“Are you OK?”
Turning around, I see Ted walking toward me and quickly wipe my fingertips beneath my eyes. He must have followed me along the beach.
“Yes, just had a little too much to drink, I think.” I smile. “Needed to walk it off.”
“I thought you might be about to launch into a nighttime swim,” he says, his eyes searching out mine.
“No, well, maybe.” I stagger, losing my footing, and he reaches out a hand to hold me upright. “I liked your singing.”
Ted looks down at his feet.
“Dad was the one with the musical talent, not me.”
“Well, I enjoyed it.”
Then our eyes meet again, bright beacons in the half-light, and I want to fall into his arms, partly because I’m finding it hard to stand up straight, and partly because I just want to feel what it would be like to have a strong pair of arms close around me, to lean myself against the inviting warmth of his broad chest.
“Whydoyouhavethisbeard?” I ask, the words merging into one another. I reach out to touch it, and the hair is surprisingly soft. “I think you’d look so much better without it.”
Ted reaches up to remove my hand from his beard, but he keeps hold of it, and a tingle of electricity pulses up my arm.
“You think so?” he says, in an amused, gruff tone.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to press my whole face right against his beard, to feel what it would be like to nestle into this warm, comforting nest, like a baby bird coming home.
“I mean, you’re actually pretty all right, Ted, underneath your disguise of scruffy clothes and that horrible old cap you wear. I see you in there—Beardy McHottington.”
I swipe my other hand at his chest, and he catches it, before I stumble, so he’s now holding on to both my hands. His eyes are drilling into me in a way that makes my brain feel suddenly sober, and my feet even less steady on the sand. Then I lean forward to kiss him, all logic washed away by this wave of need. I see in Ted’s eyes that he’s not going to stop me.
Ring, ring.
My head darts left and right, looking for the source of the strange chirruping. It’s my phone. I pull my hands away from his, searching my handbag with fumbling fingers. Shit, how did I get this drunk? Bloody Sandy and her “special recipe sangria”！
“Laura, ignore it, just once,” Ted says, his voice imploring.
I can’t not get it; it might be about work, or my suitcase. Was I really just about to kiss Ted? I finally clasp the phone and accept the call before it stops ringing. Glancing back at Ted, I see the heat in his eyes dampen.
“Hello, Laura speaking,” I say, biting my lip to make myself sound less drunk.
“Hi, Laura, this is Jasper Le Maistre—I believe we may have each other’s suitcases.”
TIGER WOMAN ON ALCOHOL
Tiger Women do not need alcohol. It poisons the brain and pollutes the soul. People use it to escape, to find confidence, to soften the edges of reality. Do not soften your reality—keep your senses sharp. You must be present to catch your prey. Drink water. Eat power. Be roar.
Chapter 15
“Jasper! Hi!” I say, swinging away from Ted. There is a sobering chill in the wind, and I rub my arm with my free hand.
“I must apologize for not being in touch sooner, I hope it hasn’t been a huge inconvenience.” His voice, it is him, it’s Hot Tampon Man! No, don’t call him that.
“It’s fine, though I’m afraid I did get cold and borrow one of your jumpers, hic.” I slap a hand across my lips. Did I just hiccup into the phone? I hear Ted make an amused sound next to me.
“Well, you’ll be pleased to hear I haven’t needed to wear any of your clothes,” Jasper says, his voice as smooth as I remember it. “Where are you? I can bring you your bag straightaway.”
My stomach swirls, and I clasp my hand tighter around my mouth, swallowing down an involuntary gag. I don’t want Jasper to come here—he’d just drop the bag and leave. Plus, I’m far too drunk to make a good impression—I need some water, or coffee, or a time machine to go back in time and drink less sangria—anything that might sober me up.
I look back up at Ted. Did he know I was about to kiss him? What was I thinking? Ted is technically married, way too old for me. There might be elements of hot mess about him, but no. Why am I even thinking about this? Jasper is the one I want to kiss; Jasper is the man I’ve been looking for.
“I’m just at a party with some friends.” I cough, suppressing another hiccup. “But if it’s not too late, maybe I could come to you to swap the bags in half an hour or so?”