‘Not quite.’
‘Not quite?’
Not at all.
He keeps prodding. ‘There’s a story at least.’
‘Everyone has stories. Ask what you really want to ask,’ I say, jabbing the paper straw so hard against the glass that it rips.
For a moment, he seems taken aback by my dare; he thought I’d retreat instantly. Admittedly, without two drinks in my system I probably would have. But the gin is burning its way through my body and infusing everything it touches with unbridled confidence.
‘Did you ever date anyone at Winterdown?’ he asks, vaguely changing the subject.
I shake my head.
‘Surprising,’ he says.
‘Why?’
‘Well, you were. . .’ He drops it. ‘Dating someone right now?’
‘Nope.’
‘How many exes?’ he asks.
‘One.’
‘One?’ His eyes grow wide.
I shrug. ‘Well, yeah, kind of.’
It’s enough to make me shrivel inside myself again.
‘It’s not uncommon. In fact, it’s probably more common than socials let on. Between the limited good options and desirability politics, I don’t get how so many people bounce from long-term thing to long-term thing. I’ve only been with one person I’d consider an ex, and even that is generous.’
My mini rant pours out my mouth before I’ve even realised that I’ve started, but he doesn’t mock me or let out a single laugh. Instead, he listens quietly and carefully, eyes still affixed to my own.
‘Why is it generous?’ he asks. ‘What happened?’
His eyes trace the crease of my brow as he patiently and delicately awaits whatever answer I feel comfortable enough to give him.
‘It was more an arrangement of convenience and it just fizzled out, I guess,’ I say. ‘He was this guy at uni and I’d never really dated. Honestly, I don’t even know if I really liked him. A part of me genuinely liked that he liked me, but a bigger part just wanted to get the virginity thing out the way.’
‘Tick off another milestone.’ The way he says it is earnest, like he truly understands.
‘Exactly.’ I smile back. It’s weak, but he accepts it. ‘What about you? Any girls in the picture?’
‘None that I care about,’ he answers, shrugging callously.
‘Charming,’ I remark, as he flashes a teasing smile.
It sparkles more than it should and makes my stomach turn inside out, reminding me of our current proximity. We’re still sat knee to knee, squashed in the corner of the empty booth as if everyone else was still squeezed there with us. I can feel our legs brush against each other, see his back pressed to the wall, but I have no desire to spread out and he hasn’t asked me to.
‘I’m kidding. Honestly, I’m not really into all that right now. When things ended with Luce, I realised it’s kinda stupid to get that attached to one person,’ he says.
‘Luce?’ I ask tentatively.
It’s the first time I’ve heard him mention any name outside of a work context and it somehow hits harder hearing that it’s a girl. I don’t want to prod too hard– I’m worried that if I do, he’ll close right back up again. But I want to know who Luceis. I have a strong, presumably gin-fuelled desire to know more about him.
