‘Evening,’ I said, turning away from the views and focusing on him, the solidity of the glossy bar, the rows of glittering bottles behind it. I willed myself to ignore the exposed feeling at my back, the sensation that the floor was going to crumble away like something in a computer game and send me plummeting downwards…
‘You made it. We were wondering where you’d gotten to.’ He held up his hand, elbow resting on the bar in a pseudo arm-wrestling stance, his overworked bicep bulging in his shirtsleeves. I obliged and clapped my hand into his as a greeting. He tried to squeeze my bones to mush for a few seconds, but I kept smiling and waiting for his need to feel dominant to pass. I was glad he’d not noticed how clammy my palm was.
‘The night is young yet,’ I said as he released my hand.
‘Sure, but with the strength of these cocktails? It doesn’t take long for most of the guys to hit the deck, y’know?’
‘Perfect. Do they serve food here?’ A solitary banana was not an adequate dinner and if I ordered food it gave me an excuse to wait around at the bar longer.
‘Just snacks. You worried you’ll need to soak up the alcohol or you’ll make a fool of yourself.’ He nudged me in the chest with one of his massive guns again and I wondered how muchhe’dhad to drink already. Perhaps I hadn’t exactly hit the jackpot finding him at the bar. More like a lucky-dip school fete prize. A moment of excitement followed by inevitable disappointment.
‘I didn’t have a chance to grab dinner.’
‘Oh yeah, what’ve you been up to?’
‘Just errands.’
‘You been wearing your pinny and getting your feather duster out eh?’ He laughed uproariously at his own joke.
A familiar sense of annoyance with myself gripped me at having to hang around him because of my fear of heights. I wished I could just get over it. I knew that simply because I was high up, it didn’t mean I was going to fall and end up in agony, my brains smeared across the pavement…
Thankfully, the bartender came over with his order and rescued me from having to respond to Logan. I took the opportunity to ask for a menu and by the time I’d received it and he’d taken a big swig of his drink and was ready to move on with the conversation.
‘That looks promising.’
‘Sorry, what does?’ I flicked a quick glance at him, then returned to scanning the menu. My stomach was on the edge of nausea, but I knew it would settle down once I got used to the safe zones in the bar.
‘Hot ladies at eleven o’clock.’ He’d spun on his bar stool. ‘Take a look.’
I obliged him, despite the feeling of grim inevitably building again. Perhaps I would’ve been better off taking Patrick’s offer and staying at home if the only person I was going to get to know better on this night out was an obnoxious caveman.
A tall woman with short curly black hair was taking a seat at a bar-height table tucked in beneath a low slanted skylight. Her companion was facing away from me, just the cascade of her red hair and a pleasingly rounded bottom visible as she bent over, fiddling with the buckle on one of her high-heeled sandals. The glass of the window continued right down to the skirting board as a backdrop behind them. I took a shallow breath and made an ambiguous noise to Logan, turning away from the reminder of how high up we were.
‘Hey, what say you stick with me and be my wingman tonight? I could teach you a few things about American women.’
‘Is that so?’ I raised my eyebrow at him, my patience – exacerbated by my frayed nerves – was beginning to wear thin.
‘Sure. I’ve heard all about you. Popular with the chicks back in London, aren’t you? But women over here are different. More confident. You’ll need more than a pretty face and some genteel manners – they’re after a real man.’
I schooled my features to hide my concern about the reputation that had followed me across the pond. Who had been talking about me and what had they been saying?
Admittedly, I’d never had problems attracting women, and I liked to date – but I wasn’t the only man who showed no interest in settling down.
Maybe now I was in my thirties it was becoming more noticeable that I never held down a relationship for long. It was a decision I’d made when I was young enough that an aversion to commitment seemed normal, I suppose. And it would have been fair to say that I’d indulged in a quick succession of flings after Mum died.
I hadn’t intended to do it – I certainly wasn’t out on the pull all the time – but there had been a comfort in slipping into the rhythm of it when I met someone with a similar desire for the simplicity of flirting, dating, and sex. They were comfortable interactions, exciting enough to divert, casual enough not to get into any heavy conversation. Myself, Nick and my nan had all picked a poison to try and survive those first few harrowing months of grief and then had to claw ourselves back out of it again. I supposed if a reputation as a ladies’ man was the extent of the damage I’d caused it wasn’t so bad; it could have been worse.
‘Some might argue that a “real man” is a toxic and out-dated concept,’ I countered.
He laughed. ‘Yeah, some people are snowflakes. Listen, why don’t we make this interesting? You and me, we’ll each try our best moves on them and see who wins.’
‘Wins?’
‘Secures a date – or something more exciting,’ he elaborated, as though I was questioning the rules of the game and not the fact that he was suggesting we play it at all, like a pair of randy students instead of the grown men we were. Supposedly. ‘Unless you’re worried that you’ll lose…or that you’ll upset the boss lady.’
‘Upset Georgina?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m sure she won’t be interested.’
‘You know she’s got her eye on you,’ he said slyly, swigging his drink and smacking his lips. ‘The question is, are you gonna play it safe and keep in her good books, or take up my challenge?’
