January 2010

MARK

I hate birthdays. Celebrating a number of years alive only serves as a reminder of people who've died. Ben. Mum. Dad. They'll never have another birthday. But every year, when the date rolls around, I think about them. I mourn them all over again.

There's only one exception to my hatred of birthdays. For the last three years, I've celebrated Zoe's with her.

It started off innocently enough; we'd only known each other for a few months and buying her a present seemed too intense. I'd tried to bake her a cake, only for it to crumble in the oven. Defeated but unwilling to drop the cake idea, I'd bought her one from M&S. It was garishly pink, no doubt pumped full of fuck knows how many additives, but her eyes had lit up like I'd handed her a winning lottery ticket. I didn't tell her that I'd tried to make one from scratch, because it didn't seem to matter. Nothing I'd have baked myself would have elicited the same excitement as the pink cake.

The next year, Zoe had invited me to her parents' place. We spent the weekend celebrating, and it was almost enough to change my outlook on birthdays. Seeing how they spoilt her, how she devoted hours to flicking through photo albums with me to chronicle her childhood, I fell into a bubble of happiness. Belonging. Her mum was nice enough, but her dad symbolised something I'd lacked for years. For the first time outside a therapy session, I could talk about the police. His interest and follow-up questions allowed me to be open and honest. I didn't have to censor myself for fear of offending or horrifying someone. He never judged me, nor did I feel like he pitied me.

Then, last year, I'd taken Zoe out for a meal. We'd chatted for three hours, then moved onto a bar where we got so drunk that I didn't even remember getting home. I didn't remember fucking her either, but we'd woken up naked next to each other so that was a given. It was the only time we'd ever spent a full night together—and the last time we'd had sex.

Two days later she'd had her first date with Richard, a date which she'd claimed she wasn't into.

Now, as I stand outside the bar, looking through the window at Zoe laughing with her colleagues, I consider breaking my four-year streak and going home.

Celebrating her birthday has always seemed so intimate and personal. I don't want to share it with a bunch of strangers who I've no interest in making small talk with. That's selfish considering Zoe's birthday is about Zoe, not me, but if I go in there, I'll have to watch her with Richard. His hands on her body. Her laughs at his jokes. I can't bear to witness him replace me in 3D. It's bad enough imagining it in my head.

Close friends, though Zoe insists that they're not together. I believe her, but I also know how much time they spend in each other's company. And I know how two friends 'not together' means jack shit in the grand scheme of things.

The guy has replaced me. I can't resent her for moving on. But I can decide how much to be pushed out of the picture.

I check my watch. One hour. That's a respectable amount of time to stay. Then I'll make an excuse about work and leave.

Chatter rings around the bar as I step inside. Stuffy warmth and the stench of cheap beer replaces the icy winter air. I shrug off my jacket, looping it over my left arm.

Like two fucking magnets, my gaze clashes with Zoe's. I used to love that instant connection. Now it's a pain in the arse. An aching reminder of what used to be.

Still, when her face lights up with happiness, it dulls the pain. That one glimpse of joy is worth the hour of awkwardness I'll need to endure here.

She bounds over to me, then skids to a halt at the last second. Hesitation overrides the excitement. It's been like this for months. Treading on eggshells. Second guessing. Neither of us sure how to act physically with each other. She should be in a happy relationship with Richard right now. Adored. In love. Instead, she turned him down because I didn't have the balls to cut off this thing for good. Now we're a shadow of our former friendship, with no physical relationship. It's a step back for us.

"What, I come all this way and don't get a hug?" I attempt humour to ease her worry.

It works. A grin spreads across her flushed cheeks, and she steps into my body, winding her arms around my back and resting her head on my chest.

Coconut overpowers the beer. Annoying, sickly, delicious coconut. She clings onto me like I might vanish if she lets go. I try to resist the same urge with her. Nobody has made me enjoy hugs except Zoe. They're like a fucking drug. Calming. Soothing. Comforting. An antidote to the chaotic shit happening elsewhere in my life.

