Virgin(27)

Oh God, the conversation was getting heavy and I was out of my depth. In a last-ditch attempt to save it, I joked, “Wow. Okay, I’m going to need a dictionary to start translating what you’re saying now.”

It was clearly the right thing to say because he laughed. “God, yeah, I’ve got a habit of doing that. Sorry. So, yeah, I really think class systems are still an integral part of our society but I wish they weren’t, which is why I’m a Socialist.”

Oh no, he was still going. And it didn’t even make sense any more. With my face scrunched up in confusion, I asked, “But . . . you just said you think political beliefs are all the same. So why do you have one?”

There was a twenty-second silence, and then he grinned at me again, staring straight at me with his sparkling green eyes. “I talk a lot of crap, don’t I?”

Thank God he knew. I giggled in relief and shrugged my shoulders. “I think we all do, but you really have a gift for it,” I teased.

“And you have a gift for getting to the core of things without batting an eyelid,” he said. “I’ve dated so many girls, and most of them are such intellectuals that we go round in circles for ages, but you . . . well, you’re kind of different.”

Oh my God, had he just implied that we were dating? Wait, did he just say he didn’t think I was intellectual? “Um, thanks?” I said uncertainly.

He laughed. “No, it’s a good thing. I’d love to chat politics with you more often. You obviously have quite good insights and aren’t the type of girl who is going to spend an entire coffee date discussing X Factor for three hours.”

Shit, he really didn’t know me. “Of course not. Who actually watches that trash?” I giggled nervously.

“God, I know. My ex-girlfriend used to live with a bunch of girls who were obsessed with it. She and I ended up spending all our money at the Ritzy, watching decent films to try to undo the damage it caused.”

“What’s the Ritzy?” I asked, my voice suddenly small and quiet from the mention of his ex-girlfriend.

“Oh, it’s a cinema in Brixton, near where I live. It’s cool—we should go some time,” he said, smiling.

I smiled back. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, what were you doing in the area today?”

“Oh, right,” I said with a little laugh. “I just had some errands to do, like buying things I need. Pretty much doing anything I can do to escape the boredom of Surrey and avoid revising for my finals.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you were around. Sorry I didn’t text you—I’ve had a crazy week and was going to wait for the weekend to see if you wanted to do something when I had more time.”

I felt a warm glow rise inside me and chastised myself for going crazy about the five-day thing. I couldn’t think of a suitable response so I just smiled at him and hoped he would carry on. Luckily, he did. “So, do you want to do something this Friday?”

I was just about to agree when I remembered that Emma was coming home from her trip then and we had arranged to meet up. Typical that the only social plan I had for the entire Easter holidays was on the one day when a boy had asked me out.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes looking down at the floor, “I can’t. But any other day is fine with me.” Damn, that sounded desperate. “I mean, most days. When is good for you?”

“Oh, no worries. What about Saturday night?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay, Saturday works. I mean, you’re tearing me away from the new episode of Gossip Girl but I can probably cope.”

His eyes narrowed in curiosity. “You watch that trash?”

Bugger. “Um, yes,” I admitted. “It’s important to be a well-rounded person, right? Especially if I want to be a journalist. I can’t just watch Newsnight; I have to keep in touch with popular culture as well. As much as it pains me to watch beautiful people wearing stunning clothes and having fun, with addictive drama going on in their enviable lives.”

He laughed. “It seems like I’m not the only one who talks a lot of crap. I’m getting the feeling that you love this show and it’s not the only American drama you’re addicted to.”

Shit, how did he know? I hoped he didn’t realize I had never watched an episode of Newsnight either. “Okay, I love crap TV,” I confessed.

“I watch The Simpsons and South Park. Does that count as crap TV too?” he asked.

“Totally,” I said, smiling. Maybe we had more in common than I thought.

He looked at his watch and sighed. “Shit, as much as I’d like to sit here and discuss satirical cartoons with you, I’ve got to get back to work. It’s been fun, though,” he said.