Free 50 Ways to Find a Lover by Lucy-Anne Holmes Page A

Selina Gutteridge’s boyfriend, but for Selina’s sake I hope it wasn’t the man who was made to bark like a dog while Rachel spanked his bottom. Rachel gets an average of forty-five comments per posted article, although when she took a photograph of her post-operation bare breasts she got 112. No wonder she laughed when I told her about my two.
    We read in silence. Rachel is an avid supporter of masturbation, especially on public transport, it appears.
    ‘I love her blog!’ exclaims Julia. I haven’t seen Julia so excited since she first used Touche Éclat.
    ‘Come on, it’s not that wonderful,’ I say. I’m trying to stop being jealous of Rachel Bird but I feel the same way I did after the school play when my dad went on and on about how brilliant she was. I have always been the Primark to Rachel Bird’s Prada. I know that Julia prefers Rachel’s blog to mine. I know that I am being childish but it hurts.
    ‘Can’t believe you both went to the same school. She’s so rude,’ mumbles Julia, eyes riveted to the page.
    ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, offended.
    ‘Well, she’s obsessed with sex and you never have it.’
    ‘I’ve got a vibrator!’ I say indignantly.
    ‘Yeah, it’s still in its box!’
    My phone starts ringing. I pull it out from the pocket of my waitressing apron. It is a mobile number that I don’t recognize. Please God, let it be Paul. ‘Please let it be Paul,’ I whisper to myself as I walk into the kitchen to take the call. I know I should have given up on him by now but there is a small chance that he had to go abroad for two weeks and left in such a rush that he forgot to take my contact details from under his pillow.
    The Polish chefs are huddled around the dishwasher, sniggering at a dog-eared copy of Big Bottomed Babes .
    ‘Hello,’ I say into the phone.
    ‘Hi Sarah, it’s Louis.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Louis . . . We met at the football.’
    ‘Oh, hi,’ I say, hoping he can’t hear the disappointment in my voice. I’ve been asking God repeatedly for Paul to call me but what does God do? He gets the other one to call me.
    ‘How are you doing?’
    ‘Good, thanks, you?’
    ‘Great, yeah, nearly sorted for the move. I was wondering if you fancied meeting up for a drink later?’
    The only plans that I had for this evening were red wine and X Factor . I could video X Factor and do that tomorrow. However, if I meet Louis it would be for sex. Do I want to meet a man for sex? Rachel Bird would. Rachel Bird would probably turn up in crotchless knickers with a strap-on willy in a knapsack.
    ‘OK. I did have something planned but I could move it,’ I say.
    ‘Great. Listen, why don’t you come to mine, my flatmate’s out. I’ll text you the address. About eight.’
    ‘Great.’
    I am going to have sex tonight. From what I can remember of it I do like sex. However I feel scared. No one has visited my lady’s place for nearly a year. I had hoped that when it was to reopen to the public it would be in style. Perhaps at a Parisian hotel in the Latin Quarter after champagne and oysters on a big bed with a man I was falling in love with. I’m a bit disappointed he’s not offering me dinner first. It’s just a straight offer of a shag in his flat. Oh well, at least there’s no danger of me eating too much first and saying, ‘I’m so stuffed, bagsy you go on top.’
    I emerge from the kitchen clutching my mobile. Julia is hunched over Rachel Bird’s blog, saying, ‘Oh my God’ repeatedly.
    ‘Sare, she’s just had a wank at The Ivy.’
    ‘I’m going to have sex tonight,’ I say nonchalantly, before wandering over to table 2 to take their order. Julia is salivating with anticipation when I return.
    ‘Oh my God! With who?’
    ‘You’ll have to read about it in my blog, Julia,’ I say cruelly.
    ‘Don’t be such a bitch. Tell me now!’
    ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘You can read about it in my blog tomorrow.’

 
eleven
     
    I’m wearing hold-ups. I don’t like wearing