Chapter 2
2
I don’t feel well. I’m kind of warm, my heart is beating really fast, my breathing isn’t right, and I’ve got this overwhelming feeling of… oh, God. I’m nervous. I’m not ill, I’m fucking nervous. About a boy. What is going on with me? I don’t get nervous before a date and yet here I am, in the ladies’ loos, checking my outfit, my hair, my make-up – everything, like he didn’t see me at work earlier. The dim lighting in here is more forgiving than the fluorescent lights at the office, and I’ve spent a couple of hours trying to look my best, but I’m still scrutinising every detail.
My blonde hair falls in soft waves, framing my face in a way that almost hides the nerves – or at least I tell myself it does, because I can sort of hide behind it. I move a strand, ensuring it’s perfectly in place.
I’m wearing a black off-the-shoulder minidress that hopefully hugs my curves in all the right places. The idea of a little black dress is a cliché but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad call. It’s the kind of outfit that looks sleek and effortless, without looking like you tried too hard, and it just gives off a cool, confident vibe that you don’t really get from anything else. You can wear it to any occasion (even a funeral although, granted, I would probably go for one that covered both shoulders, and probably my knees, but you take my point) and it’s almost unreadable. Was it four digits from Prada or two digits from Zara? Do you know who can’t answer that question? The kind of guys who go on dates with me (FYI, though, it’s the latter).
My red heels add a few inches to my height, making me feel a bit more powerful, even if they’re not the most comfortable shoes in the world, and my bright red lipstick goes a long way toward that too.
Finally, I smooth down the fabric of my dress one last time and take a deep breath. Why am I so rattled? I’m no stranger to going on dates – I’ve been on more than I would have liked – but there’s something about Ethan that rattles me.
I sent him my number earlier, and he replied almost right away. That never happens. Boys usually keep you waiting, right? Or maybe it’s just the ones I’ve been seeing. But not Ethan. He told me to meet him at Thin Aire, a rooftop bar in the city centre (something else I’m no stranger to). So here I am, nerves and all, to see if seeing him again gives me that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I step out of the bathroom and make my way through the crowd. It’s Valentine’s Day, so the place is packed with couples, groups of single women sipping cocktails, and men who are out with their mates – no one wants to spend Valentine’s Day alone, do they?
It’s a good atmosphere. If anyone is desperate, no one is letting on. Everyone looks like they’re having a great time laughing, dancing and drinking – well, those who can actually get to the crowded bar are drinking, anyway.
And then I see him. Ethan. He’s standing by the entrance, right on time. Not fashionably late, not even a little bit, just… there. And shit, he looks even better than he did earlier.
He’s wearing a sharp dark blazer over a fitted white shirt, the top few buttons casually undone in that way that makes you want to undo the rest – with your teeth. His trousers are slim and stylish, matching his blazer perfectly. There’s something about the way the dim lighting of the bar catches his dark eyes that makes them smoulder even more intensely. Christ, do you think he’d marry me?
‘Hello,’ he says, a warm smile spreading across his face as he steps forward and greets me with a kiss on the cheek. His lips brush against my skin just lightly enough to send a shiver through my body. ‘Good to see you again, Jennifer.’
‘Har-har,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘And you, IT support guy. So, what were?—’
Before I can finish, the young blonde hostess standing nearby interrupts us.
‘It’s standing room only, unfortunately,’ she tells us with a pout.
‘That’s okay,’ Ethan replies smoothly. He turns to me with a playful look in his eyes. ‘Shall we see if we can get to the bar?’
‘Okay,’ I agree, trying to match his easy confidence and optimism.
We weave through the packed bar. It’s boiling in here, probably from all the people, to the point where I want to pretend I smoke just so that I can step out for (ironically) some air. It’s not exactly romantic, but I imagine the genuinely loved-up couples have gone somewhere more intimate – although it feels quite intimate in here, given how close some people are pressing their bodies against mine as they squeeze past me.
As we reach the bar, I notice a few couples scattered among the crowd, but mostly it’s groups of friends, presumably of single people, who don’t have dates and refuse to stay in alone, even if it is a Monday.
