Page 68 of ReTreat Yourself

He helps me clamber off the stool as we make our way outside, away from the music.

‘I know it’s not ideal but you’re fine with it then, I take it,’ he says at last. He looks sexy and dishevelled.

‘Yep.’ I point to myself. ‘I’m certainly no picnic myself.’

He looks slightly perplexed. But that’s okay because I happen to be extremely self-aware.

‘I’m no walk in the park. Even though it’s my job at stake. To be the helper of ones… hic… who need help. I’m the helperer. I am the help who helps,’ I explain articulately. ‘But I am a terrible person, so don’t you feel bad. You. You are lovely. And big.’

He gives me an exasperated look. Almost like he has immediately regretted coming to check on me. This makes him instantaneously a thousand times sexier. I’m a bit drunk and finding him very handsome. I take a step towards him, swaying slightly as I go.

He reaches out to steady me. Just at that moment, Jimbo, Gav and Squinty barge past braying and honking. They have deely boppers on their heads, with a pink sashed hen under each arm cackling away because these rugger lads are so, so very funny and charming. They stop to politely ask if I’d like to join them back at Squinty’s hotel room.

‘Just for an orgy of booze, sex and drugs, mind. No funny business.’ He winks.

For some reason my response is to laugh hysterically, rather than politely decline.

‘DM us the deets of the coach trip thing, yeah? We’ll all come,’ he yells over his shoulder before they disappear round the corner.

‘Will do!’ I yell back, waving.

Oh my God.

‘Judging by the state of that lot,’ Oliver finally says with a laugh, ‘maybe I do need to save you from yourself. Coach trip?’

Oliver is becoming increasingly handsome as the minutes fly by, but I do feel the need to put him right on a few things. Namely about him having to accept who I am. I am a strong, independent, extremely hot, sexy, attractive man-magnet. Coach trips and orgies with hairy toffs might be a fundamental part of my identity for all he knows. I am a free spirit. I am what I am. I might sing this at him. I have a beautiful singing voice. Beautiful. I take a deep breath in and prepare to wow him with my hidden talents.

‘I am what I am,’ I suddenly sing into his face, waving my arms in the air. ‘And what am I? I’m my own special edition. No, that’s not it.’ I jab at him, missing his chest. Suddenly the words come to me. I bellow them out. ‘I love to sparkle and to jangle. So why not take me from a different angle?’

I get a cheer from a nearby table. Who knew the lyrics were so sexual?

‘Listen, why don’t you forget the song?’ Oliver says quickly. ‘I’ll get you some water instead. I need to explain a few things to you.’

My brain whirs. I’d love him to explain a few things. I’d love that. Who wouldn’t?

Oliver strides over to the bar and back again in under a second. He catches me in his beefy arms as I sway towards him and, because I must look terribly thirsty – he is so kind – he gives me a bottle of designer water, and I drink it down.

He takes a step closer, never once breaking eye contact. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.

The water kicks in, sobering me up.

‘Feeling better?’ he asks. My breathing has become raspy because his gaze has slipped to my mouth. I bite my lip slowly.

‘Are you sure?’ he says softly.

I nod. I’ve never been so sure in all my life.

‘You still seem drunk.’

‘A tiny bit. My lips are still in full working order though. Kiss me,’ I demand.

He hesitates a fraction before I lunge at him.

And just like that, we fall into each other, unable to keep from kissing a moment longer. When I finally take hold of my senses, and break apart from him, I gasp out something about the moral code and ethics, only for him to burst out laughing and shake his head.

‘I don’t give a shit about your code,’ he says easily and pulls me to him. ‘I’m not sure the ICF cares as much as you think it does.’

I like this maverick, and his devil-may-care attitude to work and his easy kissing technique.