When we pull apart, her fingers trickle over my waist. Heat stirs in my groin. It's been a year, and my body likes to remind me of that. Sadly the idea of sex with anyone else is grossly unappealing. There's also the potential I'm punishing myself by abstaining from physical intimacy with another person. According to my therapist, anyway.

"Come join. I'll introduce you to everyone." Zoe grabs my wrist and tugs me towards the table.

The last set of Zoe's friends made a less-than-stellar impression on me. They were a bunch of animals. And, as it turned out, shit friends, too. This group seems more civilised. The nearer ones reach to shake my hand. I get polite smiles or a small wave from those at the far end of the table.

Then there's Richard. He gets up from the seat next to Zoe's, skirts around the edge of the table to shake my hand, and gestures to his empty space.

"Here, take my chair. It's my round, anyway."

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yeah, totally. She's probably sick of listening to me by now." He fires a playful wink at Zoe, then lowers his voice as he turns his back on her to speak only to me. "Plus she's been watching the door for the last two hours. Thanks for coming."

Somehow, it doesn't sound as bitter or condescending at it could have done. He's genuine. A nice guy. Part of me resents that he's a better version of me. A bigger, less petty part is pleased that he's into Zoe, because I know he'll look after her. Treat her right. Love her.

Even if they're 'not together'.

I slide into the spot next to Zoe. She instantly twists to sit sideways in her chair, knees knocking into my thighs.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," she admits.

"I haven't missed your birthday so far. Didn't want to start today."

She smiles and rests her elbow on the table. As she opens her mouth to reply, the girl on her other side prods her shoulder to ask something. Zoe cranes her neck to answer, her forearm dropping onto the placemat in front of her. With her fingers inches from mine, I itch to reach out and touch her. Feel her skin on mine. Our hands intertwined.

An ache squeezes my heart. I tear my eyes away from her hand and onto the drinks menu.

"I can recommend the pornstar martini." Zoe's attention is back on me, a happy bounce to her voice.

"Oh yeah?" I resist the impulse to flirt. "Is it pink?"

Her soft laugh caresses the side of my throat. "Nope. Orange. It comes with a shot glass of Prosecco."

"Sounds revolting." I snap the menu shut. "I'm not drinking anyway."

"That's fine," she says, before I can tell her why. "There are a few non-drinkers here. We don't judge."

I roll my eyes at her teasing. A strand of copper hair falls across her face, and she instantly tucks it behind one ear.

Milestones in Zoe's life are marked by her hair. Every change constitutes a new colour. After going brunette for her grad scheme, she's now a redhead for her full-time job as an Operations Manager. It suits her, but then I can't imagine her ever looking bad.

"How's twenty-five feel?" I ask.

She shrugs, running a fingertip along the rim of her empty glass. "Same as twenty-four. Just one step closer to thirty." She shudders in a deliberately dramatic fashion.

"Hey." I cock an eyebrow. "Some of us are only months away from that."

"Yes, but it's different for men. They—" Red flushes her cheeks as she clamps her mouth shut.

"They what?" I press.

"They get better with age." The reply comes from the other side of me, from a dark-haired girl who Zoe had introduced as Kiara when I'd first arrived. "Like a fine wine. Isn't that what you said earlier, Z?"

"Age is usually kinder to men, that's all." Zoe scrapes back her chair to stand up. "Mark, you should chat to Kiara for a bit. She's into sudokus too."

As she scuttles away from the table and towards the bathroom, I try to remember how to make small talk with people who I don't particularly want to engage with.

"Sudokus are apparently my only personality trait," I say.

"No." Kiara laughs. "She's told us plenty about you, don't worry."

Plenty?

"I dread to think."

"She's very complimentary." Suggestion laces her tone, a glint sparking in her brown eyes.

