Girls Night Out 3 E-Book Bundle

She makes a very serious cross-my-heart sign, and then a zipping-her-mouth-and-throwing-away-the-key gesture.

My phone beeps. It’s a text from Plum.

Where are you??? We’re going to Chloe . . . I need you! Get the fuck back here x

‘Can I be bothered to go all the way back down to South Ken?’ I ask.

‘No way,’ says Sophie.

A second text. From Henry.

Abigay. Please come back. I need you to help me be bulletproof too.

They’re in league. I sigh and look up at the guys. ‘My public needs me. I must venture forth once more. It’s only 20 minutes. Will you come?’

‘I’ll call a cab,’ says Luke. ‘We’ll drop you on the way home.’

Chapter Thirteen (#ulink_da1f6152-4d94-50ec-a15b-f3beba39fb00)

By the time I get back to Chloe, a basement bar and club in South Kensington, it’s nearly midnight. Sophie and Luke drop me on the corner, and trying not to feel self-conscious, I stride towards the 30-people-long queue.

‘Um,’ I say, to get the list bitch’s attention. (I’m not being rude. It’s what they call them.) She turns to me and blinks heavily-mascara-ed eyes. She’s blonde, older than she wants to be, with major attitude.

‘I’m on the list,’ I say tentatively. ‘Abigail? Wood? My friends are inside?’

‘I don’t have your name, join the queue,’ she turns away abruptly.

I’m contemplating begging or bribing, and wondering how you do either of those things, when—

‘Imma!’ shouts a male voice. ‘She’s with me!’

I look around to see where the voice is coming from, but can’t see anyone.

The list bitch, her face blank, points me down the stairs leading to the basement courtyard.

As I walk down the stairs, I try to ignore the tiny thrill from (a) going to a club I’ve never been to before (b) going to a club at all because Peter and I never ever did and (c) skipping the queue.

A few intrepid smokers are down in the courtyard, risking the rain.

‘I hope I get a thank you for that,’ says the same voice, and I look up into the eyes of a rather handsome blonde guy smoking a cigarette.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘That was you?’

‘Indeed,’ he nods. He talks like Roger Moore, sort of posh and knowing. ‘Cigarette?’ Why not. ‘Imma isn’t the friendliest, but that’s her job.’

‘I bet she’s a real bleeding heart the rest of the time,’ I nod, trying to smoke coolly and ignore the headrush.

‘Oh, she is,’ he says. ‘Nurses a sick grandmother. Adopts kittens. The works.’

‘I should get her number. We could hang out.’

He grins. ‘I’m Toby, by the way.’

‘Abigail.’

We smile at each other. I’m enjoying this, somehow I feel far less nervous than usual. All I have to do is maintain steady eye contact and not babble.

The rain intensifies, and Toby pulls an umbrella out of his blazer pocket.

‘You were a Boy Scout, weren’t you,’ I say, arching an eyebrow.

‘Well, I tried to be a Brownie, but they wouldn’t let me. Bastards,’ he says sadly. I can’t help but smirk. (Darn, flirting is easy tonight!) ‘So, Miss Abigail. What brings you here?’ he asks.

‘My friends are inside,’ I reply. ‘We were at a party earlier but I had to tend to someone who was unexpectedly taken drunk. I mean, ill.’

Toby grins. ‘I hate it when my friends do that. Let them sleep on the street, I say. Teaches them a lesson.’

I nod. I don’t know what else to say, so I think I’ll end the conversation. How’s that for detached? ‘Well, I’d better go and find everyone,’ I say, stubbing out my cigarette. ‘Thanks again for the door help. And the cigarette.’

‘My pleasure,’ he says.

I walk away, not looking back. I am bulletproof. Hell yeah.

Once I’m inside, it doesn’t take long to find everyone.

‘AbiGAY!’

Ah. Henry and Plum are standing near the bar in a big group of people that I recognise from the Hollywood Arms earlier.

‘What the fuck happened to you?’ says Plum. ‘We thought you’d been kidnapped.’

‘Sorry,’ I say apologetically. ‘Robert needed to be taken home.’

‘Are you sexing your flatmate?’ asks Henry loudly.

‘No,’ I say. ‘And that’s not a verb, Henry.’

‘I thought verbs were doing words,’ he replies. ‘And sex is a DOING word.’ He turns to high-five one of his rugby friends.

‘What have I missed, then?’ I say, rolling my eyes as I turn back to Plum. At about midnight, Henry always goes from puppy to smutty. I glance quickly around the bar, lock eyes with Rich, and nod in greeting. He looks like he expects me to go over and say hi, but I’m quite happy here for now. If he wants to talk to me, I suddenly realise, he’ll come over. Then my attention is taken by Plum telling me all about Dan, the cute guy she was talking to at the party earlier.

‘He’s from Yorkshire! Can you believe it? And he asked for my number, so I gave it to him,’ finishes Plum proudly, and then pauses. ‘Not like that.’

‘Good for you,’ I say. ‘Bulletproof!’

‘I know!’ says Plum. ‘We haven’t spoken in over an hour, though. Maybe I should go and find him and talk to him some more,’ she adds worriedly. ‘What if he finds someone he likes more than me?’

She never used to be like this. Where did this insecurity come from? Years of disappointing singledom, comes the answer right back. ‘Don’t stalk him. Do a lap of the club, and if you see him, grin or raise an eyebrow, but don’t stop. Go straight to the bar. I bet Dan follows you and starts talking to you.’