I’m silent for a minute, wondering. Picturing what might have been. How school might’ve been different if it was Esther and Nick, instead of Esther and Alistair.
I sit up on my penis bench and look at him properly, trying to get my head around this weird night.
To be honest, when our eyes met across the student bar earlier, my first reaction was to go home.
I’ve actively avoided Nick since starting at uni a couple of months ago. Firstly, because we were totallynotfriends at school. He was a mouthy little idiot who only hung out with the other boys and seemed to think girls were icky. Secondly, he was Alistair’s mate, and I just broke up with Alistair so I didn’t want Nick reporting back any of my drunken, snoggy behaviour.
But mostly, I’d avoided Nick because he was a reminder of the old ways. The old me. He knew me asFanny Adams, the loser I’d left behind at school. I’m a university student now! I’ve reinvented myself into sexy, cool Esther. A person who actually fits in with these awesome, clever,togetherpeople. As far as these new friends I bought with booze know, I’m brilliant. And I don’t want them finding out I’m actually not. I don’t want anybody who knew the old me – the real me – to be here, reminding everyone what a gross loser I really am. I don’t want Nick telling everyone I spent my school years hiding behind the bike sheds.
The problem is that he’s the student bar’s newest member of staff.
Completely unavoidable.
I mean, what am I going to do? Go to a different bar and pay real prices?! When I’ve already spent all my money in a matter of weeks? That’s just foolish.
So I stayed. And I found, as the night went on, that I was looking over at him more and more. Seeing him in something like a new light. And when he came over to say hi, he was nothing like the annoying schoolboy I remembered. He was sweet, funny, polite, thoughtful, silly, kind. Everything you’d want.
I realized then that he was probably doing the same thing as me. He’d reinvented himself, too. In fact, he was probably just as scared as me about getting rumbled by his new mates.
‘You’re so different here,’ I say now, switching benches to join him, lying down so we’re face-to-face.
He looks thoughtful. ‘I don’t know if I’m different really. I think, if anything, I’m moremehere than I was at school. At school there was so much pressure to be a certain thing. Or – I guess more accurately –notbe a certain thing. To fit in, you have all these rules you’re supposed to abide by. I don’t mean school rules. I mean, like,socialrules. I spent so much time and energy trying to be the boy everyone thought I should be back then. It feels like I’ve been released from prison, coming here.’
‘So you like uni so far?’ I smile, watching his mouth move.
He nods, laughing. ‘I love it. And this new bar job is the bomb! I get free booze and I get to have a little two-personlock-in after hours every now and again.’ He makes bold eye contact and my stomach leaps a little.
This is so wrong.
But it feels oddly right. Hanging out here with Nick Wilde in the emptied-out university bar, no one else left but me, him, and a thousand half-drunk pink cocktails in plastic pint cups, waiting to be collected. ‘What about you?’ he asks earnestly. ‘Do you like it here?’
I consider lying and don’t. ‘No, not really.’ I sigh. ‘It’s fun in some ways but I don’t get anything they’re saying to me in lectures. I find it boring and confusing. Honestly, I don’t really know why I’m here. I feel a bit like I just went along with my parents’ suggestions that I “make something of myself”. Mostly I just wanted to get away.’ I make a face as I wonder if I should tell him the next part. He looks at me, waiting patiently – like he knows there’s more to it.
God, he’s so much more intuitive than I would ever have guessed. Nick Wilde, the empath! Who would have seen that coming? Shelley and Lou are going to shit their pants when I tell them about this. Maybe I won’t tell them.
‘So’ – I take a deep breath – ‘I just started working at this Italian restaurant – just as a dish washer! – but I weirdly really love it. I’ve always really enjoyed cooking, but never thought I could do anything with it. And watching the chefs at work is amazing.’ I look down at my hands. ‘Honestly, I really, like,itchto be doing it with them. One of them let me help with starters the other day and I was buzzing for hours afterwards.’ I look away, embarrassed. ‘It’s silly.’
‘Do you think it’s what you want to do?’ His voice is serious. ‘Like, for real? With your life, I mean?’
I think about this, still looking away. ‘I kinda do,’ I hedge at last, feeling something fluttering in my belly. ‘I want to move to London with Shelley and Lou, and get a fancy job in a glamorous restaurant! But obviously I have to finish university first. Then I guess I’ll see what happens.’
‘But why?’ He looks confused. ‘If you know what you want to do, and you’re not particularly enjoying uni, why waste these three years? It’s not like you’re studying anything to do with food, and it’s not a career path that demands a degree.’
I frown. ‘Because—’ I can’t think of a reason. The only answer I have is: because my parents told me I should go to university. Instead, I offer: ‘Because I already spent all of my student overdraft?’
He laughs at this. Why did I never notice what a great laugh he has? It makes you want to join in and never stop. ‘Well, we’re only going to spend a fuck ton more money in the next few years.’ He pauses. ‘Look, I totally selfishly want you to stay’ – our eyes meet again and something like a heat pulse flashes between us – ‘but university isn’t the right thing for everyone. Despite what got drummed into us as kids. If you really do want to be a chef, you should go for it. I think it’s a terrific idea, and if you already love it, that’s really special.’
God, I want to kiss him.
There is a silence between us as I bite my lip and sit up,trying not to look down at his long, lean mid-section. His polo shirt – complete with the bar’s logo emblazoned across its front – is tight against him. There surely can’t be abs under there? None of the boys I’ve ever met or been with have had abs. Going to the gym wasn’t cool at school. You just played football. Football doesn’t give you a sixpack, does it? Alistair didn’t have one – he had a boy’s body. What if Nick Wilde has a man’s body?
‘All I will say,’ he continues after a minute, oblivious to the filth running through my head, ‘is that I have an uncle who’s a chef. He loves it but he says it’s one of the most intense jobsever. He works the longest hours of anyone I know. We never really see him. Plus, he says it can be pretty male-dominated and sweary – you need a thick skin.’
I puff up. ‘I can handle it,’ I grin. ‘I love swearing.’
He smiles at me again and the tension between us is suddenly so thick, I can taste it. He awkwardly pushes his hair off his face and I resist an impulse to grab his hand and lick it. I want to lick every bit of him. I want his fingers on me and in me, I want his man-body pressed against mine. Everything aches for him.
And even though I’ve never wanted something more in my life – never craved a person like this, never silently begged for a thing so much – I almost don’t see it coming when he kisses me.
