He holds eye contact as he lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his curly brown head. His teeth are ultra white against his olive complexion, and I place him at not a day over twenty years old.
“Not if you don’t snitch on me,” he says conspiratorially, nodding his head down to a pre-mixed can underneath his equipment. “Not supposed to be drinking on the job.”
“Ah, one won’t hurt, eh?” I crack the lid off the bottle and take a discreet swig, grateful that the lights are low enough that I shouldn’t draw too much attention to myself, and as of two minutes ago I still had Zayn clocked at table thirteen.
“One drink or one bottle?” He gestures to the one in my hand that I just took a second swig from. I shrug in response.
“You have a fight with your boyfriend or something?”
“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?” I sound more accusing than I intended. Maybe I’m just touchy about everyone assuming I’m here with Zayn when in reality he’s fucking, and is possibly in love with, his colleague. The ugly thought of it keeps running on replay in my head.
“Um…” The DJ looks sheepish, as though he’s been caught doing something naughty and not the other way around. “I think every male in here tracked your entrance into the room and saw the guy with his hands on you.”
I stare at him blankly. “Huh?”
He shuffles his feet, and I notice a youthful flush blanket over his cheeks. He’s got a wholesome handsomeness about him that, strangely, hasn’t given him the ego a young man of his appeal usually carries. Not that that’s a terrible thing. Nothing good usually comes from cockiness.
“You’re stunning,” he admits almost reluctantly. “And your, ah, boyfriend? Husband? Was giving major ‘this woman is mine touch her and die’vibes while walking beside you.”
“Well that’s just ridiculous, on both counts.”
“It’s not.”
I take another swig and eye him. “What’s your name?”
“Lenny,” he says slowly, as if trying to decide why I’d be asking for his name and if I’m about to go make a complaint against him to the manager.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Lenny.” I lean in towards him and whisper loud enough that I may as well hadn’t bothered whispering at all, alerting me to the fact that the alcohol has started to work its magic. “Zayn and I aren’t together. We’re just friends.”
Lenny actually laughs. “Right, maybe you should try telling him that.”
Then he nods over to what I know is Zayn’s general vicinity. When I turn to follow, I’m met with Zayn’s heated glare directed toward me. He’s far enough away that the scrutiny in his gaze seems lessened by the dozen or so bodies between us, but the intention of his stare is madeobvious when it cuts down to the bottle in my hand then back up to my face.
I could placate him by sending him a text sayingRelax, I’m not going to drink the whole bottle, but when I see Monica insert herself into the group and twist a dainty arm around his, I merely just turn back to Lenny and indulge in another mouthful.
Lenny looks like he wants to say something about the alcohol-to-time-consumed ratio but wisely decides against it.
“Need company in the booth tonight?” I ask, nodding down at his decks. “I’ve never DJ’d before but I reckon I’ve got pretty good taste in music.”
Lenny laughs and hands me a second set of headphones, which I place around my neck one-handed, refusing to let go of the wine bottle. Call me jaded, but I’d rather not be drugged again tonight.
“This is where you can search for songs and add them to the list,” Lenny explains as he shows me on the laptop, indulging me with an unearned show of faith. “The crowd here is of the professional sort, so I would insist on giving a wide berth to anything hectic in terms of beat or profanity.”
“So what you’re saying is no Tupac or 50 Cent?” I mock pout as I browse the list he’s already put together. Lots of contemporary songs of present and past. Not bad, some bangers in there for sure.
“Definitely not.”
“Candy Shop usually gets the party going, though?”
There’s a moment where Lenny hasn’t realised I’m joking, and the sight of his wide-eyed horror makes me burst into giggles. When it clicks and he follows up with, “Imagine this crowd of barristers singing along toI’ll take you to the candy shop, I’ll let you lick the lollipop,”we botherupt with laughter so hard I feel tears leaking down my cheeks.
I look back up to find Zayn still glaring at me from across the room. What is his problem tonight? Anyone would think I pissed in hiscreme brûléeor something. At least Monica is no longer gripping onto him like she’s stuck out at sea and he’s a floatie, though. Now she’s just merely staring up at him, hanging off his every word like he’s Moses speaking the gospel. I try to put him, his mood and Monica out of my mind, strongly helped along with another couple sips of wine, and start constructing what I personally believe is a playlist that will have even Martin and Penny twerking by the end of the night.
“I need to break the seal,”I half-shout to Lenny over the music twenty minutes later. Zayn, still entrenched in his ‘one minute’ chat, fails to notice me sidle out of the DJ booth and make my way to the ladies.
“I’ll watch your bottle,” Lenny signals to me and I give him a thumbs up, not bothering to tell him I’m not drinking any more since I noticed three quarters of the bottle was somehow already gone. Whoops.
When I come out of the toilets I’m greeted by a rather unpleasant surprise.
