So, sure, if it’s true that Pat flirts with every woman he meets, then it might be kind of funny to take him to the wedding, to see him flirting with Bea, or Seph – imagine him flirting with the bride – but I think it’s the tattoo that’s going to really piss them off. I don’t think they would be happy about the tattoo – which takes up most of his neck – no matter what it was of, but what it is… oh, what it is… I’m laughing, just thinking about the looks that will be on their faces. Pat has what I can only describe as a medical diagram of the female genitalia – a worm’s eye view, if you will – complete with labelled parts and artistic pubic hair.
My God, it’s so hard not to just stare into the thing. The detail is just… wow. I have one, and even I feel like I’m learning things, seeing it from a whole new perspective.
‘Can I make you a drink?’ Pat asks.
‘I’d love one,’ I reply. ‘What are we having?’
‘Let’s find out,’ he replies.
Pat places bottles down on the bar before stepping out from behind it and walking around to sit next to me.
I feel weirdly excited, as I watch him get to work, pouring various ingredients into a shaker before mixing them up (with that level of flair only the pros have), and pouring the finished drink between glasses.
It’s thick and bright red, almost like blood, but it smells so fruity and light.
Pat accidentally knocks the cocktail mixer on the floor, as he quickly extends his arms to reveal two straws hiding in his sleeve. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t quite have the routine nailed, but the drinks look good at least.
‘Shit,’ he says with an awkward laugh. ‘Almost cool, eh? Can you grab that for me?’
‘I didn’t see a thing,’ I reassure him as I bend down to pick it up.
It takes me a few seconds to locate it, on the dark floor, but as a disco light homes in on it, the flash of light on the silver metal catches my eye. Got it.
I have no idea what is happening but all of a sudden I see something hurtling towards me. A man – a drunk, probably – crashes into us. He knocks Pat, then the stool I was sitting on, sending it crashing to the floor.
‘Watch where you’re going or I’ll kick you out, you moron,’ Pat yells at him.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ the drunk man replies.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Pat says, crouching down on the floor. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, yeah, I’m fine, he didn’t get me,’ I tell him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, took a bit of a bump, but all good – and the stool isn’t broken, no harm done,’ he says. ‘It’s sort of an occupational hazard.’
I bet.
‘Are the drinks okay?’ I ask him. ‘That’s the real question.’
Pat laughs, helping me to my feet.
‘Yeah, they’re all good,’ he replies. ‘That one is yours, right there.’
I get back on my stool, pick up my glass and take a sip.
‘Oh, wow, that’s amazing,’ I tell him.
I try to say it to his face but it’s so hard, trying not to stare at his neck tattoo, so I find myself averting my gaze again.
That’s when I see him, the man that bumped into us, walking away with a smirk on his face.
Oh… my… God. It’s Ethan. What the hell is he playing at? I guess I told him I would be here but I didn’t think he would turn up here. And bumping into us? Wow, that’s psychotic. That’s Steve-type behaviour, right there.
He doesn’t seem bothered that I’ve spotted him, that I’ve caught him in the act – instead he looks quite proud of himself. He flashes me a wink before he heads deeper into the dance floor until he’s out of sight.
Okay, right, well, obviously I shouldn’t mention that I know him to Pat, because it’s going to make me seem like a mess.
Yes, Pat, the one with the lady parts permanently inked on his neck. That Pat.
