‘Ah, well, I offered.’
‘And I shall report to Fin, the worrier, that I politely declined. Do you want a drink before you go?’ I gesture for the barman anyway.
‘A quick drink would be fab. They’ll no’ miss me for a while yet.’ She places her order, turning on her stool to face me again. ‘Can’t say I blame you for not coming along tonight. I’m only dressed like this ‘cos the bride’s my cousin.’
‘What’s the theme?’
She looks down at her outfit. ‘Fluorescent floozies? I can’t really tell. Family, eh? Can’t live wi’ them; can’t kill them wi’out going to jail.’ Her mouth turns up in one corner before she says, ‘But I’ll be glad of a wee catch-up with you.’
‘Lovely!’ And I mean it. The company is good, especially company that isn’t going to ask questions or make assumptions about my “relationship”.
‘What you got drinkin’ there, anyway?’ She gestures to my glass.
‘IPA.’
‘You can taste the pee in it, for sure.’
‘I like it,’ I reply, smiling. ‘It’s what I’m in the mood for.’
‘You look like you’re in the mood for something a wee bit more horizontal.’ Her eyes travel over me in a way that makes it hard to miss what she’s saying. Even without the resounding bawdy laugh.
‘I have a boyfriend,’ I say quietly, not wanting to get drawn into this.
‘There’s not harm in making them look, though. Like you say. Good for the ego.’
I don’t answer but bring my drink to my mouth again.
‘You don’t look like a beer drinker.’
‘What does a beer drinker look like?’ I reply, amused.
‘Like him.’ She nods to a large man sitting farther down the long bar. Hunched over his phone, he’s holding a pint glass in his other hand, causing the buttons of his white business shirt to strain across his paunch.
‘But look, the man just at the end of the bar is drinking the same brand as I am, and he’s pretty fit.’ A little metro for my tastes but ripped and definitely good looking. ‘Not all beer drinkers are created equal.’
‘Nice,’ she says, her gaze following mine to the hot guy. ‘D’you think your man there has a thing for sausage?’
‘It can’t just be beer that’s got him looking that way,’ I say, looking up back to the man in the white shirt again.
‘No, the pretty boy, y’ken!’ Then she frowns. ‘Yep, he’s a member of the sausage lovin’ tribe. Along with his boyfriend,’ she adds with a cynical twist of her mouth. Sure enough, the hot guy has his arm slung around another metro-man in a way that might not be entirely platonic. ‘He’s a properBILF.’
‘And that’s a what?’ I shake my head as though shaking off flies. Rory and Kit are never hard to decipher; not like this.
‘What’s a what?’ Nat looks behind her.
‘No, aBILF. What’s aBILF?’
‘A beard I’d like to fondle. I love a man wi’ a beard,’ she adds hungrily. ‘Why are the good ones always married or gay?’
‘You forgot bi.’ Hell, where did that come from?
‘I don’t mind bi. A bi is like a walk on the interesting side.’ Nat’s eyes gleam wickedly.
‘What do you mean?’ Like I don’t already know, thanks to Rumlr.
Bisexual men getting it on are yum. But I’m not about to admit that out loud.
‘When you’re with the right person, there are so many ways to go—do you go for a man or woman as your third? Who’s gonnae do who, and how.’ She makes a weighing motion with her hands. ‘You need ground rules and stuff,’ she adds as though discussing the weather. ‘I mean, it doesn’t have to be like any old three way where your boyfriend just expects you to get up close and personal wi’ another girl’s muff before he screws her himself.’
