“So, if you're possibly an alcoholic,” I point at his drink. “Then what's that?”
If he's unnerved by what I just said, it doesn't show. “This? Well, yes, it's a mocktail. I asked your bar staff to make it for me,” he tells my brother. “I like to call it Sex with Socks On. It's basically Sex on the Rocks, but no liqueur.”
“What's Sex on the Rocks?” I say, without thinking it through.
“A cocktail,” Jake says at the same time that the lightning-fast Marty leans towards me and says, “Maybe you'll find out one day soon.”
I know my brother doesn't hear because he isn't doing what I'm doing, which is staring at Marty so intently my pupils feel strangely immovable in my skull.
Yep, my eyes are definitely hard.
“Sorry.” Marty leans and brings his chiselled face closer, just a few inches away. I can smell him – it’s spice and citrus and something else, not sweet, not floral, but still soft and fresh. He doesn't touch me even though part of me wants him to, just a tap on my knee or maybe a gentle nudge on my arm, just something to let me know if this attraction I feel is real. That it's not just made up of the evening’s warm air, the cocktail I just drank and the magic-hour light that surrounds us now that the sun is a little lower in the sky.
“That was a bit forward, even for me. I apologise,” he says.
As Marty sits back a little, I realise that I can't think of witty things to say because it’s been a long time since I flirted like this. But I suppose I may have to try and learn again soon. This spurs me on to try a little harder.
“Don’t apologise. I need telling sometimes. I only know about Sex on the Beach, you see, but everyone knows about that, don’t they? You probably don't need reminding exactly how sweet and juicy and fun that is, do you?” I say, staying close but also ensuring no part of my body touches his.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake being approached by a staff member and after a very dramatic eye-roll he's standing up and walking away, doing up another button in his shirt.
With him gone, I can unabashedly fix my attention on Marty, and I do, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I start to think I've left him speechless, and that makes me feel almost as good as when he pointed at me earlier. But a beat later he’s composed, turning his head so our eyes meet. This close to him I can see how they’re oak brown with flecks of other colours in them, green and gold maybe.
He holds my gaze as he speaks. “You're right. I'm not interested in Sex on the Beach, and I can't even say I crave real Sex on the Rocks but being sober does meanI miss the shit out of French Kisses, Screaming Orgasms, Sloe Screws and a good old-fashioned Royal Fuck.”
His dimples are back as he smiles. Then he sits back and watches me react.
It's my turn to swallow hard and force myself to blink slowly, ensuring that when I open my eyes again, he sees the wide, playful grin on my face as I point my finger at him.
“Are they even all cocktail names? Because if they're not, you're cheating, and I do not tolerate cheaters.”
His dimples deepen as he laughs. He puts his drink down, uncrosses his legs as if to ground himself, and leans towards me again. “I'm a lot of fucked up things, Jenna, but I'm not a cheater. And yes, they're all real cocktail names. But I can't even blame my alcoholism on that. I've worked in bars and restaurants since I was fifteen, and right now I'm working for my uncle who runs a cocktail lounge and restaurant in Dublin.”
“Sounds fancy,” I say, hoping I didn’t flinch. It’s just so strange to hear him say things like ‘working in bars and restaurants’. It’s like going back in time to my teenage and student years.
He seems oblivious as he continues to smile and stare at me. “It is. It's exactly the kind of place I imagine you would look very comfortable in.”
He’s not suggesting a date, and yet I feel like I've been accosted. This whole conversation feels like I'm being accosted. Part of me is desperate to dive in and bathe in it, but I also want to check first that the water is safe to swim in. I want to know that this banter isn't just a facade for something else.A joke. A dare. Simply put, I don’t want to be made a fool of. I’m not strong enough for that yet. Perhaps it’s this awareness of my own vulnerability that again makes me reach for a terrible joke.
“So, at the risk of being both racist and insensitive, what's it like being Irish and an alcoholic?”
His reaction is worth the risk because laughter rumbles out of him.
“I guess it's like being Italian and gluten-intolerant... Or French and vegan.” I laugh with him.
“You are a funny man, Marty. Sobriety looks good on you,” I say, although I want to suck the words back into my mouth as soon as they're gone. How do I know if it looks good on him compared with when he was drinking? I force myself to not think about what would lead a man who is surely only in his twenties, to call himself an “alcoholic, possibly”.
“Can I buy you another drink so you can say more flattering things like that to me?” Marty asks as his laughter dies.
“As long as it's a Sex with Socks On,” I say, far too swiftly. “I feel like sobering up too.”
He gives me another dimple-framed smile, then pushes up to stand, and that’s when I see exactly how tall and broad andrealhe is. The noise my throat makes is so much louder than I would like that I'm grateful when he doesn't seem to notice before striding away. I sit back and watch him, telling myself that if all I get this evening is the opportunity to watch him walk away from me like this, slightly bow-legged, thick in the thighs and shoulders, and narrow in his waist and ankles, then I'll be happy and grateful, and frankly, good to go for a marathon masturbation session tonight. This thought has me bringing my hand to my mouth to smother a giggle, which is how Jake finds me as he rushes back into my line of sight.
“Can you fucking believe it?” he exclaims, his hands moving as fast as his mouth. “My first night off in weeks and one of the mid-level villas added sodding bubble bath to their jacuzzi. It's like a naff Magaluf-in-2005 foam party up there! We have only minutes to stop it cascading over the terrace to the villa below, so it's all hands on deck. Just wanted to check you were okay and...” He trails off as he sees Marty standing at the bar, leaning against it and giving me a thumbs-up. A thumbs-up that gives myself and Jake a clear view of how long and thick and curved that digit is.
“Clearly, you are more than fine,” Jake says, lifting his left eyebrow and studying me for a moment. “You know, if you weren't my sister, I would tell you that you have a moral obligation to yourself to screw his brains out...”
“I literally just met him.” I shake my head at my brother.
