‘Nick, I can explain,’ I start.
‘You can explain why you came in drunk, got in the wrong bed and then, when I tried to tell you that you were in the wrong bed, you started blubbing about what a mess your life is?’ he asks. ‘Well, by all means, go ahead.’
‘My life isn’t a mess,’ I snap defensively.
‘You’re in the wrong bed, in your underwear, with eyeliner literally everywhere but your eyes – that doesn’t sound like a mess to you?’
‘Well, when you put it like that,’ I laugh. I’m just so relieved that he hasn’t realised I intended to get in his bed, even if I was drunk and it was misjudged.
‘You’re lucky Heather wasn’t in there with me.’
Finally, something we can agree on.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I had too much to drink, it won’t happen again.’
‘You’re damn right,’ he replies. ‘I’m getting a lock for my door.’
I begin climbing out of bed before I realise something. Crap, I’ve still got my control tights on. These things squish my chubby bits into weird places – hidden perfectly underneath my clothes, but without a cover, I look like a string of sausages. And while I know that Nick has seen me in these a thousand times before – heck, I usually have him pull me into them – I suddenly feel self-conscious about him seeing me like this. I don’t want him to see me looking gross, my smoke and mirrors tights showing their hand, giving away the illusion of my relative slimness.
‘Can you give me a bit of privacy, please?’ I ask, not really knowing how else to phrase it.
‘Can I give you some privacy?’ Nick laughs. ‘Sure. I’m on my way out anyway. Thank you for making things even more awkward,’ he calls back sarcastically as he heads out.
Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so bad at this stuff? It’s like everything I do just makes things even worse. And he’s right about one thing, it’s going to be really hard to look him in the eye after this.
Chapter 17
I slick on some red lipstick, fluff my curls and give my bra a meaningful jiggle to make my boobs as front and centre as possible. I am a strong, brave woman, and I am ready for war.
A knock on the front door causes me to jump out of my skin. It’s not that I’m usually a jumpy person (although the Weird Ian stuff did creep me out a little), it’s just that no one can actually get to our front door without being buzzed in. Well, no one expect one person, our neighbour, Bev. I love Bev because she’s absolutely crackers. She’s in her forties and I’m not sure she got the memo that the eighties were over and that the Madonna circa “Crazy For You” look was out.
‘You locked yourself out, you daft cow?’ I ask as I open the door. I do actually keep a spare key for Bev, because she’s so introverted, she rarely leaves the flat, and on the rare occasions she does, she usually forgets her key. I’m happy to do it though, I really like Bev. As bizarre as she is, you can just tell that her heart is in the right place. I don’t think Nick is keen on her (is he keen on anyone?) but he hardly ever sees her, whereas I’ll go visit her when Nick is driving me especially crazy.
I open the door expecting to see a smiley lady wearing too many accessories but instead I am greeted by a puzzled-looking Deano.
‘Oh, hello,’ I say with an awkward giggle. ‘I thought you were someone else. How did you get in?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asks. Oh my God, I should just push him down the stairs, lock the door and swear off dating forever.
‘How did you get in the building?’
‘Through the door,’ he replies.
‘How did you get up here?’ I clarify, slowly.
‘The stairs.’
He has to be shitting me.
‘The downstairs door shouldn’t be open, anyone could just wander inside. Drunks, murderers…’ Dumb as dirt rugby players.
‘Oh!’ I see a flicker of recognition on Deano’s face; for once he knows what I mean. ‘Your flatmate let me in.’
I peep behind Deano, his large frame blocking my view of the staircase, and see Nick behind him, post in his hand.
‘Your date was waiting outside for you, Ruby. I thought I’d let him in. He was, erm, struggling with the buzzer,’ Nick tells me, the corners of his mouth being gently tugged into a smirk.
Shit, I’m supposed to be making him jealous and that is not going to happen if I’m being snippy with Deano, and Deano is just being dumb.
‘Thank you,’ I tell Nick, before turning my attention to Deano and turning on my charm. Time to break out those acting skills. ‘It’s good to see you again, babe. Come in.’