‘So, what were you actually doing at the office?’ I ask, curious about how he ended up there in the first place.
It’s loud in here so my sentence increases in volume with each word.
‘I was there for a job,’ he replies, leaning in a little so I can hear him better.
‘Wow, we really are short-staffed if Jennifer is the one interviewing you,’ I say, half-joking. ‘How did it go?’
He shrugs, but there’s a hopeful something in his eyes.
‘I’m not sure. I guess we’ll see.’
‘Oh, you’re not one of those optimists, are you?’ I reply. I can’t help but smile at his sunny outlook. ‘You must be, to think you can give a girl a good date on Valentine’s Day at the last minute. Surely everywhere good is booked up, and everywhere else is rammed?’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he replies. Oh, I can see the mischief all over his face. ‘Did you ever see that movie, Yes Man ?’
‘No,’ I admit, though I can’t help but smile at the irony.
‘Well, that’s what we’re going to do tonight,’ he explains. ‘Anything anyone asks us, offers us – anything – we’re going to say yes.’
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out his angle.
‘Is this some kind of loophole to get me into bed?’ I check. ‘You ask and I have to say yes?’
He chuckles, shaking his head.
‘It isn’t. In fact, let’s say that’s the only question where we can say “no” to each other,’ he clarifies. ‘And it goes both ways – don’t think I haven’t seen you undressing me with your eyes.’
I burst out laughing.
‘Okay, let’s do it.’
As we finally reach the front of the bar, Ethan drums with his hands on the bar top enthusiastically.
‘What do you recommend?’ Ethan asks him. ‘Whatever it is, we want two of them.’
The barman rubs his chin.
‘You two look like you can drink,’ he points out. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yes,’ Ethan replies, kicking things off.
I can, so that’s fine.
‘How about a couple of our Zombies?’ the barman replies. ‘Strongest in the city, here.’
‘Yes,’ Ethan says. ‘We’ll take two.’
‘What, two each?’ the barman replies.
I don’t think that’s what Ethan meant but he looks to me with a smile.
‘Yes,’ I say, my voice a little unsure.
‘Yes,’ Ethan says, echoing me.
‘Yes!’ I say again, laughing this time.
The barman raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t question it. He sets about mixing our drinks, and I can’t help but watch Ethan out of the corner of my eye. There’s something about him – his confidence, the way he carries himself – that’s different from the other guys I’ve been out on dates with. It’s like he knows exactly who he is and what he wants, and he’s not afraid to go after it.
‘Okay, we need somewhere to sit, if we’re drinking two of these,’ Ethan says, scanning the crowded bar.
As if on cue, a man standing nearby overhears us and leans in.
‘We’re just popping out for a smoke,’ he says, nodding toward the group of guys he’s with. ‘You can have our table while we’re gone, if you want. Save it for us, what do you reckon?’
‘Yes,’ Ethan replies without hesitation, and just like that, we’ve got ourselves a table.
We settle in, our Zombie cocktails in hand (well, hands technically), and I take a sip. It’s strong, but surprisingly good. The alcohol hits me right away, warming me from the inside out, making me kind of dizzy. Yeah, okay, wow, these are strong.
‘Oh, boy,’ Ethan says. ‘You could clean the bar with this stuff.’
‘Where are you from?’ I ask, noticing a hint of an accent that isn’t local.
‘London,’ he replies. ‘But I’m up here for work. I’m living with my parents at the moment and they’re on my case about when I’m going to get my life together, so that’s fun.’
I feel a pang of sympathy.
‘I get that,’ I tell him. ‘My parents – well, my dad and my stepmum – are exactly the same. They’re always banging on at me about getting a real job – whatever that is – settling down, getting married, having kids – and I only turned twenty-eight a couple of weeks ago.’
‘I just turned thirty,’ he tells me, widening his eyes for effect. ‘As far as my parents are concerned, the best years of my life are over.’
‘And how old are they?’ I ask, stating the obvious.
‘A thousand,’ he replies dramatically.
