‘Okay, Steve, sure, I’ll do that,’ I say, forcing a smile. My voice is calm, even though I want to throw the coffee in his face. ‘Can you give us a minute, please?’
Oh, he’s not happy with that. I can see it in the way his smile falters, but he slinks away, thankfully.
‘Wow, you two are living together?’ Ethan asks, unable to mask his surprise.
‘No,’ I blurt out quickly, maybe too quickly. ‘I mean, yes, technically, we are living in the same flat, but we’re not living together. I’m in his spare room while I find a new place. Are you still living in London?’
‘Yeah,’ he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Some things never change. So, you’re still single?’
His question hangs in the air, and it only takes me a second or two to mentally dissect every word of it. ‘Some things never change.’ Does that mean some things have changed for him? And by asking if I’m still single, is there some kind of tone there? A hint? Does that mean he isn’t still single? Or am I just overthinking it? But then again, why wouldn’t I overthink it?
I must already seem like a total loser, because nothing has changed since he saw me last, except now he knows I’m living with Steve out of desperation. I need to say something to make me look good, like I’ve got things going on too.
‘Well, I’m actually going on a date tonight,’ I say, the words slipping out of my mouth before I can think them through.
‘Oh, that’s great,’ Ethan replies, his voice steady, and his expression annoyingly unreadable. ‘Anywhere nice?’
‘There’s a new-ish bar I’ve never been to in town, called 24bar,’ I reply, trying to sound casual. ‘Should be good.’
It’s not technically a date, though. I saw this guy, Pat, on Redflags, and his profile screenshot showed that he’s the manager at 24bar. His main red flag was that he’s a serial flirt with all women, even when he’s on dates. But his other red flag… well, I need to see that one to believe it.
‘Great,’ Ethan says again, although his enthusiasm seems to be dropping off. ‘Sort of a shame really, because I’m only here for one night, and I was going to see if… ah, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, Jennifer wants to talk in her office. It was good to see you again though. Take care, yeah?’
And with that, he’s gone, and I’m just standing there, watching the back of his head until he disappears.
Shit, maybe I’m clutching, but he didn’t seem happy at the idea of me having a date (even though it’s not a date), did he? And now I’m beating myself up, wondering why on earth I said it. But I can’t look back, I suppose, I have to look forward.
Unfortunately…
21
I like a good time, and a wild night out, but even for me 24bar seems like a bit much. It’s the sort of place where you would go if you wanted to party all night (and all day too), and while it isn’t quite open twenty-four hours a day, it seems as though it stays open as long as it is allowed as far as licence rules go.
It’s trying a bit too hard, if you ask me. The neon lights, the chaotic strobe, the loud thumping music that you can feel rumbling through your body – the kind that feels like it could stop your heart, if you stood on the spot for too long.
Walking up to the bar, to order a drink, I hope that Pat is working this evening.
Oh, and there he is. It doesn’t take me long to spot him, because he matches his Redflags description exactly. Ironically, one of his red flags is that his online dating profile photos doesn’t quite paint a full picture of Pat, but it’s not that he’s shorter than he says, or not as physically fit, or that he’s airbrushed imperceptions or anything like that… it turns out that Pat has a tattoo that he keeps hidden in his photos. Standing here in front of him, I can see why.
‘Oh, hey, can I get a drink, please?’ I ask him.
‘I’m just finishing for the evening,’ he tells me. ‘But Rory will serve…’
His voice trails off as he turns around to look at me. All I can look at is his tattoo.
‘Hi,’ he says with a cheeky grin.
‘Hi,’ I reply.
‘My eyes are up here,’ he jokes.
‘Sorry,’ I say with a laugh, averting my gaze, forcing myself to keep contact with his bright blue eyes instead. ‘It’s not every day you see a man with a tattoo of a… a… erm…’
‘That’s okay,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Oh, it’s great,’ I reply – well, it’s great to piss people off at a wedding, anyway.
My family hate tattoos. All of them, with no exceptions. They think they are idiotic, and tacky, and a very easy way to tell if someone is bad news. I have a few small ones, in places that are generally hidden, and I genuinely think they would disinherit me (if they haven’t already) if they saw them – not that I care.
