’t know why you don’t trust me,” he says in a huff as he vanishes from sight, and I finally think I’ve got him to make a truthful pact.

“Because you lie all the time,” I call out to the space he’d just inhabited a second before. “Also,” I mumble to myself, “you insisted that we meet at the bar, which tells me you’re totally going to renege on this promise.”

McGruff looks up at me.

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m talking to myself,” I tell him. “Let’s not pretend it’s the first time.”

My dog shakes his head and slumps off to his basket, leaving me to shower, remove the hair that’s started to sprout from my legs, and wash my hair.

Usually I just rough-dry my hair, opting for the messy, just-got-out-of-bed look. Today, I go for something slightly different, drying it smooth and adding some curls. Then I go to town on my eye makeup, adding dark smoky eyes and a complementary blood-red lip, before yanking on the black dress.

I swear it’s ten times tighter than it was in the shop cubicle. And when I do a little swivel, I realise not only is my bra showing, but my knicker line too.

I weigh up my options. Then I’m pinging off the bra and sliding off the underwear. Luckily the dress has enough support, and as I do another little swivel in front of the mirror, I have to admit, I look pretty damn hot.

I spot McGruff in the corner. He’s lifted his head from his paws, his face tilted to one side, and I can tell he’s judging me.

If I’m honest, I’m judging myself. I haven’t paid this much attention to my appearance or gone to this much effort for a long time, and clearly there’s a reason.

“I know I’m playing with fire,” I tell him. “But can’t a girl have a little fun?”

McGruff tips his head to the other side.

“Don’t I deserve some fun?” I add. “I’ve been such a good girl, McGruff, such a good girl.”

He growls and barks, probably reminding me that I hadn’t been such a good girl in my flat, when we’d done all that kissing. Or at the back of the hotel when we’d almost kissed again. Or in the hotel games room when Horatio had kissed me somewhere totally inappropriate.

“Look, let’s be honest, I’ve always been a bad girl at heart. It’s nothing new. You can’t complain.”

I trot over to him, not able to take big strides because this damn dress is really freaking tight. Then I crouch down, give him some ear tickles and some kisses to the end of his nose.

“Will you be okay on your own?” I ask him.

I’ve left him a full bowl of food, plus several treats and a chew. Yes, it’s bribery, but I don’t think McGruff is going to complain about that.

He gives me anotherwoofand then lays his chin on his paws.

I give him one last kiss and then consider my footwear. I could go for the heels again but considering I’m going to have to manoeuvre through public transport, it might take me three hours just to get to the bar. So I slide on a pair of socks and pull on my boots, then grab my leather jacket, my handbag, and the Victoria sponge, and head off towards the bar.

Ten minutes into my tube journey, I’m wishing I’d forked out for an Uber instead. It’s baking in the carriage. I can see the cream melting in the centre of my cake, and a fine line of sweat pools at the base of my neck. I’m pretty sure my makeup is melting down my face too.

All that time and effort wasted. All that time and effort for nothing. I’m going to rock up at this bar looking like a sweaty mess.

I sigh and follow the lead of everyone else in the carriage, using a discarded free newspaper to fan my face in desperation.

The old man seated next to me on the bench leans forward and peers into my cake box.

“Victoria sponge?” he asks.

“Yep,” I reply.

“Looks good,” he says. “Did you sift the flour?”

“Of course.”

“Added real vanilla essence and not that cheap supermarket stuff?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” I assure him.