I caught sight of my mum across the table and she threw me an approving glance. That made me feel worse, and I gratefully accepted the glass of wine a waiter poured for me. I probably shouldn’t flirt with Paul, seeing as there was no way I would ever fancy him, but I was bored. Besides, Jack hadn’t texted to rearrange our date, and even though I was convinced he would, I still felt a bit panicky. I mean, what if he never texted back? I would be back to square one, and he was so cute that I had no idea how I’d ever find someone like him again.
Even thinking about Jack made me feel sick with nerves, so I quickly distracted myself by smiling at Paul again. If my mum wanted me to flirt with Paul Pitsillides, then I damn well would.
I’d got through the entire dinner by practically ignoring everyone else at the table and giving Paul my full attention. Seeing as he only ever spoke in monosyllables—even after three beers and endless coaxing from me—it had been pretty exhausting.
It was only nine p.m. when we finished dinner, so Debbie and my mum exchanged an obvious glance and suggested that “the young ones” go out to a new cocktail bar while they went back to Debbie’s place to carry on catching up.
Yanni and Nikki were already all over each other and didn’t seem to care if we went or not so long as they could carry on touching. I looked at Paul to see if he was up for it and he shrugged noncommittally.
I smiled sweetly at the parents. “Sure,” I said, as a joyous smile spread across my mum’s face.
We walked across the road to the new bar with its faux-crystal chandeliers, soft purple lighting and overpriced mojitos. The second we got there Yanni and Nikki disappeared, so Paul and I walked over to the bar. Without the company of his sister and parents, he eased up and offered to buy me a drink.
Finally my efforts were working, and he had noticed that I was a not-unattractive girl throwing herself at him. Happily I agreed, and while I sat waiting for him to come back with my ginger mojito, I imagined kissing him. Okay, he was kind of unattractive and weirdly pale—especially compared with Yanni’s impressive tan—but he was male, I was bored and I wanted a backup guy in case Jack never got back to me. Hopefully he would eventually message to rearrange our plans, but in the meantime I could get down and dirty with Paul Pitsillides.
I wasn’t about to lose my V-card to Paul and his black lace-up trainers, but I would never say no to a chance to improve my kissing technique. I wouldn’t even be averse to practicing my hand job techniques with him, because even if I messed it up a bit, I’d probably be the only girl who’d ever done it to him so he’d still be grateful. Unlike James sodding Martell.
When Paul came back with our drinks, I smiled at him and made sure he could get an eyeful of my cleavage. He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe his luck and I glowed with pleasure, feeling flattered in a way I hadn’t felt with Jack, or James Martell, or any guy I’d ever snogged. Maybe I should always date guys who were less attractive than me.
“Here you go,” he said, gently handing me my cocktail. “I think my sister and Yanni have gone off somewhere, so you’re going to be stuck with me for a bit. Sorry.” He looked genuinely apologetic.
“That’s okay,” I replied, sipping the mojito. “We can catch up properly. I don’t think I’ve seen you since we were about ten and we were all playing naked in your paddling pool.”
He blushed. “Yeah. That was fun. How has everything been for you since then?”
“Since I was ten? Wow, erm . . . well, it’s been a long eleven years. Uni is good, though . . . feels weird that I’m in my last year. Like, how did that happen? When I graduate in—oh my God, four months—I’m going to be an actual adult. With a job. Except I haven’t got one yet.”
He laughed. “Yeah, you might want to find one. You’re right, though—time does go really quickly. I just turned twenty-four.”
I would have been excited that he was three years older than me, but my mind went straight back to Jack, who was a full five years older.
“At least you have your job lined up, though,” I said. “I wish the field I want to go into was as clear-cut as medicine.”
“What is it you want to do? You study English, right?”
“Yeah, and like every typical English grad, I want to be a writer one day.”
“I can see that,” he said.
I looked at him in surprise. “Really? How?”
“I don’t know. You’re funny and . . . creative. And you talk a lot . . .”
I laughed, genuinely touched. “Thanks, Paul, that’s really nice to hear,” I said. Paul Pitsillides was proving to be very different from how I remembered him.