Our unlucky-in-love girl finally gives Will the elbow before agreeing to go for a drink with Jamie
After letting Jamie T know about the breakup, Tinderella finds herself agreeing to go for a drink with him...
BRITAIN has gone batty for online dating - but can you really find love at the touch of a button? This week Sun columnist Tinderella breaks up with Will… and hooks up with an old friend.
Will’s tear-stained collapse has done for us - I’ve broken up with him.
Once he’d calmed down, we sat on the couch and he confessed to “major trust issues” because his ex cheated on him. I knew she was poison!
Anyway, I was lovely to him but I’m tired of feeling like crap about our relationship.
So I told him he’s clearly not over her and I think we should spend some time apart.
He cried again and begged a bit but I said I needed some time “to get my head straight”.
That’s what they say on telly and it sounded pretty good. But in my heart, I think it’s over.
He hugged me tightly before he left - urgh, get off - and I harrumphed back down on the couch to text EVERYONE.
My mates all loved Will so I figure they’ll be gutted but Rach is the first to reply: “Oh my god, are you OK? I think it’s for the best.”
Great, they all secretly hated him. I text Jamie T next: “You still at work? Will just accused me of HAVING SEX with you!”
Jamie’s straight back: “Huh? That’s mental! Yep just finishing up here. Fancy a drink to tell me all about it?”
I meet him at a pub near the station and spilled my guts.
Stuff loyalty… I rant about Will’s nightmare kids, his boo-hoo fit, me not saying I love him, the huff over Hell’s worst boob selfie.
Jamie sits there sipping his beer and waits for me to draw breath. When I finally pause for air, he simply puts his pint down and says: “Well, he sounds like a f****** lunatic.”
The sheer relief of somebody getting it pops the tight balloon of tension in my chest.
I puff out a laugh and say: “Shall we get s***-faced?”
We agree to keep an eye on train times as I buy a bottle of wine (and four Jagerbombs).
We neck the shots then settle into the wine, and there’s a point where the words “last train” are murmured and then forgotten.
“You can stay at mine again,” I say sheepishly. And he kisses me all the way home in the cab.
Back at mine, all the frustration and misery of the last few months bubbles up and I start tearing Jamie’s clothes off.
Like the Sex Pest from the West, I push him down on the bed and straddle him before thoughts of Will can intrude.
I wake up beside him next morning and peer at my phone. Will has texted: “I haven’t slept a wink, baby. I bet you haven’t either. Shall we try again?”
Oh god - I clutch my throbbing head and roll over back to sleep.
Got a question, suggestion or even dating advice for Tinders? Email her at [email protected]