‘Well, you know that event I was telling you about? I made some headway today—’
‘Ah, yes, events– you do events.’ He nods with faux profoundness. ‘How do you find that?’
‘Yeah, I enjoy it. Actually I—’
‘I’ve always thought I’d be pretty good at events. I have some sick ideas,’ he says musingly.
‘Oh, that’s great,’ I say, benevolently brushing the double interruption aside. ‘You said you are in finance, right?’
‘Well, it’s actually more complicated than that. I do a bit of this, a bit of that, here, there and everywhere. But, yeah, trading plays a part in it all.’
‘Trading?’
He waves my question away. ‘It’s quite complex. Let’s not get into it this early in the night.’
The waitress reappears with our drinks and our shots, saving me from the inevitable forced prying he was expecting. I neck the shot instantly, placing the glass down with a grimace before he has had a chance to finish pouring the salt onto his hand.
‘Woah, you don’t mess around.’ He is clearly impressed.
‘Can we get two more, please?’ I catch the waitress just before she walks away.
The more I drink, the more his little quirks become bearable and the talk of ‘building his empire’ becomes easier to stomach. The kind sparkle in his eye returns, murky cloud a thing of the past along with my sobriety. We order a third, fourth and fifthround of shots and two more drinks each, conversation swelling by the time we reach the fourth.
‘I like you, Maddison, you’re fun.’ He’s slurring his words and his gaze is deep in a way that feels ever so slightly intrusive, but I let it go because he called me fun. I never get called fun, ever.
‘And you’re a really good listener,’ he continues.
‘Thank you,’ I reply, my smile real this time.
The fact that I listened so well because he barely let me talk is neither here nor there. Who cares about the rough start? We’ve ended up here, and under the low bar lights and the influence of many, many drinks, I cannot deny that we do get along.
‘I’m sorry– just wanted to let you know that we close in ten,’ the waitress says.
The last call bell was a while ago, but the interjection still makes me gasp in surprise. Closed already? How late could it possibly be?
I check my phone and see23.48bold and bright on the screen. It taunts me, reminding me of tomorrow’s early start and the journey I still have to take to my house.
‘Where to next?’ Benji asks, beginning to put on his jacket.
Next? It’s almost tomorrow! Tomorrow Thursday! Thursday the workday!
‘I’m pretty sure everything else around here will be closing too.’ It’s a half-lie. I don’t know if they’re open or closed, I just know that I need to get home. I’ve already missed the last train and I still have to get up for work tomorrow morning. A concern that, apparently, only affects me.
‘Cool, wanna just walk around then? I’m not ready for this to be over,’ he says, coming over and grabbing my hand.
His hand is warm, albeit slightly moist to the touch. Big enough to engulf my entire palm in the centre of his own. He squeezes it tighter, staring closely, forcing a moment. I stare back, force it too, beg the butterflies to return.
‘I should probably get home. It’s getting late and I have work tomorrow,’ I say, eyes still searching his for a hint of a spark.
‘I could come with you?’ he says, swinging his hand and mine.
I stifle the giggle desperate to burst out of my mouth. Not only is the offer audaciously presumptuous for a first date, but the thought of bringing him back to my parents’ house is laughable.
Hi, Mum and Dad. Here’s a man I met yesterday in the park. He’s staying the night; we’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast!
The thought of their faces is enough to have me in hysterics, but I try to refocus and shake my head.
‘Not tonight.’
