I can part with twenty euros for a whole night of fun. And despite his forced nonchalance, he reads like an open book. He wants this girl and Iwillhelp him get her.
‘The drinks are definitely free?’ I ask.
‘If they’re not, I’ll cover yours.’
He’s practically vibrating with excitement.
‘Then I’m in.’ I watch his face immediately shift from anticipation to unbridled joy.
‘We will have the best time!’ he says.
And for a brief moment, I actually believe him.
. . .a bar crawl
If there was one thing Eléa was right about, it was that the bar crawl certainly is teeming with solo travellers. They welcome you in with open arms and ask you about your trip, before boring you with the ever-similar tales of their gap year. I’m aware I’m a hypocrite – I’m travelling too – but when I do it, it doesn’t seem quite as pretentious. Probably because I don’t talk about the French Riviera like I founded the place myself.
‘Can I borrow her for a second?’ Noah asks, squeezing my elbow lightly.
The man in front of me nods reluctantly as I smile and scurry off with a sigh of relief.
‘You lookedmiserable,’ Noah says the minute we’re away.
‘I was. Thank you.’ We clink our steins and take a swig.
When Noah mentioned free drinks, he neglected to mention that most places restrict these to beer and/or wine. And in this bar in particular, it’s only beer. Three different varieties of gross-tasting hops. I was going to abstain completely and just wait until bar four, but then gap-year guy started on yet another sordid summer tale and I had no choice. There was no way I was getting through his endless tirade of stories sober.
‘That bad, huh?’ he asks.
My face clouds over again. ‘Somehow worse than you’re imagining.’
‘From the look on your face, my imagination was already catatonic. I got some great pictures, though!’
Despite the polarising views my column seems to have evoked, it has certainly resonated with a fair few people. My followers have shot up since the release, with a new cohort every day – it’s the most action I’ve had since the dating-rant incident. Except this time is different. This time they’re stalking. They find my page from the column and want to know more. I’m getting likes on Instagram posts from three years ago – reshares of videos I don’t even remember making.
Noah pointed out that it’s because I don’t have enough new stuff – the better I document this journey, the less they’ll trawl through the weeds. He’s right, I know, but I’m not the most consistent person and bar an aesthetic coffee pic from Brussels and a few random stories, I haven’t shared much at all.
I stare down at his phone screen as he proudly scrolls through photos of me silently listening to gap-year guy. I take in my pursed lips, folded arms and dead eyes. Why the guy saw it all and kept speaking, I’ll never know.
‘My resting bitch face is even worse than I thought,’ I say.
‘It’s very pouty. Kinda sexy. Your fans will love it.’
I give him a warning look. ‘Noah. The rules.’
‘What, I can’t call my friend sexy?’ he asks. ‘Even if it’s objectively true?’
I drop my eyes, hiding my fluster, and nod to his empty stein. ‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ I say.
‘And you, my dear, have not had enough. Two more, please, sir,’ he says, catching the bartender’s eye.
We knock our steins together once they arrive, followed by a large, disgusting gulp.
‘How’s it going with El?’ I ask, desperate to change the subject. ‘Did you try initiating deep conversation, like I suggested?’
His face is pained as he takes another swig. ‘Lovely girl.’
‘But?’
