‘You have a week to find a date. And you want your first date to be at a wedding. For the pretty man to sit through a service and play nice at a wedding breakfast without the chance of even copping a feel. Of course you’re going to need an incentive. Which brings me back to Daisy’s question of the bar.’
I bite back the instinct to bring up the bucket of wings again.
‘I don’t like the idea of someone tagging along just to get pissed out of his skull.’
‘What was ginger beard’s name again?’ Daisy asks, ignoring me.
‘I don’t know,’ Vivi answers with tiny censorious shake of her head. ‘But more importantly, he’s a big guy, and big guys can usually hold their drink.’
‘You must know his name,’ Daisy says, the pair continuing their conversation over me. ‘You went out with him.’
‘Only for a coffee. Besides, it doesn’t do to give them names. You know, like with a stray dog you might find wandering the streets.’
‘Pardon?’
Vivi’s attention turns to me as though she’s just remembered I’m sitting next to her.
‘If you give a male casual acquaintance a name, they might think you’re intent on keeping them.’
‘But you wouldn’t be giving them names because they alreadyhavenames.’ Presumably.
‘But that’s not how I remember them.’ She shrugs, a sort of one-shoulder affair as though the point has no significance. ‘Like ginger beard.’
‘Hey, enough of the ginger jokes. Ginger sitting here,’ I say, pointing at myself.
‘Give it a rest. You’re strawberry blond. Besides, ginger is no longer an insult.’
‘I’m sure there are people who would argue.’ People like me.
‘And ginger beard doesn’t even have a ginger beard,’ Daisy offers with a chuckle.
‘Exactly! But because he’s so very pretty that after a couple of cocktails, I’d probably have taken him home, even if he’dhada ginger beard.’
‘Aha! Ginger discrimination!’ I cry melodramatically, which is really a way of covering up the fact that I just don’t get it. It being casual sex.
It’s beyond my comprehension and always has been. How does a person ever become comfortable enough with a complete stranger to take them home? Heck, how do they become comfortable enough with themselves, for that matter? It’s something I just can’t reconcile, something my brain won’t compute. How do they do it? How do they get naked and sweaty with someone they don’t know—therefore, they can’t trust—throwing their inhibitions and sense out the window in exchange for a quick roll on the bed. Or a sofa. Or even a wall, so I’ve heard.Blame Vee for knowledge of that last one.
‘He’s gorgeous and quite sweet, and that’s exactly the reason I met him over coffee. To see if we fit. Sadly, we didn’t. There was no spark. And then there was lefty—’
‘Because he’s left-handed?’Maybe?
‘Because of his communist tendencies.’
‘How?’Should I even ask?
‘He insisted we go Dutch. My soul mate wouldn’t make me pay for my own drink.’
‘Of course, he wouldn’t. Silly me.’ There’s little point in arguing because Vivi has very particular ideas when it comes to finding love. Despite her peculiar philosophies, she never wants for a date mainly because she looks like the result of a weekend bang-fest between Sophia Loren and the Archangel Gabriel. She also happens to be one of the brightest women I know, and like Daisy, she’s fiercely loyal. Even if she happens to enjoy teasing me.
‘And over previous months,’ Daisy adds with a titter, ‘I believe there has also been a Grumpy, a Dozy, and a Doc.’
‘She went out with all of Snow White’s cast-offs?’
‘If they were all on Tinder,’ our friend affirms. ‘Dating apps are an endless source of fascination. I’ve met so many interesting people.’
‘That’s like saying she watches porn just to see if the pizza delivery guy offers extra sausage,’ I mutter.
‘Hey, I’m here, you know,’ Vee protests.