I laugh, relieved to find someone who understands.
‘Mine think I’m some kind of wild child, because I don’t want to settle down yet,’ I tell him. ‘And of fucking course I have a perfect little sister who is doing everything they want. But I just like to have a good time, and honestly, I’m happy with my job right now – well, in theory. I’m not exactly loving working for Jennifer. I’m tempted to get on maternity leave just to avoid her.’
Ethan chuckles, shaking his head.
‘It’s fine to be a wild child, and it’s fine not to want to settle down yet – or ever,’ he reassures me.
‘Yeah, except they think I’m smoking crack and having orgies every night,’ I tell him. ‘When in reality I only do that every other night – I’d be shattered.’
Ethan laughs at my joke, which gives me the flutters, but before I can continue my stand-up set I notice one of the men has returned to the table. He looks back and forth between us, clearly trying to figure something out.
‘You two together?’ he asks bluntly.
Ethan hesitates only for a second before replying, ‘Yes.’
Ah, the game. Of course. Silly me.
The man’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
‘You in an open relationship then?’ he asks. ‘Just, with the, er, the orgies…’
Again, Ethan nods.
‘Yes.’
The man smirks, leaning in closer.
‘Fancy a third person joining you tonight?’ he suggests. ‘Me, I mean, obviously. I’ve always wanted to try something like that.’
Oh, boy. I’m about to politely decline his offer when I catch Ethan’s look – a subtle reminder of the game we’re playing. I roll my eyes but play along.
‘Yes?’ I tell him, my voice shooting up at the end of the word, like my lips can’t quite believe I’m making them say it.
‘Fucking ace,’ the man says, slurring his words a little. ‘I’m going to get another drink – can I get you guys another?’
‘Yes,’ Ethan replies without missing a beat.
‘Are they Zombies?’ the man checks, noticing the drinks in front of us – he doesn’t even acknowledge that they’re not empty. ‘Two more Zombies?’
‘Yes,’ I say, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Our new friend – and potential threesome partner (I know we’re playing the yes game, but we’re not doing that) – greets two of his friends at the bar. He talks to them, waving his arms around, performing some kind of charade… oh, it’s shagging. Then he points at us.
One of his friends strolls over, looking amused.
‘He’s bragging about going home with you two,’ he says, glancing between us. ‘He says you’re going to let him have a go on your bird.’
He’s looking at Ethan who – of course – says yes.
‘Him?’ the man says in disbelief. He obviously thinks his friend is punching – and he definitely is, in this respect. If I was going to roll the dice on bringing another man into the mix (multitasking isn’t my strong suit – I’ve never been able to pat my head and rub my tummy) then it would have to be someone seriously worth it, like Jake Gyllenhaal or Tom Hardy. Oh, the audacity. Even thinking about the two of them jumping into bed with me feels pretty bold of me, given that they’re movie stars, and I’m me.
‘He’s paying you, right?’ the man checks. ‘He must be.’
Ethan smirks.
‘Yes.’
The friend laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘Wait, are you two… are you two… do you like, charge for sex and that?’
I stifle a laugh, nodding.
‘Yes.’
The friend widens his eyes and then walks away, all of his questions clearly answered.
‘Does this game ever end in tears?’ I ask, turning to face Ethan.
He just shrugs and smiles.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never played it before,’ he tells me.
I raise an eyebrow at him.
‘You should have said yes, according to the rules of the game,’ I point out.
Ethan grins, leaning in closer.
‘I can’t imagine this night ending in tears.’
Before I can respond, the blonde hostess reappears with two doormen in tow. She looks at us sternly, hands on her hips.
‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave – for soliciting.’
‘What? Really?’ Ethan asks, feigning surprise.
The hostess narrows her eyes.
‘ Were you soliciting?’ she asks.
Ethan looks at me, then back at her, a slow smile spreading across his face.
‘Yes.’
He turns to me, extending his hand.
‘Shall we take this party somewhere else?’ he asks.
I smile, taking his hand.
‘Yes.’
And for the first time all night, I really, really mean it.