Chapter 1 #2
I don’t think he’s joking. In fact, I could swear he gave a subtle nod to my hair – my blonde locks. Does he think I’m dumb? If either of us looks like we could have forgotten our name, it would definitely be him. If not his name, then definitely how to spell it.
‘Cleo,’ I tell him.
‘Looking at my arms, huh?’ he says with a grin.
I am, but not for the reason he thinks I am.
‘Well, I bench 315, squat 415, deadlift 550,’ he tells me, not that I understand a word of it. ‘And most important of all, the one I’m sure you’re interested in – hip thrust, 650.’
It’s only his wink that tips me off to this clearly being some kind of sexual thing and – ew.
‘Do you go to the gym, Cleo?’ he asks.
‘I used to,’ I reply. ‘My local had a café that did this amazing baked potato. They took it off the menu, I was gutted.’
‘What’s your PB?’ he asks.
‘My PB?’
‘Your personal best,’ he adds.
‘Oh, right,’ I reply. ‘Two.’
‘Two?’ he repeats back to me. ‘Just two?’
‘Just two?’ I clap back. ‘I was pretty hungry, but three baked potatoes is a bit excessive.’
His face falls. It doesn’t take mine long to follow.
‘Ah, you didn’t mean the food.’
‘Erm, no… no, I didn’t.’
Brad looks at me in a way that reminds me that: be yourself is not good advice when it comes to trying to attract most men.
‘Yeah, I mostly just went for the café,’ I tell him.
‘I couldn’t even tell you if mine had a café,’ he replies. ‘I take a shake, so…’
Well, that’s this conversation dead in the water. I need to get it back on track.
‘So, do you watch much TV?’ I ask.
‘Sometimes, at the gym…’
Bloody hell, is it always the gym with him?
‘What about reality shows?’ I press on. ‘Do you enjoy shows like Love Island or Welcome to Singledom?’
‘I’ve never watched Love Island but that Welcome to Singledom is all right,’ he says. ‘That’s the one where the couples have to survive on a deserted island?’
I nod.
‘Yeah, I like that, because the lads have to be strong and sharp and that,’ he says. ‘The lasses just have to be hot and pick the right bloke. I reckon the girls would be fighting over me, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, yeah, of course,’ I reply.
‘I think it might be the same tonight,’ he says, puffing up his chest. ‘So, if you want me, better say something to sell yourself now…’
The buzzer sounds, prompting the men to move on. Saved by the bell.
As much as it pains me to do it, I make a note to say that, yes, Brad has made the shortlist. Hopefully the only way is up.
The next man to sit down in front of me is wearing a T-shirt with a bunch of different cryptocurrencies on it. It’s not looking good, is it?
‘Hey, I’m Callum, everyone calls me Cal,’ he tells me as he makes himself more comfortable.
‘I’m Cleo, hello,’ I say back.
‘Are you looking for a man in finance?’ he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
I’m not. Not at all.
Callum might work in finance but he isn’t very tall and his eyes are brown.
‘I’m looking for a man who likes to take risks, who is looking for an adventure,’ I reply.
‘Risk is a big part of my job,’ he says. ‘I’m this close to making my first mil.’
He holds his finger and his thumb about a centimetre apart and smiles like I might be about to fall at his feet. There’s a Shania Twain song for moments like this, and it isn’t ‘You’re Still the One’.
‘Coooool,’ I say, holding on the word a little longer than can possibly be sincere.
He’s oblivious though. They’re all always oblivious.
I meet men like this all of the time and it’s always the same old story.
Sometimes I wish I could mix things up a bit.
‘Could you live without Wi-Fi?’ I ask, moving things along.
‘Wi-Fi? What? No, of course not,’ he says – now he’s looking at me like I’m an idiot. ‘Why would I? Why would anyone? Don’t be so stupid.’
Gosh, I just love it when men call me stupid.
‘Not being dramatic at all, I’d rather die,’ he continues and I believe him.
The buzzer sounds and Cal leaves. Big fat no for Cal.
It’s also a no for Bart, the poet, and Ellis, the introvert, forced to come here by his friends.
Mike, the personal trainer and part-time theme park character gets a yes, despite bragging to me about how dressing up as a cartoon dog is a great way to ‘pick up mums’ and women who want to ‘rub his belly’.
I think Mike might need putting on a different kind of list too – more of a register, if anything.
I don’t know if tonight feels a little more bleak than usual or if I’m just so, so sick of looking for Brads and Mikes. Every conversation cements for me that there is in fact no one out there for me. Not one man on this planet I can stand spending more than a few minutes with.
Looking at my form, I can see that the next speed date is the last. Just one more man, one more boring conversation, one more short burst of disappointment and then I can go home.
‘Hi,’ he says.
I look up. He’s taller than the others, broad-shouldered but without looking like he’s inflated segments of his T-shirt like a lot of the gym bros do.
His dark brown hair is blown back, and it looks almost too good, the kind that requires a routine and products, and he’s got enough stubble to pass as a beard, but not so much you can’t see the dimples in his cheeks when he smiles.
I’m surprised, not by how good he looks, but by how good I think he looks.
I don’t usually get anything at first sight apart from annoyed, but this guy has actually caught my eye.
