Virgin(23)

I flushed red and quickly said, “Yeah, okay. So, Jack, this is Emma. Emma, Jack.”

She turned to face Jack and gave him a full hundred-watt smile. “Glad to see Ellie’s getting to know the only guy at this party who brought decent drinks with him.”

“Well, hey, someone had to.” He grinned back at her.

I felt the familiar Lara-jealousy creeping into my stomach as I realized they were flirting with each other, and even though I didn’t fancy Jack, I really didn’t want to be the rejected third wheel again. Except I had forgotten that Emma wasn’t Lara. When Jack had finished pouring her drink, she winked at me, blew him a kiss and disappeared with the drink in hand.

“So, that was Emma!” I said brightly, recovering from my temporary lapse of self-esteem and inwardly telling myself off for ever having doubted her.

“She seems fun.”

“She is. Hey, what’s the mysterious Eric like?”

“Not so mysterious at all, really,” he said, gesturing towards a tall, dark-haired guy standing at the back of the room with his arm around Hannah. Eric was very good-looking, at least six feet tall, with stubble. He wore a T-shirt with an image of headphones printed around its neckline, and he looked bored. Hannah was welcome to him.

“So, do you know Hannah well?” he asked.

“Um.” I paused. “Well, we’ve had a lot of classes together these past few years, and we have a lot of mutual friends so I guess I know her well enough. We don’t really hang out one-on-one though. Ever.”

He laughed. “Okay, I get it. You’re acquaintances more than you’re friends. To be honest, I don’t really get on too well with her.”

My face shone with delight but I quickly forced it into a concerned expression. “Oh, no way. How come?”

He grinned. “Don’t play innocent; I can see that you don’t like her. It’s written all over your face.”

Ah. “Well, I mean, we just don’t have much in common. Like . . . I’m a nice person and she’s not.”

“Ouch! Where did that come from?”

“I honestly didn’t mean to say that.” I gestured towards the now-empty glass I was holding. “I think maybe it was the wine that said it.”

“Then I think we should fill that up again. This is getting entertaining.”

“Getting? Excuse me?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. Oh my God, I was flirting. Emma’s dress was clearly giving me all of her vibes. I was on a roll.

“You’re right,” he said, smiling at me. “This has all been fun. In fact, hey, do you want to maybe do it again?”

Oh my God, he was asking me out. An actual, real guy was asking me out. A twenty-six-year-old man was asking me out, and he had a job. I bit my lip to hide the elation bursting out of me, and as casually as I could, I replied, “Sure.”

He grinned back at me. “Cool, do you want to give me your number then?”

I read my number out to him and saw him pause when he was about to type in my name. Oh God, I knew there had to be a catch. He had managed to forget my two-syllable name.

He looked up. “Erm, how do you spell your name again?”

I sighed. “It’s Ellie. Which is E-L-L-I-E because there really isn’t any other way to spell it. I can’t believe you forgot my name.”

He flushed red. “Sorry. Can I blame this on the Beaujolais too?”

I made a mental note to Google this wine, and a couple of others while I was at it so I could look a bit more sophisticated on our date. Oh my God, date. I beamed and took his number happily.

“So, I’d better go find Emma,” I said finally.

“Yeah, it’s like—wow, it’s one a.m.,” he said as he looked at his watch. “We’ve been chatting for about three hours now.”

“Shit, Emma’s probably furious,” I said, whilst my insides danced for joy at the fact that a guy had asked for my number after spending three hours chatting to me exclusively.

“I wouldn’t be too sure. Isn’t that her on top of that guy?”

I glanced over to where he was pointing and burst out laughing. “That girl is amazing. I hope that guy realizes how lucky he is.”

Jack smiled uncertainly so I quickly carried on. “Anyway,” I said, jumping to my feet. “I’m going to go and intrude on that because I’m exhausted and need to go home.”

He got up and smiled at me. “Good luck. It was good to meet you.”

He put out his right arm and as I was about to walk up to him for a hug, he clenched his hand into a fist. I stared at it. Why was he screwing his hand into a fist? Jesus, was he going to punch me?