I was drunk.
No, that was unfair. I was tipsy. Generously tipsy.
Very generously tipsy.
"What is this?" I pointed in the vague direction of the laptop screen in front of me, before collapsing into the desk chair. I liked beer. I liked beer a lot. I also liked vodka, which had been proven particularly well this evening.
"That is meant to be my new genius idea, that my boss has been harassing me for." Jake told me, stumbling into the desk chair and, when I began to protest loudly at being shoved so unceremoniously from my throne, pulled me into his lap. Even when drunk, Jake was so very English and gentlemanly. I wondered what it'd take to get him to yell at a girl. Ha. Jake, yelling at a girl. Please. "It's meant to be controversial, but not enough to be offensive."
"Hmm." I swapped our bottles, so Jake had the beer and I had the Smirnoff. It was flavoured, too. Awesome. I squinted to read the title. "The Mystery of the Female Psyche." I snorted and rolled my eyes, clearly looking so attractive. "Because that's not stereotypical."
"Well, smart-ass-" I giggled. Smart-ass in a clear cut London accent didn't sound right at all. "- you think of something controversial but fairly inoffensive." Jake told me, poking my nose.
I ignored him, reading. Honestly, I was glad I'd shaken Natalia. If she'd managed to get into Jake's apartment, she'd never leave.
Of course, this morning, we hadn't known that The New York Times' best columnist, in Natalia's opinion, was British import Jake Hollingsworth. He apparently didn't go by his surname for his writing endeavours, so when Natalia had forced me – on my only day off in New York – to stalk him with her, it had been quite the surprise. Penname JV, he was known at work as Jacob Verity, rather than the Jake Hollingsworth I'd known in Seattle.
I suddenly giggled, remembering Jake's full name. Nobody ever called him "Jake" – that was just me. His nickname had been Fitch in high school (... after the Abercrombie models?) and he was formally known as Jacob, but never Jake. I mean, I'd randomly started calling him that and he'd never objected, so I'd always assumed it was okay.
Saying that, Jacob wasn't technically even his name. It was one of the middle names of his cousin. He'd nabbed it when he'd arrived in Seattle, because it was more assimilatory. There'd been nothing he could do about Hollingsworth without it becoming identity theft, but once people started calling him Fitch, that problem was taken care of.
"What's so funny?" Jake laughed, taking a swig of beer and apparently not caring about whether I may or may not have cooties. "What?"
"I just remembered your full name." I sniggered. Jake groaned as I cleared my throat and did, in my best and absolutely shitty English impression, "William Charles Sebastian Verity-Hollingsworth. Remind me what your dad is prince of, again?"
"He's not a prince, you uneducated American fool." Jake told me, making me glare at him as he smirked. Rude. "He's a Duke." Jake admitted, looking a little unhappy for a poor future Duke, and returning to his alcohol.
"I never understood why you came here to finish high school." I muttered, turning back to the computer screen. "I mean, from Eton... To the home of the Titans, International School in Seattle." I didn't need to say any more.
"Yes, you do." Jake sighed, hoisting me up onto his lap as I giggled and began to slip. He was pouting slightly, choosing to ignore my jibe about Eton. Aww. Poor little prince. "My aunt's husband died, remember? Dad couldn't leave a dukedom, Aunt Liza didn't want to move back to England and Mum was busy making sure Aunt Liza's children would be legible to inherit titles, choosing to stay in Seattle."
I was pretty sure that the reason I was stumped wasn't just because I was generously tipsy. I knew all of this about Jake. I mean, I knew more than most people. I knew his family were seriously important back in England and his Aunt Liza was awesome – I still saw her when I went back home.
"You know, I've always meant to ask." I mumbled over my bottle, looking at Jake with interest. I'd almost forgotten to ask. God, Jake had changed. But not enough to finally be unattractive. Moving on. "Because your Dad is a Duke, does that make you..." I waved my arms at him. "Like, a mini-duke?" I'd always kicked myself for never asking before. I was one of the few people that knew how fancy Jake's family really was – most people thought he just sounded like aristocracy, not that he was actually one of them.
