The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating: A sparkling and hilarious feel good romantic comedy

by Nina Kaye

  ‘Squirt?’ Amir looks amused. ‘That’s cute.’

  ‘Is it?’ I give him a sarcastic look.

  ‘What is this… this squirt?’ Reyes asks. ‘I do not know this word.’

  ‘I think it means that Liv was small when she was young,’ Amir explains. ‘Probably smaller than me by the sounds of things. And that’s the affectionate nickname she unfortunately ended up with from her friends. Is that right, Liv?’

  ‘On the button.’ I grimace.

  ‘I think it’s cute.’ Amir gives me a little wink.

  ‘Here we are, folks.’ Dylan plonks the first two pints on the table. ‘Back in a sec.’

  ‘Seems a nice guy,’ Amir comments, as Dylan returns to the bar for the final two drinks.

  ‘He definitely means well.’ I shrug. ‘It just doesn’t always come across that way.’

  ‘Right, so who do we have here?’ Dylan asks.

  Carelessly placing my drink in front of me, causing some of the contents to slop over the sides, Dylan takes a glug from his pint, pulls out a chair and sits down. In my unease with his behaviour, I forget the introductions.

  ‘Amir.’ Amir sticks out his hand, and he and Dylan share a blokey handshake. ‘Good to meet you, mate. And this is Reyes.’

  ‘Hola.’ Reyes gives him a little wave.

  ‘Great to meet you both.’ Dylan grins at them.

  His eyes linger on Reyes. He obviously thinks she’s as hot as I described her, and she’s probably the reason for his sudden appearance – and choice of attire. I make a mental note to warn him that she’s very much taken, in case he doesn’t spot the huge rock on her finger.

  ‘Nice to see Liv hanging out with some decent people for a change,’ says Dylan. ‘Not like the twats she used to drink with.’

  I grimace again, but Amir and Reyes simply nod in plain agreement.

  ‘We had the pleasure of meeting them earlier,’ says Amir. ‘When they dropped by the bar.’

  ‘What? Why were they in the bar?’ Dylan looks at me, confused. ‘You didn’t invite them there, did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ I say. ‘They turned up unexpectedly. Must have just wanted to try the place. They definitely had no idea I was working there.’

  ‘Balls.’ Dylan gives me a sympathetic look. ‘They know then?’

  ‘Yes, they know.’ I sigh. ‘And it seems that’s the end of those friendships. Anya was the biggest let-down. She was the one person I thought I had something really strong with.’

  ‘Sorry, Squirt.’ Dylan ruffles my hair, causing me to duck out of his reach in embarrassment. ‘But seriously, it’s probably the best thing. You needed rid of those poncey twats. All they cared about was themselves. They weren’t proper friends. Not like me – and Amir and Reyes here.’

  Amir and Reyes both raise an eyebrow at me, causing me to redden. I give them a warning look. They simultaneously drink from their pints to cover up their amusement.

  ‘Well, I’m not exactly rejoicing the way my social and professional connections just bombed.’ I rub my forehead absently. ‘And you could put it a little more delicately, Dylan. But, you’re probably right that I’m better off without them. Now, let’s change the subject.’

  For the next hour and a half, we chat away about nothing and everything. Despite my concerns about Dylan joining us, he seems to warm to Reyes and Amir in a way that he never did with my previous ‘friends’. As we talk, laugh, and tease each other, I have a comforting sense that I find difficult to place. It’s like being at home. But home was never a happy place for me. I begin to withdraw from the conversation; becoming more and more distracted, as I frustratedly try and fail to catch the thread of this memory. Suddenly it hits me.

  It is home. But not the home I grew up in: with the shouting and swearing, and the treading on eggshells. Where day after day, my mum retreated further and further into herself – and the bottle. It’s from the home I made with Dylan. Where we played in the woods at the back of the estate, or had marathon pool competitions in the Broken Arms, on the days when my dad was in the nick for yet another drunken brawl. Home wasn’t a physical place: it was in the companionship and the laughter. It was in the rare moments when I was away from my actual physical home, and I could forget it even existed. This is where I am now. I’m not just away from that broken world of my childhood. I am also away from the falsities I had created in my life in order to fit in and feel validated in the corporate world. I’m home here – and this is where I want to be.

