CALLUM
Abby is a beautiful name, but one I’ll have to forget. I was under no illusion she’d fall at my feet. She’s far too classy for that, but, unable to forget her, I’d been compelled to at least try to penetrate the hardened wall of her cool exterior. Reluctantly, I accept her big fat resounding no. A pity, but not to be.
Eddie and James are already propping up the bar and Marcus kept his word, landing in for a short while before embarking on the journey home to his family. Ollie appears at the same time as me.
‘There you are,’ Eddie states the obvious.
‘We were beginning to think you’d wimped out of the bet.’ James takes a sip of his Heineken Zero.
I’d forgotten about the bet, preoccupied looking for ‘the next one’. An image of Abby in that indecently decent dress sweeps regrettably through my mind. Why is the allure of the unavailable so much more enticing?
‘Don’t be daft. That Audi is mine. Fake it until you make it, right?’
These lads have seen me at my best and my worst, yet my private life is something I can’t share. The concept of being judged, or worse, pitied is unbearable. It’s far easier to be a player for the sake of being a player. Besides, not everyone craves the deep and meaningful.
‘Tonight’s the night, buddy,’ Marcus warns me mischievously.
It takes a second to register. They can’t seriously mean to pick out a woman here?
‘Here? You’ve got to be fucking joking.’
‘Why else do you think I’m hanging round here with you losers when I could be at home having a drink with my gorgeous wife?’ Marcus pokes me firmly in the chest.
‘This place is full of skirt.’ James glances around the busy room. Women dominate the numbers, sipping wine and drinking gin from enormous fruit-filled chalices.
A ripple of nerves flickers through me as they eye up potential candidates for this stupid gamble. I consider inventing a fake girlfriend, but the trouble is then I’ll have to produce one.
‘Eddie and Ollie can pick later, there will be loads to choose from in the club.’ I’m stalling for time.
‘You’re not backing out already, Connolly? I won’t be in the club. Let’s do this now,’ Marcus insists.
‘Your Audi’s fairly safe, by the look of it.’ James twists the knife.
Smug bastards. And these are my so-called friends. I can’t give in. I’ll never hear the end of it.
‘Very well. Do your worst.’ I take a swig of my pint as the guys scour the place for an unlikely candidate.
‘What about her?’ James points out a heavy lady in her eighties sitting with two other pensioners.
‘A bet’s a bet,’ Marcus says with a snigger.
‘That might float your boat, fellas, but I prefer my women with a heartbeat.’
‘What about her?’ Eddie nods towards a ‘lady’ sitting alone, six metres away from us. An oversized sequinned dress hangs from her. Heavy foundation cakes the lines of her face. Her shoulders are bigger than mine, and I’m fairly sure there’s a possibility it’s not the only part of ‘her’ anatomy that’s bigger.
‘The bet is, I can’t keep a woman, not pick the most questionable one you can find,’ I remind them. ‘I have to bring this girl to James’s wedding. He’s going to be looking at these photos for the rest of his life.’
‘He’s right,’ James concedes.
‘I have her,’ Marcus announces triumphantly. His voice a daring edge to it.
I dread what my eyes might land on next.
He confidently nods towards the corner of the large room where four women are engrossed in animated conversation, the food menu unopened on their laps. ‘The one in the red dress.’ Marcus crosses his burly arms over his chest. ‘If you can pull her, there’s no way you’ll be able to keep her.’
My pint catches in my throat, choking me. James claps me hard on the back.
I’d recognise that figure anywhere.
Abby sits sideways, offering a discreet opportunity to examine her profile. With full red lips and a button nose, she appears delicate and feminine, reinforcing the old saying – never judge a book by its cover. She may look sweet, but she possesses the ferocity of a lioness; I experienced it first-hand today, twice. She’s beautiful, no doubt. But she’s also distinctly uninterested in me.
Fuck.
I contemplate my options, thrumming my fingers on the bar. A bet’s a bet. I’ll just have to work a little harder. A part of me even relishes the prospect. There’s nothing in this world quite like the thrill of the chase, be it a ball or a woman. Both came relatively easily to me in recent years. Now it appears I’ll be fighting tooth and claw for both again.
