Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy by Katey Lovell (best autobiographies to read .txt) 📕

That’s the difference. If I cared for Max as much as I professed to, surely I wouldn’t have kissed Darius in the first place. The thought of Max gave me butterflies, the potent mix of lust and regret fizzing like a soluble vitamin tablet in a glass of water. Then Summer’s angelic face took over, and the way Darius’s kiss had brought back memories of the good times, and I was left as confused as ever.

“Maybe Eve will find a wealthy American over here.” Tawna grinned. It was the same as when the two of them discussed my love life in my presence as though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. “I should have got that businessman’s number for you. He was all right looking, if you go in for the briefcase and braces type.”

“Let’s join the queue,” I said in an attempt to kill the conversation. I sensed Eve’s discomfort from the way she shifted from one foot to the other. “We don’t know how long we might be waiting for a lift.”

We stepped into the lobby, cooing over the gleaming walls. The air conditioning was a welcome contrast to the claustrophobic heat of the city on the street.

Conversations of love were long forgotten as we joined the queue, chattering about the iconic building’s place in film history in movies such as King Kong and Sleepless in Seattle. However, Max remained very much at the forefront of my mind.

I checked my phone.

We were flagging by the time we made our way back to the hotel, adrenaline only able to keep us awake for so long. Our trip to the top of the Empire State Building had taken up more of the day than we’d anticipated, the winding queue inside slow-moving; but it had been worth it for the views out over Manhattan and beyond, the cloudless aquamarine skies the perfect backdrop for the cityscape below. We’d posed for photos on the deck, laughing and smiling despite our exhaustion, because that’s what three Geordie girls in New York City do.

When our feet were back on solid ground, we found a bar which served extortionately priced fruity cocktails in sugar-rimmed glasses, glad of the alcohol soaking into our weary bodies. Tawna was still on the lookout for a man for Eve, eyeing up every male who walked through the door as a possible future husband for our friend. Unfortunately for Tawna (but fortunately for Eve) most of them came in with girlfriends, or didn’t pass Tawna’s stringent quality testing, so it remained just us three, laughing and chatting and reminiscing like in the old days, as we enjoyed our cocktails.

By the time we made our way back through the crowds in Times Square we were tipsy, and tipsy and tired wasn’t a good combination for me. In fact, it was right up there on a par with hungry and tired for making me short-tempered and foul-mouthed, which was how the argument started.

Tawna’s opening gambit was probably innocuous in her mind, a “joke” about how me and Eve were lightweights for needing to go back to the hotel after a few cocktails.

“You never used to be like this, Sophie,” she slurred, teetering on her heels like a toddler taking her first steps. “You used to party as hard as the rest of us.”

“Pacing myself,” I mumbled back.

“It’s my hen do.” Her lips protruded. “Stop being so boring. You’ve been checking your phone all night long and your face is like a slapped backside. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

“We are having fun,” Eve replied, ever the mediator, “but it’s been a long day. If we go back to the hotel, we can have a cheeky disco nap and a freshen up and then go out again later.”

None of the crowds were walking in a straight line, they darted in and out of the oncoming human traffic, zigzagging across the wide pavements and clashing shoulders without so much as a glance back to check the person they’d bumped into was okay. The enormous neon signs flashing up colourful advertisements caused me to blink until I could barely focus.

“It’s you two who don’t have the stamina. I’m doing fine,” Tawna retorted. To prove her point she grabbed the arm of a tourist wielding a long-lens camera. He jumped back, probably fearing attack. “I don’t look drunk, do I?” she screamed in his face. “I look like I could party all night.”

The man shook his head, then nodded, unsure of the correct response.

“See!” she exclaimed, turning back to us. “Maybe I should find another bar and go there on my own, as my two best friends, my two bridesmaids, aren’t up for making a proper night of it.” Her pout was so furious that she looked like Donald Duck.

“Don’t be like that, Tawna.” Eve sighed, as the man Tawna had approached looked warily in our direction as he backed away. “How about we have a drink in the hotel bar? It’ll be more chilled out in there.”

“I don’t want chilled out,” she flounced, but she still turned left into the bar rather than right towards the elevators as we stumbled into the hotel lobby.

“Go on then. I’m sure I can manage another one or two.” It was an attempt to show willing, even though my whole body ached with utter exhaustion. What I really wanted was a long soak in the bath and a good night’s sleep, but my boundless loyalty to Tawna wouldn’t let me retreat to my room. “It is your hen do, after all.”

“My first hen do,” Tawna corrected, grabbing a cocktail menu from the bar. “There’s the ‘Dirty Dancing’ night, of course. I’ve not forgotten you sorted that, the date’s in my phone.” The comment came across as patronising and her sickly-sweet smile grated on me. She was making out we should be grateful she’d remembered our efforts. “And then I’m arranging a