  ‘Guys, I’ve just had an epiphany,’ I announce.

  Dylan, Reyes and Amir immediately cease their banter and regard me quizzically.

  ‘What does this mean… epi-ta-ny?’ Reyes asks.

  ‘I thought that was a date in January,’ says Dylan.

  ‘Epiphany,’ Amir corrects them both. ‘It’s a moment of clarity. Of realisation.’

  ‘Ah, muy bien.’ Reyes suddenly looks excited. ‘And what is your realisation, Chica?’

  ‘It’s that you’re right. You’re all right. I’ve been so obsessed with my corporate career that I’ve sacrificed things that are important. Like friendships. And fun. Real fun. I don’t know when I last had such a great time as here, just now! Or laughed so much. Which is strange, given I just experienced one of the worst nights of my life as well…’

  I pause for a moment to ponder this thought.

  ‘I mean, the nights out I had before were enjoyable,’ I continue. ‘They were high-end and high-energy. They made me feel like I’d made it and I fitted in. But they were so… predictable. The same work-related chat. The same limited innuendo-charged banter. But this… this is amazing. All of us together. We just click. I can just be me. This is the kind of social life I want…’

  I turn to Dylan, who has been strangely quiet, just watching me. ‘Dylan, I’m so sorry. You’ve been my one true friend all this time, but I’ve pushed you away, thinking I should have something different. You’ve been so patient… so understanding. I’m not sure I deserved that. Thank you. Thanks, all of you, for making me wake up.’

  My three friends all now gape at me in surprise, and then Amir and Reyes look at Dylan to gauge his reaction to my apology.

  ‘No worries.’ He just shrugs easily. ‘You were never gonna get rid of me. No matter how hard you tried.’

  I get up and give him a whopping great hug to make up for all my ungratefulness over the past ten or so years. He looks surprised, but gallantly says nothing, and just hugs me back.

  ‘Well… this is amazing.’ Amir grins. ‘What a turnaround in one night.’

  ‘Yes! Chica. You are living again!’ Reyes gives me a big hug.

  ‘Let’s toast this shit!’ Dylan holds up his pint, and we clink our glasses together in celebration.

  ‘This is a new start for me,’ I declare. ‘Sod them, sod the lot of them. I don’t need them. And I don’t need the corporate world. Maybe I’ll just stay working in the bar. Have a life that’s actually worth living. Well, I mean, I love gin. I even love learning about gin. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’m not quitting. I’m staying at the bar for good. I feel freer and happier already, just thinking about—’

  ‘Eh… Squirt…’ Dylan interrupts me. ‘I don’t mean to piss on your parade, but if you do that, you’ll be homeless in a matter of weeks. It’s great that you’ve finally woken up, and I’m really glad you’ve put those idiots behind you. But you still need a better-paying job, otherwise it’s back to the—’

  ‘OK, thanks, Dylan.’ I cut him off before he can reveal any more.

  ‘Would you really want to be stuck working for the beast indefinitely anyway?’ Amir offers.

  ‘Definitely not.’ I scratch my head in consternation, as the reality of my situation floods back in waves, pushing back the alcoholic haze that has clouded my judgement. ‘OK, not everything is solved. Obviously, I still want to find a job in my field. And I want my high-flying career. But at least I’ve realised who my real friends are, and I’m happy tonight!
’

  ‘This is the spirit, Chica. To amigos!’ Reyes toasts me, and we all clink glasses again.

  ‘We’ll help you out of this hole.’ Dylan pulls me into a vice-like sideways hug that’s more of a headlock. ‘Because that’s what true friends do.’

  Chapter 13

  The next evening, although I’ve already shared my woes, Reyes and still I go for a drink as planned on our day off. She assures me it won’t be a big one. And that’s how it starts out – in an upmarket bar on George Street. But after a couple of hours and a handful of G&Ts, Reyes has other ideas.

  ‘OK. We go dancing now, Chica.’ Her eyes shine mischievously.

  ‘What. No.’ I wave my hands in a halting gesture. ‘I’ve got job-hunting to do in the morning. Plus…’ I wince a little ‘…I can’t actually afford to spend any more tonight.’

