Read Online Remember My Name by Abbey Clancy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Abbey Clancy
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I don’t usually think I am.
I’m all right—I’m not so boring someone would fall asleep while they’re having a conversation with me or anything—but I’m not likely to be signed up as a guest on
Newsnight
any time soon either. And I’m okay looking—I know I’m not a minger,and I scrub up well, but I’m nothing special. Nobody’s going to trip over themselves staring at me on the street.
But with Jack, I felt different. He made me feel like I was a sexy supermodel, not just someone who scrubbed up well. He made me feel like my stories were brilliant, my views were important, that everything about me was fascinating. We laughed and we chatted and we flirted and we drank—and it was all totally dazzling. It was like being exposed to a completely new species of manhood—one I’d never encountered before.
Maybe I was a bit star struck, I don’t know. Maybe I was also a bit grateful, that Jack had seen something in me that so many others had missed. Maybe I was just sex-starved and he was gorgeous. Whatever the reasons, though, the end result was the same—I was hooked.
When we’d emerged from the bar and climbed into his Audi I’d been merry and giggly and high on life. He was nowhere near as merry—he was driving, after all—but he did seem happy.
‘I’ve had a wonderful night, Jess,’ he said, turning towards me and laying one hand on my knee. I don’t know whether he’d planned it that way, but he’d parked right under one of those old-fashioned streetlights that’s made of curved wrought iron and looks all olde worldy, like something from a Dickens film. The glow from it was cast over his face, shining from his dark eyes, glinting on the deep brown waves of his hair. To use an intellectual term, it was pretty hot.
‘Me too,’ I said, then straight away burped like a frog with some serious digestive issues. It was a good, strong burp—deepand croaky. Luke would probably have given it an eight out of ten for comedy effect.
I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, and realised I was too tipsy to be as horrified as I should be. Instead, I started laughing—because, you know, noises that come from your body are naturally funny. At least they are where I come from—we never get fed up of fart jokes in our house.
He joined in, and we both laughed for a few minutes, until I was able to speak again.
‘I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not really,’ I said. ‘It’s your fault for getting me drunk. And at least it was only one burp—my sister Becky can do them on demand. She can even make tunes out of them.’
‘Really?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow and grinning. ‘How fantastic. Has she considered going on
Britain’s Got Talent
?’
‘Not yet, but I might suggest it to her … Anyway, I really did have a great night, Jack. I suppose I’d better get home and sleep this off.’
He nodded, and looked at me seriously, his eyes never moving from mine. Unlike his hand, which was definitely moving—in little circular motions on my thigh that should have tickled, but instead just made me feel a bit gooey inside.
‘Is that what you want?’ he said simply, all traces of laughter gone from his voice. ‘To go home? Because of course, I’ll take you if you do. But … I was wondering … if you’d like to take this to the next level? Come back to mine for a coffee?’
Something in my expression must have changed—and maybe he interpreted it as something negative—becausestraight away he continued: ‘And by coffee, I do mean coffee—no strings attached.’
‘Oh,’ I said, leaning back in the plush leather seat in a way I hoped was sexy, but probably just made me look like I needed a wee. ‘Just for a coffee? I can get coffee at my flat.’
‘Mine’s better,’ he replied, instantly, smiling at me in a way that I can only describe as Pure Sexy. ‘It’s hotter and it’s smoother and it’ll definitely keep you up all night. If that’s what you want.’
It
was
what I
I’m all right—I’m not so boring someone would fall asleep while they’re having a conversation with me or anything—but I’m not likely to be signed up as a guest on
Newsnight
any time soon either. And I’m okay looking—I know I’m not a minger,and I scrub up well, but I’m nothing special. Nobody’s going to trip over themselves staring at me on the street.
But with Jack, I felt different. He made me feel like I was a sexy supermodel, not just someone who scrubbed up well. He made me feel like my stories were brilliant, my views were important, that everything about me was fascinating. We laughed and we chatted and we flirted and we drank—and it was all totally dazzling. It was like being exposed to a completely new species of manhood—one I’d never encountered before.
Maybe I was a bit star struck, I don’t know. Maybe I was also a bit grateful, that Jack had seen something in me that so many others had missed. Maybe I was just sex-starved and he was gorgeous. Whatever the reasons, though, the end result was the same—I was hooked.
When we’d emerged from the bar and climbed into his Audi I’d been merry and giggly and high on life. He was nowhere near as merry—he was driving, after all—but he did seem happy.
‘I’ve had a wonderful night, Jess,’ he said, turning towards me and laying one hand on my knee. I don’t know whether he’d planned it that way, but he’d parked right under one of those old-fashioned streetlights that’s made of curved wrought iron and looks all olde worldy, like something from a Dickens film. The glow from it was cast over his face, shining from his dark eyes, glinting on the deep brown waves of his hair. To use an intellectual term, it was pretty hot.
‘Me too,’ I said, then straight away burped like a frog with some serious digestive issues. It was a good, strong burp—deepand croaky. Luke would probably have given it an eight out of ten for comedy effect.
I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, and realised I was too tipsy to be as horrified as I should be. Instead, I started laughing—because, you know, noises that come from your body are naturally funny. At least they are where I come from—we never get fed up of fart jokes in our house.
He joined in, and we both laughed for a few minutes, until I was able to speak again.
‘I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not really,’ I said. ‘It’s your fault for getting me drunk. And at least it was only one burp—my sister Becky can do them on demand. She can even make tunes out of them.’
‘Really?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow and grinning. ‘How fantastic. Has she considered going on
Britain’s Got Talent
?’
‘Not yet, but I might suggest it to her … Anyway, I really did have a great night, Jack. I suppose I’d better get home and sleep this off.’
He nodded, and looked at me seriously, his eyes never moving from mine. Unlike his hand, which was definitely moving—in little circular motions on my thigh that should have tickled, but instead just made me feel a bit gooey inside.
‘Is that what you want?’ he said simply, all traces of laughter gone from his voice. ‘To go home? Because of course, I’ll take you if you do. But … I was wondering … if you’d like to take this to the next level? Come back to mine for a coffee?’
Something in my expression must have changed—and maybe he interpreted it as something negative—becausestraight away he continued: ‘And by coffee, I do mean coffee—no strings attached.’
‘Oh,’ I said, leaning back in the plush leather seat in a way I hoped was sexy, but probably just made me look like I needed a wee. ‘Just for a coffee? I can get coffee at my flat.’
‘Mine’s better,’ he replied, instantly, smiling at me in a way that I can only describe as Pure Sexy. ‘It’s hotter and it’s smoother and it’ll definitely keep you up all night. If that’s what you want.’
It
was
what I
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