‘I’m Lockie, nice to meet you,’ he says, sliding into the seat opposite me.
I feel… I don’t know. Like I need to remind myself to play it cool? But I don’t, at all, I just need to talk to him, find out if he’s what I’m looking for, and put a cross or a tick next to his name.
‘Cli’m Leo,’ I say. Nope, try again, Cleo. ‘Sorry – I’m…’
My voice trails off. What is wrong with me? Maybe I’m just tired.
Lockie laughs.
‘For a moment I thought that was a request,’ he replies cheekily. ‘I’m a Leo. You are?’
‘A sceptic,’ I tell him. ‘Whatever I am, it reckons I’m an optimist, and enthusiastic, and… nah.’
‘I meant your name,’ he says through a big grin.
‘Right, yeah, sorry, of course you did,’ I reply, finally getting a grip. ‘I’m Cleo.’
I notice his eyebrows raise slightly.
‘Nice to meet you, Cleo,’ he replies.
‘So, what do you do, Lockie?’ I ask.
‘Really?’ he replies with a chuckle. ‘We’re doing this? Okay, tell you what, why don’t you guess what I do?’
The urge to be a little cheeky is too hard to resist.
‘You look like you lift things,’ I say.
‘Only the mood,’ he replies.
‘Carry things, then… a waiter?’
‘I’ve been told I serve before, but not like that,’ he says.
‘Astronaut,’ I reply, going for something completely different.
‘Well, now you’re just making fun of me,’ he claps back. ‘I think I’ll keep you guessing.’
‘Fair enough, then I’ll do the same,’ I reply.
‘So, what brings you here, Cleo?’ he asks.
‘The same reason you’re here,’ I reply.
‘Any bites?’ he asks.
‘None yet, but the night is young,’ I tell him, my flirtatious tone still very much there.
I don’t actually have to flirt with the men I meet. Interesting that I’m choosing to.
The bell rings, signalling the end of our seven minutes, and I’m almost angry about it.
‘Tell me something about you that would surprise me,’ I suggest.
‘I have two degrees,’ he begins.
‘Really?’ I squeak.
He laughs.
‘Really – why, are the people you usually meet at these things dummies?’
‘Well… yeah,’ I confess. ‘But I don’t mean, like, they’re bad at maths, because I’m bad at maths. One guy tonight called me stupid.’
‘Well, he was definitely a dummy then,’ Lockie replies. ‘I hope you didn’t give him a high score.’
‘Not a chance,’ I confirm.
‘Do you think you’ll give me a high score?’
‘Higher than him,’ I joke.
For a few seconds we just look at each other, in comfortable silence, and smile.
This time, instead of the buzzer sounding, music starts playing – ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley.
‘That’s your lot,’ Julie bellows down the mic. ‘But we’ve got a bit of a song to end the night so, if you found the one, now is your chance to have a little dance while I see if we have many matches.’
Almost over. Almost…
‘Do you want to dance?’ Lockie asks me. ‘One girl was a bit intense – she started asking me what I wanted to call “our” kids. Help me out?’
I laugh.
‘Okay, sure,’ I reply.
It’s just one dance and then I can get back to business.
Lockie takes me by the hand and leads me out onto the dance floor.
We move our bodies closer together. He wraps one arm around my waist, I drape one around his neck.
We join our other hands, holding them close.
Lockie is so much taller than me so it feels right to rest my head against his chest. We just sort of snap together, instinctively, and move gently to the music.
It’s been a long time since I slow danced with a man – it’s been a long time since a man held me full stop. It’s hard not to melt into his big, strong arms. This buff, funny, dreamy, intelligent man. Honestly, what is he doing at speed dating?
I feel a tapping on my shoulder. Oh, great, it’s Julie.
‘Cleo?’ she checks and I nod. ‘Can I borrow you?’
‘Erm, yeah, okay,’ I reply.
I follow Julie over to her desk.
‘I’ve just realised who you are,’ she tells me. ‘The one scouting for the reality dating show?’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ I reply.
‘They told me I should pass on details for the people you wanted,’ she replies. ‘So… any luck?’
‘Just a few,’ I reply. ‘Brad, Mike and… and…’ Should I? ‘And Lockie.’
‘Great,’ she says. ‘I’ll slip them the info with their matches.’
‘Great,’ I say back to her. ‘Then I guess I’ll get going…’
I look over at Lockie as he chats to some of the other guys here.
I want to go over, talk to him some more, but that’s not why I’m here, I’m not looking for men for me – God forbid – I’m looking for men for the show.
I work for Welcome to Singledom and part of my job is finding contestants to take part in the survival dating show.
It definitely takes a certain kind of person, to want to take part in the show, but people seem to love to watch it.
I should leave but… I don’t know, maybe Lockie could be good? A nice change, to have someone a bit smarter, not your usual gym-going, content-creating, full-of-themselves top shaggers we usually cast.
Would he even want to take part in a show like that though?
I guess we’ll find out, when Julie hands over my details, but for now I’d better go.
I’m not here for me – I’m never here for me.
I can’t even think about putting myself out there, not after what happened.
Best I focus on finding love (or showmances, most of the time) for the contestants.
Love is the last thing I’m looking for.