‘Do you not want to get straight off?’ he asks me.
‘Easy, tiger,’ I giggle. ‘Buy me a drink first.’
‘What do you mean?’ Deano unsurprisingly asks me.
Nick squeezes past us, placing his keys in the key bowl before wandering into the kitchen. As far as making him jealous goes, this isn’t exactly going to plan.
I grab Deano by the hand and drag him inside, pushing him back onto the sofa.
‘I’ll just finish getting ready,’ I lie. ‘But Nick will keep you company, won’t you, Nick?’
‘Oh, I live for keeping the steadily flowing stream of men who pass through here amused,’ he replies sarcastically. I shoot him a dirty look, but it doesn’t matter – Deano is oblivious.
I head for my bedroom, hovering behind my door so I can listen to their conversation.
‘You’re a lucky bloke, living with a fitty like Ruby,’ Deano tells Nick.
‘Oh, I am,’ he replies, still as sarcastic as ever. ‘So, what’s your deal?’
‘You don’t recognise me?’ Deano asks. I cringe.
‘I don’t, mate. Sorry.’
‘I’m Deano Gamble. I play for Leeds Lions.’
A few seconds of silence.
‘Ah, the rugby team,’ Nick replies. ‘More of a cricket man myself.’
‘Could never take to cricket myself, pal. Too gentle.’
‘You like the hands-on approach?’ Nick asks him.
‘I do,’ Deano replies.
‘You like to get down and dirty with the boys?’ Nick persists.
‘I do,’ Deano confirms, oblivious.
Nick laughs.
‘What are you laughing at, pal?’ Deano asks, a degree of defensiveness creeping into his voice, but I’m not sure he knows why.
Time to diffuse the situation.
‘OK, I’m ready,’ I say, hurrying out of my room. I grab Deano by the hand and drag him towards the front door. ‘Don’t wait up, Nick,’ I call back.
‘I never do,’ he replies.
Once Deano and I are out on the street, reality hits. It’s not enough to parade Deano around in front of Nick, now I have to actually go on another date with him.
‘Is he going to mind if we come back here after?’ Deano asks, his presumptuousness confirming that every word Millsy said about him is true. He really does just want to sleep with me to tick a box.
‘Oh, he doesn’t care,’ I reply, and sadly I think it’s true. ‘So, what’s the plan?’
‘Let’s go for a drink,’ he suggests. ‘Where do you go?’
‘Thin Aire?’ I suggest. May as well get a trip to my favourite bar out of this evening.
‘OK, sure. I know a guy there.’
We wander down the hill towards Thin Aire in awkward silence. I take Deano’s arm, but only so I have someone to escort me across roads and to help me stay upright in these heels trying to walk at his speed. There’s no doubt about it, Deano is fit. The hand I have wrapped around his bicep confirms as much; his upper arms are thicker than my thighs, and I was definitely at the front of the line for seconds when the thighs were being handed out. In fact, it’s no wonder I ladder my tights so often, I don’t think it’s always my finger nails or my general lack of womanly grace, I think sometimes the pressure of stretching over my thunder thighs just gets too much for them.
As we approach the lift to head up to the b
ar, I see a flicker of recognition on the doorman’s face. He must recognise Deano, but other than letting the corners of his mouth twitch and being more charming that I usually see him being with customers, he remains a professional. I have to admit, it’s pretty cool hanging out with someone who gets recognised by adoring fans, it’s just a shame it’s Deano.
‘Welcome to Thin Aire,’ Ella, the hostess beams, on autopilot. If this were your first time here, you would find Ella warm and welcoming, but because I’ve seen her do this a thousand times, to me, her greeting has the cold, empty charm of a well programmed robot. She’s a lovely girl, but I can imagine you lose enthusiasm after saying it for the millionth time. I remember at work, when they tried to make us use a catchphrase. As if it isn’t bad enough the place is called Has Beans, we were supposed to greet each customer by asking: “where have you bean all my life?” I believe I uttered it once, in jest, but that was it. I don’t think I could spend my day saying that to every single person I served, not without bashing my head against the coffee machine until I forgot my own name.