I don't get the impression she's flirting. If anything, she seems to be teasing.

"Yeah?" I say, my throat dry.

"But I can't say anything. Girl code." She makes a motion of zipping her lips.

Girl code. What a load of bullshit.

I can't help being curious. She wouldn't even say my name in bed, never mind outright compliment anything about my body. Not that she needed to—I could see how much she liked it from her reactions, the way she'd kiss my neck, lick my abs, suck my dick... But it was the principle. The way she'd held that power over me by feigning indifference.

I take a different tactic with Kiara, because for someone restricted by girl code, she sure seems keen to chat about Zoe.

"I'm glad things are working out with Richard," I say.

The words dangle in the air between us. Kiara's eyes narrow in suspicion, then crinkle at the edges as she grins.

"Nice try, officer. You won't trick me that easily." She slings one leg over the other and leans closer. "If you really want to know what's going on with them, you should ask Zoe. Maybe she'll tell you more than she tells us."

She sits back in her chair with a shrug. Even if Zoe did tell me more, I wouldn't betray her confidence like that. I glance down to the other end of the table to find Richard's gaze sweeping over my body. Once again, I fail to find anything malicious about it. It's neutral. Indifferent. Like he's bored and I'm something new to inspect.

Zoe returns from the bathroom and stops en route to whisper something in Richard's ear. His lips tip up. One hand lifts from the table to ruffle her hair. It's playful. Affectionate. But far from sexual.

I can't read them, and it drives me mad. Usually Zoe is so easy to read. She wears her heart on her sleeve. And that night last year, she handed it to me on a platter. She begged me not to break it.

We've never spoken about it since.

"Okay, I'll level with you," Kiara says, sliding her chair closer to mine so she can lower her voice. "We've got no idea what's going on between them. They insist they're only friends. You probably know her better than us. Do they look like they're only friends to you?"

"Yes," I reply, because if that's what Zoe wants them to think, I'm not going to throw her under the bus.

"Oh, that's a shame. I was hoping for a workplace romance."

"Don't," I said. "They're not all they're cracked up to be."

"What's not?" Zoe drops into the seat beside me again and slides a glass of water towards me.

"Workplace romances," Kiara says. "I was tapping him for intel on you and Rich."

"Oh." Despite just passing it to me, she picks up my drink and takes a sip. "I agree. Messy to get involved with a colleague."

She presses the cold glass into my palm, but my eyes are transfixed on the pink smudge of lipstick around the rim. I fucking hate kissing, and now all I can think about is her mouth on mine. The taste of her tongue.

"Mark?"

"Mm?" I look up from the glass to meet Zoe's questioning stare.

"Kiara asked you a question."

"I wasn't listening."

Zoe groans and buries her face in her palm. "Oh my God, you're so rude." She shoots an apologetic smile at her colleague. "Don't take it personally."

Great. So now I'm embarrassing her in front of her friends. Shouldn't have come here tonight.

"I'm sorry," I say to Kiara. "I have to leave for work soon and my head is already partway there."

She holds up her hands to wave off my apology. There's no sign of offence, so clearly Zoe is just exercising her drama skills again.

"Work?" Zoe's brows knit together. "Tonight?"

I take a long swig of water and avoid eye contact with her. "Yeah. Swapped shifts with Aiden."

It's an easy lie. I always swap shifts with Aiden. Somehow Zoe is still sceptical.

"What was his excuse this time?"

"Doctors appointment tomorrow morning."

"So what's the assignment tonight? Another club?"

So many questions.

"House party over in Soho."

The interrogation ends there. And the most frustrating part is that I can't even tell if she believes me. 

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Thank you for reading :) xx

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For anyone who's a fan of Behind Office Doors, I've recently posted a steamy bonus chapter on Ream. It's available via my Beach Holiday tier, which also gives you the full-length version of Office Affairs and early access to this book and Written in Stone! You can check it out at reamstories.com/tessalovatt 💜