"You mean, do I have a title?" Jake raised his eyebrows, taking another slug of delicious alcohol. I copied, feeling thirsty just looking at him. I nodded, while Jake shrugged. I was proud. I'd taught him how to shrug. "Allie, the feudal-style peerage system of the United Kingdom of Great Britain is a little heavy as a drunken conversational topic, don't you think?"
I groaned loudly. He used so many words.
"Could you sound more English?" I muttered, turning back to his computer, deciding to read the first line. Ha, wait until I told Natalia. She'd be so jealous, she'd die.
There were two things that I learnt extremely early, upon arriving from the "other side of the pond". One – women are universally confusing. Two – each country, or perhaps only continent, has different measures of confusing, created to help screw with the naive male mind even more.
That was all he had.
"Allie, why are you reading-"
"Sshh!" I hissed, settling my bottle carefully down on the desk and flexing my fingers. I wondered how well I could type whilst mildly intoxicated. Well, now was the time to test it. "No talking, my head hurts."
I hesitantly tapped the Caps Lock button. All good so far.
"Allie, what are you-"
"Shh!" I snapped, turning back to the laptop.
She: That's a load of bullshit, men are just universally stupid.
I finished typing, satisfied at my lack of typos. Jake went to open his mouth, but I slapped a finger over his mouth.
"No." I told him seriously.
After a minute's worth of glaring at me, Jake's eyes narrowed and, with one arm on either side of my body, began to type back a response.
He: No we're not. If that were true, then no man would ever be happy. As it turns out, the happy men are the ones who managed to wade through the abominable amount of mystery. Women are like onions. You have to peel through a lot of flaking skin (euphemism here for insecurities, tests and double meanings) to get to the onion itself, which will make you cry anyway.
"Bitter much?" I snorted. In the more sober stages of the conversation, when Jake and I had actually been catching up at dinner and not getting progressively more drunk at his apartment, I'd learnt that Jake had just been forcibly removed from a year and a half relationship. It had happened a few weeks ago and...
Well. The more we'd talked about it, the more we'd drank. At least my ex had been a cheating asshole, which made him way easier to get over.
Jake drank some more vodka, nodding at the keyboard.
It had been a good catch-up. I mean, after I'd gotten over how... Different Jake looked. Well, not too different, but... I don't know. Manlier, I guess? Before, he'd looked hot, sure, but this was something else.
Then there had been the actual stuff. When I used to go to Seattle for the holidays from UCLA, I'd see Jake if he was around and we'd talk, but that was only when he came to see Liza for the holidays. He'd stayed two years, before going back to England to study at Oxford, per family tradition or whatever. I'd seen him twice since then – not including now, clearly -, when he'd come over for Thanksgiving and Robert's (the cousin he'd stolen his name from) eighteenth birthday.
Since then, Jake had graduated from Oxford, before spending a year at Northwestern to study journalism. He'd been working at The New Yorker for two years now, ever since he'd finished college in Chicago. The fancy apartment we were sitting in was all his, with half of his rent paid by his boss and the other half by his other artistic endeavours; he freelanced for Time magazine and Vanity Fair.
My story had seemed disappointing in comparison. Maybe that was why I'd gotten so drunk.
I'd told him all about UCLA, and how I'd graduated last year. I told him how I was in New York with my publicity agency, working on the Malloy comeback and how Tristan Malloy, although I hadn't been allowed to speak to him, seemed hilarious. I'd told him how it sucked and even though I'd like California when I was in college, now it had lost its spark.
And then the drinking had begun.
Natalia had gotten too drunk to stand at dinner, so I'd sent her back to the hotel in a cab. And when Jake had offered for us to head back to his and keep talking, I'd said yes.
Now, before everybody starts yelling about how we'd both been drinking and it was a little sketchy that he was inviting me – it was Jake, okay? The guy I'd played Assassin's Creed and Grand Theft Auto with the entire summer before I'd started high school. And sure enough, when we'd gotten in, we'd talked and played video games until I'd hijacked the alcohol.
She: Mystery?! Please. The day guys get their heads out of their asses and their hands off of their pee-pee's, it'll feel like an apocalypse.
I nudged Jake uselessly with my elbow, as he swatted my hands away to reply.
He: How would you know what an apocalypse feels like?
She: The same way you say you know what an American citizenship is like.
Jake laughed at that. And then suddenly, I was laughing too and we were drinking again and then we were falling asleep.
