He folds his arms casually. I have to admit, I wasn’t ready for that onslaught. I don’t think Charlene was, either. In fact, she looks kind of embarrassed at him picking apart her appearance like that. It’s one thing for him to tell her random facts no stranger could possibly know. That’s the exciting bit. But it’s another for him to explain how he knows them.
After a few seconds she laughs it off, though. “Oh, my God, I never knew people could tell these things about me. It’s kind of freaking me out, but it’s so much fun! Okay, now do her,” she says, pointing to me.
Jays turns his head, a wicked tilt to his lips. “I’d be happy to.”
I can’t tell whether or not he meant that as an innuendo. I raise my hands in the air. “Please don’t. I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport,” Charlene chides. I cut her an annoyed look.
Jay leans forward and takes one of my hands in both of his. The touch surprises me, scattering goose pimples across my skin. He rubs his thumb over the top of my index finger, and I suppress a shiver. “You see these little scratches? They show you do some kind of work with your hands. The dressmaking, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, but you already knew that.”
His lips twitch. “Okay. You’re a deep sleeper. You enjoy healthy comfort foods. You do some form of exercise. My bet would be cycling. When it’s warm out, you like to sit in the sun. You don’t dye your hair. When men touch you, it makes you nervous. Your favourite style era is the fifties…and you wish I’d shut the fuck up right now.” He stops and sits back in his seat with a smile. “Well, how did I do?”
I narrow my eyes. “Too well.”
“You want me to explain how I know?”
“Not particularly.”
Charlene rolls her eyes and puts her hand on Jay’s shoulder, leaning close to him. “I want to know. Tell us.”
Jay angles his body away from her ever so slightly, then starts to speak. “I can tell you sleep deeply because the whites of your eyes are clear. People who sleep bad get redness, or their eyes can be bloodshot. I’m a prime example of that.” He points to himself, and it makes me wonder why he doesn’t sleep well. “I know you like healthy comfort foods because you’re not fat, but you’ve got curves. You’ve got muscles in your thighs and calves, but not in your arms, which shows you exercise mainly with your legs, hence the cycling. You’ve got a small scattering of freckles across your nose from sitting in the sun. Your hair is an exact match for your eyebrows, so it’s most likely not dyed. Plus, your dad showed me some of your kiddie pictures the other day,” he admits.
Oh, I’m so having words with Dad about that.
“You flinched very slightly when I touched your hand, which means you either don’t like me or men don’t touch you very often, which is why it makes you nervous. I can tell you like the fifties because most of the dresses you make have details that are reminiscent of that era. And your eyes did a pretty good job of telling me you wished I’d shut the fuck up.” He chuckles.
“Well,” I say, letting out a long breath, “that was spot on. Disturbingly so,” I grumble.
“I’ve been paying close attention, Watson,” he says, and I suppress a tremor.
“Seriously, that was so good,” Charlene exclaims. “You should, like, have your own TV show or something.”
Jay gives her a sardonic look. “Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I?”
An Abba song comes on, and I hear Michelle calling me to join her and Mr Fox. Both are currently shaking it over on the dance floor.
“Matilda! It’s ‘Dancing Queen’ — get over here now!” she drunkenly shouts. When we were younger we discovered Muriel’s Wedding, and Abba has been our guilty pleasure ever since.
I turn back to Jay and Charlene. “It looks like I’m wanted.” Then I stand up and go to Michelle. She grabs both of my hands when I reach her and starts swaying me from side to side. “I love this song,” she yells over the music while Mr Fox hovers close behind her. It seems like I’m destined to be the third wheel in some form or another tonight.
“Who’s the ginger bitch?” she asks, nodding toward the table.
“Some air hostess.”
“Huh. Oh, don’t look now, but Jay’s coming over. Ginger bitch doesn’t look too happy.”
“Really? He’s coming over?”
“Oh, no wait. He made a beeline for the bar.”
I exhale in relief. I like dancing, but dancing with Jay is not an experience I think I can handle. The song ends and changes to a slow number, so I leave Michelle alone to slow dance with her latest acquisition. Joining Jay, I ask the bartender for another wine.