‘I have zero idea what one of those is,’ I complain.
‘It’s orange juice and champagne.’
‘Oh, a Buck’s Fizz,’ I say. ‘Yeah, why not?’
Ben laughs and the waitress leaves, casting me an expression I can’t quite place. Ben mouths the words ‘Buck’s Fizz’ to himself with a smile and I sense I’m being judged. We’re in The Wolseley on Piccadilly, somewhere I’ve never heard of, but Ben’s been here loads, he says. It’s huge, very swanky, and my jeans and black vest top probably aren’t cutting it. Ben suggested the place and it took us for ever to get here on the Tube from our outer North London campus. I am beyond starving now. I don’t know why we didn’t just go to the café on campus or one of the ones nearby on the high road.
‘Because they’re total dives,’ Ben tells me. ‘Everywhere around campus is a total dive. And besides,’ he continues, ‘I wanted to bring you somewhere nice.’
‘That’s very sweet of you,’ I reply, as the waitress returns to bring us a bottle of still mineral water. ‘Oh, a jug of tap is fine,’ I say, but it’s too late. She’s pouring.
‘Relax,’ Ben says, obviously at home in these fine surroundings. ‘I asked you on a date, so … my treat.’
‘Date?’ I ask, a slight smile on my lips. ‘Is that what we’re doing?’
‘If you like?’
‘Don’t turn this on me,’ I protest, but I try to lighten mytone, seeing as the man’s volunteering to buy me breakfast and overpriced water. Although it’s half-eleven, so this is almost lunch.
He props his elbow on the table, rests his chin against his closed fist and watches me with humour in his eyes.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Just thinking about last night.’ He gives me a devilish look.
‘Well, don’t,’ I reply. ‘We’re in public.’
He laughs, switches position, pulls his linen napkin from the table and drapes it across his lap. I do the same, sort of feeling I don’t really fit in here and trying to do what Ben does, when he does it. Mum and I never eat in places like this. We could never afford it. Nando’s is about as glam as we get, before a mum-and-daughter cinema date. I glance around at the high ceilings, the large, low chandeliers sparkling off the many ornate mirrors dotted around.
‘We’ve kind of done this the wrong way round,’ Ben says and I return my attention to him, wondering what he sees in me, as we are so different. Although he did outline it all last night at the bar and, in the muted glow of the restaurant, he seems to still feel it as he continues, ‘We slept together and now we’re on a date.’
‘True,’ I say warily, but as the waitress returns with our Mimosas, looking directly at Ben and waiting for him to make eye contact with her, I’m reminded that he is very good-looking, fun, nice, willing to put himself out there and seems to like me. I thought this would be a one-night stand, but why don’t I give Ben a chance? Why don’t we see where this goes – if anywhere?
‘Maybe we should go back to basics,’ he suggests.
I frown. ‘Go on.’
‘You think I’m a player, don’t you?’
I open my mouth to deny it. Then I opt for honesty. ‘I thought you might be.’
‘Let me prove to you I’m not. Let me date you,’ he says with such burning, old-fashioned intensity that I think if I’d been standing, I might have swooned a little. ‘Let me date you and let’s see how easy it is to fall for me.’
‘Ben!’ I laugh.
‘You don’t think you will?’ he dares. ‘I reckon you’ll be in love with me by the time this meal’s finished.’
‘Oh my God,’ I splutter.
‘And,’ he says, trying not to laugh, but instead giving me a deadly and incredibly sexy look, ‘we’re not sleeping together again until it happens.’
I feel my face pull into a frown. ‘What?’
‘You heard me. You are going to fall in love with me and you are on sexual rations until that point.’
‘Sexual rations,’ I scoff. ‘What ifyoucan’t hold out that long? Or what if you lose interest.’
‘I won’t,’ he replies.