  She cocks her head to one side. ‘Then I will buy these drinks. You need night out. I know good salsa club with great cocktails.’

  ‘Reyes, no. I can’t allow you to do that. All right, how about we go and I’ll just not drink. I don’t need to drink to enjoy a dance anyway.’

  As I say this, I find myself wondering if there will be an entry fee, but I keep these further financial concerns to myself.

  ‘Muy bien,’ says Reyes. ‘Let us go then.’

  We finish our drinks, then grab our stuff and head for the door. Once outside in the dry but gusty late evening, Reyes leads the way to Bar Latino, a basement club just five minutes away, in the West End. As we descend the steps, nodding a greeting at the door staff as we go, the hot and sexy salsa music drifts out from inside, making it almost impossible not to be drawn in by the rhythmical beat. Then on entering the club, which I’m pleased to note doesn’t charge for entry, we’re hit by a wall of humidity, a natural by-product of the passion-filled dancing inside.

  We grab a table and make ourselves comfortable on the black leather-style tub chairs, then Reyes gets straight to her feet again.

  ‘I go to toilet. Back in a minute.’

  As she disappears across the dance floor, I watch the people dancing with interest. There are couples getting up close and personal, and groups of friends connecting through their laughter and synchronised movement to the beat of the conga drums. My gaze then shifts to the tables surrounding the dance floor, which are filled with a similar demographic. Just as I’m watching a man being very unwillingly dragged onto the dance floor by his overenthusiastic other half, Reyes reappears and plonks a cocktail down on the table in front of me.

  ‘I said I wasn’t going to drink.’ I look up at her, half-shouting to be heard over the music. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Why I cannot buy you drinks?’ Reyes shrugs dramatically. ‘What is this? It is British thing?’

  ‘Huh? No. It’s…’

  ‘It is Liv thing.’ Reyes finishes my sentence with her own version before I can come up with a plausible response. ‘It is this pride. You need to shake off this pride.’

  Realising there’s no way I’m going to win this, I give in. ‘Thanks for the drink, Reyes. That was very kind of you.’

  ‘You are welcome, Chica.’ She points at her drink, which is the same as mine. ‘This is caipirinha. This is cocktail to drink when dancing salsa.’

  ‘I’d have thought that would be a mojito or a margarita.’

  ‘They are also good. But they are… common as the muck, I think you say?’

  ‘That’s just about right.’ I give her an amused smile.

  ‘Yes. So, caipirinha is very good and less common as the muck.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’d better enjoy it then. Cheers!’

  We clink glasses and sit quietly for a moment as we sip at our drinks, watching the people dancing around us. The zingy sweet and sour flavour combination with the lime and the alcoholic heat is quite delicious, and quickly gets me back in the mood; forgetting my lack of disposable income and my job-hunting commitments the next day.

  ‘I am loving this place,’ says Reyes. ‘Everyone is happy here. It is happy place.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ I reply.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘See that couple over there.’ I point to the man who was dragged up to dance. ‘There’s something going on between them.’

  ‘Something how?’ Reyes squints across at the couple.

  ‘I think they’re having an argument or something.’

  ‘I do not think this. I think he is just not liking the dancing and she want him to stay.’

  I shake my head. ‘I think it’s more than that. Just watch.’

  As we continue to spectate from the sidelines, the interaction between the couple starts to shift. What might have seemed like harmless discussion and cajoling to stay on the dance floor, rapidly develops into emotion-fuelled faces and dramatic gestures, followed by a full-scale argument. Minutes later, the woman appears to shout some kind of insult at the man and then runs off the dance floor toward the ladies toilets in tears.

  ‘Dios mio! You were right.’ Reyes turns to me, wide-eyed. ‘You are person-reading genius.’

  I shrug. ‘Got an eye for body language. I do hope they’ll patch it up. Don’t like seeing people upset.’

  ‘I do not either,’ Reyes agrees. ‘But we must forget this sadness. It is time to dance. And to party.’

  ‘Good thinking.’

