Page 1 of The Best Ex of My Life

Prologue

We shouldn’t be doing this. The thought enters my mind like a whisper among the frantic chaos as we pull towards each other. Hands everywhere, our bodies smashing together then coming apart only for a moment as we find new ways to get closer. He smirks as I tug the shirt over his head and discard it on the floor near my dress. His breath caresses my neck, shallow and shaky, before a deep gasp escapes my chest as he lifts my body, pulling my thighs up to wrap around him. We’ve upturned a glass of wine in the rush to explore each other, and the photo on the wall no longer sits straight as he grinds against me pushing my back against the framed surface. What did we expect when kissing went from exploratory and polite to this?

Yet in the middle of it all there’s one thing in perfect rhythm. Those five words going round and round my head.

His lips move away from my mouth, trailing down my jawbone to my neck and the words slip out.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

He stops kissing me, and for a second, he hovers, his warm breath tickling the delicate skin below my collarbone. We both know where he’s heading. I don’t want him to move away, don’t want to feel the cold of his absence, but he does.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

His body uncurls as he begins to lower me down while waiting for my answer. We’re back to our usual positions: me looking up at him, the familiar strain in my neck I get whenever I want to see his face. Only, my right calf is still curled around the top of his thighs, pushing him against me, and his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. His black hair is dishevelled, and something within me revels in the fact that I’ve done that to him.

Yes, we should stop. That’s what I need to tell him. The further we go, the bigger the mistake becomes. We’ve gone from a whisper of a first kiss, one we could have both backed out from and pretended was something else. This next part is what tips us over the edge, what could ruin everything.

Come Monday morning, I’m going to be me again and he’s going to be him, and we’ll be faced with the checklist of reasons why this was unbelievably stupid. The sooner we get out of this, the sooner we salvage what came before. But right now, we’re not those people. I can’t find my way back to them, and I don’t want to, not when he’s looking down at me with his bottom lip between his teeth, his chest heaving, not when my body is arching towards him, telling me what should happen.

‘Don’t you dare,’ I say, before putting my hands to the back of his head and pulling him down to me.

Part One

Chapter1 One year later

The Pen and Pencil is Isaac’s idea. There’s nothing wrong with it exactly, if you like bars where you are continually jostled by groups of drunk friends who look so young they could be pupils at the school you’ve been teaching in all day. Nothing wrong if you don’t mind waiting thirty minutes to get served, all the while trying to ignore the smell of vomit coming from the toilets. But it doesn’t exactly scream perfect first-date location. It’s not the sort of place you want bringing up at your wedding when your groom stands next to you at the top table ready to recall the moment you first met.

I don’t want to hold it against Isaac before I’ve even met him but as I sit on a barstool waiting for him to arrive, trying and failing to get the barman’s attention, I find that I kind of do. There are endless options for good dates. Summer evenings in a beer garden when the air is warm and swarming with possibilities. Late November afternoons in the city centre where fairy lights sparkle off every surface and bodies huddle together for warmth. Saturday mornings in the park, the early morning light cutting through the trees and catching the three copper shades of my highlighted hair. I’ve been on so many dates this last year I should know what a good one looks like by now, and it’s not this.

I breathe deeply a few times and try to recall the tingly nerves I had on the train on the way here. Those nerves are important, and I need to get them back. They tell me there’s still hope, that I still believe I can go out and meet someone for the first time and it can turn into everything.

‘Lizzie?’

There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to find Isaac smiling down at me.

Wow.

He’s tall like he said he was, the messy brown hair that made me swipe right on the dating app is on full display, but the pictures I’ve studied failed to show the dimples in his cheeks. Online, Isaac is handsome, but in person he’s spectacular.

I couldn’t care less about the shitty choice of venue now that my mind is distracted. He could have arranged to meet me in McDonald’s or for us to play a game of laser tag with a group of nine-year-olds – two dates I’ve actually been on this last, woeful year – and it wouldn’t have mattered because this lack of catfishing is unheard of. Disappointment comes so frequently when meeting online dates, I’ve started to expect it. This is the opposite. Not only is Isaac better than his pictures, but I already know we could be great together. This last week, we’ve had so many conversations getting to know each other, he joked last night we’d have nothing to say when we actually met. He’s funny and self-deprecating and seems kind. I can’t believe that finally I’ve had some luck.

First-date nerves flood back into my system as our eyes meet, and I’m quick to look away, an uncharacteristic shyness taking hold that I consider a hugely positive sign.

‘Isaac?’ I check, although I know it’s him.

‘Hey, I’m so sorry,’ he shouts over the noise. ‘I had no idea it got like this. Shall we go somewhere else?’

‘Oh my God, yes, please.’

He laughs, and as he turns for the door, he takes my hand to lead me out. An excellent start. Once we’re outside, he continues to hold my hand until the street quietens and he slows down before turning to face me.

‘Hi, Lizzie,’ he says, voice soft and full of warmth. ‘It’s so good to meet you at last.’ He bends down to give me a kiss on my cheek, lingering in my space a few seconds longer than a peck usually needs, but I don’t mind. He smells amazing.

‘Hi. That was quite some place back there. I’m impressed we made it out in one piece.’

‘I’m so sorry about that. When I’ve been there on other dates, they’ve had candles out and it’s been really romantic. I hadn’t thought about it being a Friday at the end of the month. Forgive me?’

‘Oh, right. Yeah, of course,’ I say, sure I recall him saying he never finds anyone online that he’d actually go on a real date with. ‘Let’s find somewhere else.’