‘Ruby,’ she squeaks. ‘Hello. And who is your friend?’
She kisses us both on each cheek, this greeting a much more genuine one.
‘This is Deano,’ I tell her. ‘Deano, this is Ella. She’s easily my favourite person here.’
‘Aww, well you’re my favourite customer,’ she replies with a smile. ‘And that just earned you a southeast-facing table by the window.’
I wasn’t kissing her arse to get a good table, but that is pretty much the best place to sit. You can look out across Leeds, with a view of the River Aire unmatchable to anywhere in Leeds.
We take a seat and order our drinks before falling into silence again, confirming what I already knew: Deano and I have zero chemistry. We had nothing to talk about on our first date and we’ve got nothing to talk about now and this is probably a spectacular waste of time for both of us, because he isn’t going to make Nick jealous and there’s no way I’m going to sleep with him. I may as well stick around, have a drink with him, and then the night hasn’t been for nothing. If I go home now, Nick will be smug as well as hurtfully indifferent and I can’t handle that.
‘Deano, good to see you again, mate,’ I hear a man’s voice say as our drinks are placed down in front of us.
‘Pal, how are you?’ Deano asks, jumping to his feet to hug his friend. It’s only as he releases him that I realise who Deano knows here: Tom the manager.
‘Hello, you,’ he says to me. ‘I see you in here a lot. What are the two of you up to tonight?’
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. Crap.
‘Just a few drinks, see what happens after that,’ Deano replies with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
Tom gives me a “you go, girl” kind of look.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Have a good night.’
And with that, he’s gone. That was my chance to speak to him, and I blew it.
‘So you two know each other?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, we’re old mates. We were on the same rugby team at school, but I decided I wanted to play pro, and I guess he just wanted to sell drinks to…’ Deano thinks for a moment. ‘What do you call those kind of people?’ he asks me, pointing at a group of customers.
I glance over at the bar. As the girls giggle and struggle to stay upright in their sky-high heels, their male counterparts behave generally boisterously.
‘Fetch us a bottle of Moët,’ one of the men insists to a member of bar staff. ‘Bet you don’t sell many of those, do you?’
The girl serving them politely smiles. I know that smile from working in customer services, it means: I know you’re an idiot, but I’m not allowed to tell you so.
‘Pretentious?’ I suggest.
‘Yeah, and they think they’re important,’ Deano adds.
I give him my customer service smile.
‘I’m more into throwing, but I can roll those back to you if you want?’
‘What?’ I ask, confused.
‘Your eyes,’ he tells me. ‘You keep rolling your eyes.’
I think for a moment.
‘It’s the altitude.’
‘Oh, right,’ he says, relieved. ‘I thought maybe you thought I was a twat.’
A couple of hours have gone by, but it feels like an age because I am beyond bored. I wish I could leave. If there’s one thing I am even less keen on than having another drink with Deano, it’s going home early and giving Nick the satisfaction of witnessing another failed date. The problem is that wanting to stay out as long as possible, combined with all the free drinks my northern Tom Hardy look-alike has given us tonight, has resulted in me winding up just a little drunk. In fact, I stumble on my way to the lift, proving this fact to myself.
‘Careful,’ Deano laughs, his large, rugby player’s body clearly unaffected by the amount we’ve had to drink.
Once inside the non-existent privacy of the glass lift, Deano grabs me by the hips and presses me up against the door. I feel his thumbs digging into my body as his lips meet my neck.
‘My place or yours?’ he asks. ‘Yours is closer.’
Ah yes, I forgot it was Deano’s mission to sleep with me.
‘Bad news,’ I start. ‘Time of the month.’
Yes, I’m continuing my fictitious period. This is the kind of excuse that you can only use once, and not with anyone you plan on keeping around because men are not stupid, and they can figure out when your “time of the month” is actually every day of the month.
‘You’re not serious?’ he asks as he stops kissing my neck, rather abruptly.
‘Super-serious, sorry,'’ I lie. ‘Sucks to be female sometimes.’