  We grab our drinks and join the people on the dance floor. As we do, it becomes clear that Reyes knows some of them, and before long, we’re dancing the night away together as a group, the atmosphere filled with laughter, rhythm and energy. And Reyes continues to keep our drinks topped up, despite my protestations. For the first time in ages, I feel free and can forget my worries by just losing myself in the music.

  After a couple of hours, I’m getting close to calling it a night, when a man with pompadour-styled dirty blonde hair and an athletic physique starts to dance near us. He’s quite easy on the eye, and it’s clear that Reyes has noticed this. She’s giving me a blatant I-know-you-say-you’re-not-dating-but-what-about-this-guy look.

  I shake my head straight away to indicate I’m not interested and she gives me a pouty, disapproving look. The man, who has failed to read this interaction, then shimmies across to me.

  ‘Hey, there. I couldn’t help noticing you have really great rhythm. Is that something you can teach?’

  ‘Why, you think you need lessons?’ I throw back. ‘You look like you’re managing just fine.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The man fails to take the hint. ‘How about I buy you a drink instead?’

  I chuckle at his forwardness. ‘No thanks. My friend and I are just heading home. Have a good one.’

  I grab Reye’s hand and haul her off the dance floor, leaving the man looking a little forlorn, dancing away by himself.

  ‘Chica, what is this?’ she immediately starts to protest. ‘Why you not like this man? He is beautiful.’

  ‘He is beautiful,’ I agree. ‘But he’s also hit on about four other women in here tonight,’ I reply. ‘And that’s just the ones I noticed.’

  ‘What? How you see this?’

  ‘As I said, I just notice things. He succeeded with one of them, but there was obviously something that put her off, because she made her excuses after one drink. So, even if I was on the lookout for a man, it wouldn’t be him.’

  ‘You are good at this.’ Reyes gives me an impressed look. ‘It is talent.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d call it that. Maybe if I could apply it to my own car crash of a life. It’s much harder to read situations for what they really are when emotions are thrown into the mix.’ I stifle a yawn. ‘Right, I’m going to have to call it a night or I’ll never get through my shift tomorrow. Are you staying with your friends?’

  ‘No. I come with you.’

  We reach our table, grab our coats and head for the door. Once we’ve climbed the steps back up into the dark and windy night, and are about to go our separate ways, I turn to Reyes.

  �
�Thanks for tonight. I think I really needed that.’

  ‘This I do know.’ Reyes gives me a big squeezy hug. ‘You are having your talents, and I am having mine. Goodnight, Chica. Go and have dreaming of nice life.’

  The next afternoon, I’m back behind the bar with Reyes, preparing for the Friday evening rush.

  ‘Are you still having the headache?’ she asks me.

  ‘Not as bad.’ I look up briefly from slicing the lemon and lime wedges. ‘Thanks for the painkillers.’

  ‘It was worth it though, yes? To have the headache?’

  ‘It certainly was.’ I smile at her. ‘Can’t remember the last time I had a night out like that. I’m guessing they party differently in Spain.’

  ‘This, I do know.’ Reyes nods firmly. ‘I am so happy that the fun chica has finally come out. I like this better.’

  ‘Me too.’ I laugh. ‘I definitely lost my sense of perspective – and humour – for a while there.’

  ‘In English, “a while” means ten years?’

  ‘Cheeky.’ I throw her a sideways glance, and my lips curl impishly. ‘It’s only been eight and a half.’

  ‘For a chica who does not want to have a man, you seem to know a lot about romance and dating.’ Reyes stops polishing the glass in her hand and looks at me curiously. ‘You have interesting view with the couple and the man in the bar last evening.’

  ‘I’m just fascinated by human behaviour.’ I shrug. ‘Studied it as part of my degree at university.’

  ‘Ah, OK. This is making sense. But you have a man in your life before?’

  ‘Yes, but not for a while. As I said to you before, it’s career first.’

  ‘And now?’ Reyes gives me a hopeful look. ‘Maybe now you have this perspective, you can have romancing with Josh?’

  ‘Not if I want to keep my apartment.’ I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘I’ve had three more job rejections in the last two weeks. It’s like they can smell my desperation. I need to stay focused. I got carried away the other night, OK, but my ambition hasn’t gone away. I still need the career, the fulfilment… the sense of achievement.’