"No." I groaned, feeling a keyboard smashed against my cheek.
I was hungover. I was really, really, really hungover.
I forced my eyes upon. This desk. The clothes on the sofa.
Oh, shit.
I jumped up and yelled as I stumbled back, just about catching myself on the computer chair. No. No, I was fully clothed. Grotty and hungover, yes, but fully clothed.
"Morning." I temporarily stopped rubbing my eyes to allow my jaw to drop – I currently wasn't capable of multi-tasking -, watching as Jake sleepily got up from the couch and stretched. "You refused to move away from the computer last night, I did try. Other than that, how did you sleep?"
In my defence, I had just woken up and was very, very disorientated. I was dazed, dazed and confused. I was out of it.
Which is why I stared so hard at Jake's naked chest.
Now, I'd like to point out that I had seen Jake shirtless on many an occasion. We were neighbours, for crying out loud – and his bedroom was opposite mine. We'd changed in the same room as each other and I'd had conversations with him when he was looking for fresh underpants, after coming fresh out of the shower in nothing but a towel. And shirtless Jake back in Seattle had been impressive. Just because I didn't want something pretty, didn't make it any less pretty.
But this, this was different. First of all, I hadn't exactly seen Jake's abdominal bricks of steel in a few years, not to mention the fact that there hadn't been tattoos on his chest the last time I'd seen him, okay? Jake had always been clean-cut, to an extent, at least. This was – this was different.
And okay, I should have figured different when instead of seeing the fresh-faced Jake I had been used to seeing as a tween, there was this tall, broad-shouldered "hunk" (Natalia's term, not mine) with a messy five o'clock shadow. But him shirtless.
Well, first of all, there was a cross on one side of his chest, and some writing on his upper left arm. I mean, there were more, one dangerously low on his pelvis. Like, dangerously low.
It was weird to think, but shirtless, Jake could pass off as a bad boy.
"They do not look standard Duke's-son issue." I told him, rubbing my temples. What? I had to say something, it wasn't like he couldn't feel me looking. Jake smiled, shaking his head, pulling a T-shirt over his head. "Did you get express permission from the Queen from those? Since when were you a tattoo kind of guy?!"
"I owe three out of seven to Oxford and the remaining four to Northwestern." Jake told me with a grin. "The lost weekends. Do you want coffee?"
Lost weekends. Jake had gone and experienced lost weekends at college. Okay. This wasn't weird at all.
How much had I thought this through, getting drunk and staying over at Jake's? I mean, this whole shirtless debacle was just proof that I barely knew the guy anymore. I hadn't spoken to him in like, what, two years?
Not to mention how Natalia was going to kill me, she'd be so jealous.
"You don't drink coffee..." I was officially weirded out. Particularly as Jake yawned and ruffled his hair as he walked over to the kitchen. "Since when do you drink coffee now? Did I really do that good of a job into turning you American?"
Jake snorted, before wincing at what I assumed to be the pain associated with that particular action when hung-over. It suddenly occurred to me that, if Jake had experienced lost weekends, he could handle way more alchol than me. Which meant if I'd thought he was more sober than me last night, he was ten times more sober than I'd originally thought him to be.
Oh, God. Not to mention I could taste the garbage that was my morning breath.
"No, I just assumed you still drank coffee and have an aversion to tea." Jake told me, taking out teabags as proof. I grunted, rubbing my head. Oh God. "Aren't you lucky it's a Sunday?"
To prove my mental wellbeing at that moment, let me tell you that I actually doubted him and thought it was Monday for a second. Meaning, I should be on a flight back to California.
I vowed to never be generously tipsy ever again. I knew that was a lie.
"Can you do me a favour and just send the attachment on that email, please?" Jake asked, along with the resoundingly noisy sounds of tins being scraped around. I nodded, tapping the laptop to life, eyeing the vodka bottles by the desk. Jesus, how much damage had I done to my liver yesterday? "My boss will be calling any time..." And as if on cue, the opening riffs of The Take Over, The Break's Over by Fall Out Boy started playing from the snazzy iPhone beside me. Well, at least his taste in music hadn't changed. "Here." Jake walked over with a tray of various breakfast drink assortments, swapping it for his cell.