‘Well, there is always that,’ he tells me, raising his eyebrows. I can’t help but shoot him a look. ‘OK, fine. Next time?’
‘Next time,’ I lie. Again.
Deano, without so much as a peck on the cheek, bids me goodnight the second we step out of the lift. Amazing, how when men are trying to sleep with you that they’re not even willing to pretend. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I want men to manipulate me into having sex with them, but they could at least try and pretend that’s not all their doing. At least fake it, just a little bit. Just make us feel a little bit special, tell us we look pretty, even if it’s the most insincere bollocks we’ve ever heard, it just makes us feel that little bit better, like maybe, just maybe we have something going for us other than girl parts and iffy taste.
I decide to pop into the sanctuary that is late-night McDonald’s, before dragging my butt up the hill towards my flat. I don’t know if it’s the double cheeseburger, the tough trek (because alcohol and because heels) home or the thoughts buzzing around my head – or maybe it’s a combination of all of the above that is very sobering, but I can’t get Nick off my mind. OK, so it was dumb of me to think I’d be able to make a man who damn-near hates me jealous, like that’s suddenly going to work?! To be fair on myself, it wasn’t exactly my idea, it was Millsy’s – why on earth would I listen to Millsy?! The man thinks safe sex involves making sure the door is locked in case the bird’s husband gets home early.
Nope, there’s no way this was ever going to work, and now I have to go home with my tail between my legs and admit that it was yet another shitty date with yet another online dating weirdo. And Nick is going to just love that, isn’t he? He loves nothing more than watching me fuck up. I’ll bet he’s tucked up in his boring little bed with his boring little girlfriend after a night watching some lame documentary they found in the deepest, darkest corner of Netflix, while they ate their gross vegan food, before an impressive ten minutes in the missionary position and then bed.
At least, that’s how I imagine their nights play out. I can only confirm the first two points, because I’ve had to endure them snuggled up on the sofa watching things that I can’t even believe exist, like that documentary I once saw them watching on the secret story of where all our sewage is going. I sat and watche
d it for a few minutes, spoiler alert: it’s so fucking boring. I also have cold, hard proof that what they cook and eat is sad, meat-free, dairy-free junk and, incidentally, cold and hard is what I would name the one dish they once insisted I try. I’m not even sure what it was, but it made my mouth so sad, I think it cried.
As for their sex life, I’m speculating, but I am basing my assumption on how boring and unaffectionate they are in real life. Sure, I see them cuddle on the sofa when they’re watching TV – whatever – but I’m talking his arm around her and that’s it. I never see them being silly with one another, I never see them play-fighting. She never takes the dirty spoon out of the pan of meat-free mush and taps him on the nose with it gently, or any of the other shit I have it on pretty good authority that couples are supposed to do, based on any romcom I’ve ever seen, ever.
I don’t blame Nick, he’s so sexy he should be advertising aftershave on the back of Cosmo. Heather, on the other hand…I’m not saying she’s not attractive (well, on the outside, on the inside she is ug-ly), but she doesn’t even try to be anything but dull. She doesn’t dress up, she doesn’t wear make-up, she doesn't accessorise – I mean, what kind of girl doesn’t accessorise?! It will be her bedroom game that is weak, I’m sure of it. I bet she just lies there, I bet she doesn’t dress up –
Oh my God, I’m getting mental images and the jealousy is driving me crazy, this is awful. How have I fallen for someone so hard so quickly, when this time last week I hated them more than anyone in the world – including the woman I saw last year for my brow-tint, who somehow “accidentally” wound up giving me a shade intended for redheads. She said it was an accident, but I reckon it was revenge because I took Millsy with me and it turned out she’d spoken to him on Matcher, but they’d never been on a date. She seemed annoyed that he’d just stopped replying to her, but that’s the name of the game on Matcher, everyone knows that. You can’t go into things like this with feelings or self-respect, because you’ll come out broken and hating yourself if you gave even just one little fuck about what the men on sites like that think of you.
Truth Or Date Page 12
