Jane Lark - Just You

Bad enough to regret.

But then I wasn’t rich and I wasn’t Jason––white, Mr. handsome and nice from-out-of-town. Nope. I was straight out of the ghetto. Not Portia’s type at all.

I was seriously surprised she’d gone anywhere near me if I was being honest with myself.

But dishonest… I wasn’t that bad, and persistence and a bit of charm usually paid off.

I washed my hands and went back into the office.

Mr. Rees came in a few minutes later. That would lift the mood. The man was a tyrant and as arrogant and ignorant as Portia. Really, what the fuck had made me want to kiss her… Oh yeah, her in a bikini.

I started talking to Jason, about the party again––about everything other than me and Portia in the pool. But I’d lay hot odds she was sitting at her desk listening, fearing I’d throw in that little fact. Then all of a sudden Jason got up…

“Hey, I’m talking.”

“I got something to do.”

Well, I knew when I wasn’t wanted. I was getting a lot of messages like that today. Lucky I had thick skin.

A few minutes later he came back with a look of thunder on his face and started shoving stuff in a box.

What was up with this day? “Where you going?”

“I just realized that this job’s not for me. Bye…”

Nice fucking knowing you! I glanced over to see Mr. Rees watching Jason.

Well, what the hell was that about?

The girls were watching too. I could see Portia. She’d turned her chair to face Crystal and, having seen Mr. Rees, they were all pretending they hadn’t been about to start gossiping, but any moment now, there was going to be a gossip fest…

Jason walked out without a “thanks”, or, a “nice knowing you”, or, “see you”, or anything, and he looked pretty crazy with his cardboard box of stuff tucked under his arm, and an angry face.

I watched him go, feeling like my hangover from the other night had come back. Seriously, what the fuck was going on today?

And now it was nearly twelve-thirty.

Mr. Rees shut the door on his office. Normally I’d have gotten up and gone over to the girls––when the ogre had gone back in his cave––and they all began whispering. I didn’t. I figured Portia wouldn’t want me there. ‘Course I could go over anyway, to wind her up, seeing as she was so embarrassed over having had a thing with me. But that was the sort of game my dad used to play; I wasn’t that guy. If she regretted the stuff we’d done, that was fine. Let her regret. I didn’t, and there were dozens more women out there to be fished and hooked.

When the clock in the left-hand corner of my screen rolled over to twelve-thirty, an email message flashed up. I opened it.

‘See you there.’

Showdown time.

She got up, threw a red scarf around her neck and pulled on her coat, then threw her purse over her shoulder and walked out.

Here we go. I gave her a few minutes head-start so no one would think anything of me following, then got up too, and went to get my jacket. The shock of Jason going rattled through my nerves. The guy was there, then gone.

Mr. Rees came out of his office as I walked past, and I heard him speak to Hilary, our sub-editor, asking for Jason’s contact details to forward a letter of notice.

Jason had been sacked.

Shit. The guy had done nothing wrong. I’d better watch my ass. I was nowhere near as focused as Jason had been. Keith was always having a quiet word with me. Usually it was, “Don’t talk so much,” or, “You’re too loud.”

Shoving my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket, I walked out.

When I reached Starbucks, a block away from the office, Portia was in the line.

I walked up and joined her.

“Hey.”

She looked at me and turned red again. “Hey.” She looked away, like she was looking at something else. Anything else––as long as she didn’t have to look at me.

“You eating?”

She shook her head, her chin and her nose tilting up, like I was a bad smell, or something else disgusting.

The girl was not a great eater. She was always on the latest celeb diet. But she wasn’t overweight.

Whatever, I decided to buy her a ginger muffin. I knew she liked ginger. For the last three weeks, the smell of her seasonal ginger latte had hung around the office when I’d walked into the office in the morning.

The guy looked over to take my order. She must have given hers already. “Black coffee, two ginger muffins, and one of those pepperoni things, heated.”

The guy nodded at me and headed off to put it all on, to cut the line.

We moved along, not speaking.

When we got to the cash register, she reached for her purse …

“I’ll get it.” It was the manly thing to do, but when I took my wallet out, her fingers rested over my hand.

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“It’s okay. I want to.” My answer was probably sharper than it should’ve been, but I was starting to get a little pissed. I may have a millionth of the money her family did, but I could afford to buy her a coffee.

I really didn’t think I was so bad. Maybe I was thick skinned––but I did have some pride.

She picked up her drink and left the rest for me to carry on a tray. She moved right to the back, probably to avoid anyone in the office seeing us together through the window.

Such a glowing assessment of my performance New Year’s Eve. She obviously hadn’t had as much fun as I had, although she’d seemed to be enjoying it at the time.

I slipped into the chair opposite her and lifted one of the muffins off the tray. “For you, eat it or don’t eat it, whatever.”

Her blue eyes, that were mid-gray in reality but reflected blue, glanced down at the plate and then up at me. She bit her lip then opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, her expression hardening. She shut it again, turning pink, saying nothing, and then gripped her cup with both hands and looked down.

The girl looked meek. When had I ever seen Portia look meek before? Never. Her arrogance was cringing. Her blush no doubt expressed the shame this preppy, society girl felt over slumming it with me.

“Portia, you asked me here to talk?” My pitch rang with sarcasm and impatience.

“Justin…” she said to her coffee, in a voice that told me off for my being cutting. It sounded a little more like the Portia I was used to.

“What?”

She looked up again and stared at me, appearing anxious. That was another new look for Portia, as far as I was concerned.

“I… we… did…?” She bit her lip, and then she came right out with it suddenly, “Did we do it? The other night… I mean… Shit… Did we, you know? I was so drunk I don’t remember.”

So that was what all the blushes were about. I started laughing, I couldn’t help it. Really I should be insulted; she looked so terrified, like it would be a scene from a horror movie if we had done it. “No. We didn’t, Portia.” The air swept out of her lungs and her breath brushed my cheek before she looked down at her coffee again.

I leaned back in the chair, trying hard not to feel insulted… “We kissed, and I made you come, and you never returned the favor.”

That had her eyes and her color back up, along with her chin and her nose tilting. “Justin.” It wasn’t a shout, it was a hard whisper. “That would have been disgusting in a pool anyway.”

“Nice to know you got your priorities right, Portia…”

She screwed her face up at me––she even looked pretty when she screwed her face up.

“I take it you regret it?”

“I don’t remember it. Well, only in the form of a few patchy images. I can’t remember getting dressed, or getting home. How did I get home?”