I realise as I wash my hands that though I’d been determined to be here today, I’d been dreading the experience, anticipating it would somehow be like going back to school in that horribly familiar yet haunting way. Stepping back in time to when the cool kids, who in retrospect were also the mean kids, were up ahead in the hallway, and my stomach would tighten in anticipation of being jostled. Possibly heckled. Definitely made fun of because I just didn’t fit in. School uniforms might’ve been swapped for funky dresses and narrow fitting suits; braces may now be teeth that look like piano keys, pimpled skin luminous, heavy brows sleek.
While I’m no longer Heather Weirdington, and have made the same kinds of changes as my peers, I still feel like I don’t fit in. It’s at times like these that I miss my pink hair, tutus, and Doc Marten boots. At least then the difference was my doing.
But with Archer, my worries were unfounded. He’d stayed by my side all day. Made me laugh.Almost made me cry.He pulled me out of myself. At one point, I’d caught myself thinking what an awesome boyfriend he’d be, but then I remembered. Despite his quip, he’s not boyfriend material. He said so himself.
He’s one-night stand material.
His specialty cloth is casual sex.
And he must be a reallydurable kind, judging by what I was sitting on.
Yep, I noticed way before he started to jostle me off his knee. I just didn’t know how to address it.
Hello, Mr Penis, seemed a bit forward.
I giggle as I wash my hands, wondering if I should lay off the vodka.But the fact of the matter is, sitting there, on his knee, knowing I was responsible for his hard-on? Well, I felt giddy. And a lot turned on. And, yes, I did keep shimmying backwards on purpose as between my legs pulsed and my stomach twisted, and my thoughts disintegrated bit by bit.
What’s wrong with me today?I silently ask as I stare at my flushed complexion in the kind of rococo-style mirror that girls in fairy tales always seem to find themselves a-wishing and a-hoping.
If I had one wish tonight, a magic mirror wish, what would it be?
I run my fingers through the wayward strands of my hair, smoothing it into some semblance of tidy. I swipe my fingers under my eyelids to straighten a slight eyeliner smudge, then examine my teeth for any stowaway grains of wild rice or crumbs of pistachio as I contemplate how, as usual, the vegetarian options were boring.And Archer ate it without complaint.And then, because there are no more distractions, and no one else in the ladies’ room, I address my reflection.
‘If I had one wish tonight, it would be to sleep with Archer Powell.’
There. I can admit it to myself, even if it sounds ridiculous spoken aloud. And then I laugh because I amnevergoing to be the kind of girl who can be casual about sex, despite wondering earlier what it would be like to sit on it, I mean, sit on Archer properly. To seat myself there without a care. To take what my head wants and what my body needs from him.
But I guess I’ll just have to make do with my dreams.
Back at the bar, Archer doesn’t appear to have been served yet. I stand on the threshold of the room, almost in the same spot where he kissed me. I don’t stop here just because going back the E11even crowd is like choosing crucifixion over freedom, but because I find I want to watch him.
One foot propped on the bottom rail, his forearm casually rests against the wood. Broad shoulders, taut thighs, and a bum just crying out for touch.
If I was another kind of girl.
I take no more than one faltering step when I halt in my tracks as a woman, probably another guest, sidles up to him—yes, sidles! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such stealth moves before. Something about the familiar scene is uncomfortable, forcing me to take a step back to watch from the doorway. Chestnut hair to her shoulders, she mirrors his stance, and even from here, I can tell the move is to enhance her cleavage, as she flashes Archer a smile. She doesn’t even look for the barman. She’s wearing cream—who wears cream to a wedding?—but there’s not a lot of it, the item more belt than dress, a little bit peasant in styling and really pretty.
Just like she is.
My veins suddenly feel filled with ice water and though my feet want to flee, my head tells me this is something I need to see. Proof, if you like, that he’s not really interested in me. At best, that he’s just interested in women, and as a card-carrying vagina, I’m game. They’re not touching. Just chatting. It could be about anything, couldn’t it? Even though their conversation seems very specific, as she hips checks him playfully. He smiles back at her, but that’s it. No more reaction. No playful touches or flirting, as far as I can tell.He’s just being nice,I tell myself.That’s all.
The barman sets a drink in front of him, and Archer taking a sip. He places the glass down only for her to pick it up, placing her lips over where his had been. Ohmygod, she’s really hitting on him! No doubt about it as she wraps her hand around his shoulder, whispering something in his ear. Then Archer’s breaking the contact, shaking his head, grasping a new glass before he turns and takes a few steps. His expression eases as he spots me, and he changes course. My stomach, a mess of tangled knots and nerves, goes weightless in an instant in response to his reassuring smile. A smile that’s just for me.
‘What are you doing in the hallway?’
Watching you, I don’t say as I second-guess myself, trying to decide if he looks guilty. If he looks like he’s about to make his excuses and leave for another secret rendezvous, the kind that is his specialty.
‘That woman at the bar. She came onto you.’ Vodka leaves no room for subtlety, it seems.
‘She did.’ His expression doesn’t change. No reaction to my statement at all, beyond his confirmation.
‘How?’
‘What do you mean?’ His eyes narrow a fraction, not sure what I could mean.
‘Like, how? How does that happen?’
‘You mean, you haven’t noticed how irresistible I am?’