I scooted out of his way as I heard somebody practically shout down his cell. A tray. Of course. How proper.
As it happened, I was glad of the tray, as Jake had made my coffee black. I added generous amounts of sugar, cream and milk. Jake had also been kind enough to leave a packet of aspirin next to the sugar bowl.
Failing that, I'd probably go for the hair of the dog that bit my ass in the first place.
"I just sent it." Jake was saying, as I blearily pulled my hair out of my face. God. My make-up felt smudged, too. I could hear Brianna already – God, Allison, you don't need help ruining your pores! "I know it's not much, but an old friend came into town-" I jumped as Jake winked at me. Winking? He was winking now?
My head hurt enough thanks to all of that vodka and beer, I didn't need Jake winking at me! Since when did Jake wink? I could remember the first time he experienced high school drama. He'd freaked. What the Hell was he doing, winking?
And just as if he'd read my mind, Jake suddenly froze.
"Wait a second, Bill-" He was muttering, as I sipped at my coffee. It was hot. Scalding, actually, but hey, at least I was reacting to something other than the fact Jake was freaking me out like it was Halloween, and this was an Anthony Hopkins movie. "Oh, no, no, no-"
I set my coffee down for a second, wandering over to the small mirror on the other wall. Oh, ew. I should become super rich, just so I could have a team of make-up artists, hair-dressers and cosmetic surgeons at my disposal every morning. I looked disgusting and I knew I stank from yesterday's drinking, anyway.
"Allie?"
I turned, Jake looking dazed, his cell phone in his hand.
"It's for you." Jake told me. I stared at him. Who the Hell would be calling me this early, on Jake's cell phone? Don't judge me, I was out of it, alright? "Quickly, Allie."
So I blundered over and took his cell phone.
"You're hired."
"Huh?" Intelligent response, I know.
"I loved that sample Jake sent over, of you both arguing." My eyes widened as I realized who I was talking to and, as I began to silently freak out at Jake, he just nodded, pointing for me to talk. That was his boss! His boss! I was talking to some high-flyer from The New York Times whilst hung-over! No, no, no! "You're hired. I want you to both do a segment every week, we can get more once we gauge a reaction-"
"I'm really sorry-" I tried to begin, but apparently Bill was not listening.
"- but you're hired. I like it. You'll get a different subject to discuss each week." Bill continued, as if I'd never spoken. What is happening? I mouthed to Jake. Jake shrugged, looking... Helpless. Wonderful. He was looking helpless, what the Hell was I meant to do?! "When can you move? Jake mentioned you're from out of town."
I practically ran over to the table and chugged down some coffee, feeling my eyes sting with tears at the temperature.
"Look, Bill-"
"Call me sir."
"Sir." I repeated, shaking my head a little. I'd barely been scraping through one job and suddenly, I was being offered another? What? All I'd done was get drunk and bump into an old friend, what, was that now a karmic sin or something? "I – I have a job, in California-"
"California is for suckers, blondes and people with Botox addictions." Bill snorted confidently. "New York is the real world, Miss-?"
"Finsbury." I told him dully. That was possibly the most accurate description of California I'd heard... Ever. What was even going on anymore? Was I dreaming? That had to be it. I was drunkenly dreaming. "Allison Finsbury, but my friends call me-"
"I don't care, I'm not your friend." Bill interrupted again. "Listen, Finsbury, I don't employ suckers, blondes or people with Botox addictions. Are you a blonde sucker with a Botox addiction?"
Jake was watching me curiously, looking only marginally less freaked out than me. Well, at least somebody knew what was going on.
"I'm... I'm blonde..." I muttered, looking to Jake for guidance. Jake wasn't even paying attention any more, which was comforting.
"Then dye your hair when I meet you." Bill told me quickly. "Now, seeing as you didn't say you were a sucker, I'm assuming you're not going to fall to stereotype enough to reject my offer. Let Jake know the details. Bye now!"
"No, wait-" How was this possible? Could people even hire people like that? Just... What? What was happening, what?! "Bill?" I asked, as the line went suspiciously quiet. "Bill?" I stared down at Jake's cell's screen. The line was dead. "What the Hell was that, dude?!" I yelled at Jake now, angrily shoving his cell back in his hand.
"Bill just offered you a job." Jake said slowly. "For the wrong attachment I sent."
"You idiot, why would you not check? We were hammered last night!" I gaped. "You don't even look panicky! Why aren't you panicky? Your boss expects your hotshot idea to be a team effort, isn't your job on the line?"
One thing I should have known? Just because Jake was proving to be full of surprises this morning, didn't mean the same old Jake I knew from Seattle wasn't there. Considering I'd gotten drunk so many times before (don't judge me), you'd think I'd be handling weird shit happening when I was hung-over better, but no.
Jake's mouth suddenly flipped into a small smile.
"Well, you're not going to let my job be in jeopardy, are you, Allie?" Jake asked sweetly.
I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON RIGHT NOW.
"Are you fucking crazy, Fitch?!" I suddenly yelled, about five minutes after Jake had actually spoken. "Seriously? I have a job, this conversation isn't even funny!"
"A job you dislike, have little chance of progressing in-"
"That was unnecessarily harsh." I snorted, mentally berating myself for adding but true.
"- due to the fact people irritate you-"
"Like you are." I muttered.
"- and in a city where there are many people with just as good an education as you, and more willing to fake a smile." Jake grinned. "Allie, come on, it'd be brilliant! Think about it. New York, a new job-"
"Nobody I know, a totally new environment I know nothing about and no apartment!" I added, my coffee forgotten by now. I winced as my head felt like somebody had whacked at it with a sledgehammer. I could probably blame Bill and Jake for that. "Even if this crazy idea, which isn't even worth considering, was a viable option – where would I stay? How could I afford it? Oh, right, I couldn't!"
"Stay with me." Jake offered, his easy grin looking way too comfortable. Maybe if I whacked him upside the head with a coffee mug, he would look a little less happy with himself, the asshole. "Oh, don't look at me like that! You could stay here, rent free, until you got settled-"
"Ha!" I yelled, for no apparent reason. I wouldn't not pay rent anyway, but I wouldn't be able to at first either – wait, why was I even thinking about this?!
"- and a new job, in something that could be fun." Jake's green eyes suddenly twinkled, as his eyes creased at the corners mischievously. Oh, please. His charm worked on all the ladies, sure, but it sure as Hell didn't work on me. We'd established that years ago. "With me."
This entire conversation made no sense.
"You've absolutely lost your mind." I told Jake slowly, collapsing onto the couch. "You're crazy. I am not about to uproot to New York for you, Jake!"
"Yes, you will." Jake told me with a confident smirk. Oh, so he smirked now, too. He smirked, he winked and he had tattoos. What next, had he gone to jail and contracted an STD?
"Oh, really, smart-ass?" I snorted, folding my arms over my chest. "Really, you sure about that? Really now?"
"Really." Jake nodded. "You're too competitive not too, Allie. You'd hate to chicken out."
And then the little prick walked off.
"You're wrong." I yelled after him, as he disappeared into the other room. Jake patronizingly "hmm"-ed me. "You're wrong!"
He was crazy. The whole conversation had been absurd. What, did he think he could just throw curveballs like that at people, and they'd do whatever he wanted? Please! No! No way!
"This is America, buddy!" I shouted some more, even though Jake was long gone. "Land of the free! I don't owe your fancy ass anything!" I slumped back onto the couch again. I didn't even know when I'd started standing up to yell. "No." I told myself. "It's crazy, what, a ten minute conversation, less even, not even ten minutes of being awake and you're suddenly going to turn your life around, Allie? No. No way. No way..."
You'd hate to chicken out.
In my defence, I at least pretended to think about it for a few moments.
Reaching for coffee, I started muttering to myself.
"He is going to pay my goddamned bills, too." I told myself. "Oh yeah and he owes me so huge for this, because I am doing him the favour, yes, totally, I am such a good friend..."
I pretended to not hear the hiss of victory from behind the corner, sighing as I glanced over at where Jake's laptop was silently mocking me.
He said, she said. That was what we'd done last night, to know whose comment was whose.
Well, Jake could be damned sure I'd have a lot to say now.
This was meant to be a oneshot but then characters and development and a plot happened and it just didn't end up working that way.
I'm very excited for this. It would have been longer, but I think it would work better for next chapter.
Let me know what you think!
- henbee