If I didn’t already know a lot of Americans, I might have dismissed Logan’s attitude as a culture clash in terms of humour. But I did, so I took it for what it was. Insecure man plus alcohol equals metaphorical chest pounding.
‘I didn’t have a chance to grab dinner.’
‘Oh yeah, what’ve you been up to?’
‘Nothing exciting. Just errands.’
‘You been wearing your apron and getting your feather duster out, eh?’ He laughed uproariously at his own joke.
‘I would thank you not to cast aspersions on my pinny. An Englishman’s home is his castle, you know. Got to keep it sparkling and organised.’ With an ego like his, self-deprecating jokes might go down well, and it never hurt to play up the Britishness.
‘Sucker. That’s what a woman’s for.’
Thankfully, the bartender came over with his order and rescued me from having to think up a suitable response to the unwelcome confirmation of Logan’s caveman attitude. I took the opportunity to ask for a menu and by the time I’d received it, Logan had 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 considering 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 chicks at eleven o’clock.’ He’d spun on his bar stool. ‘Take a look.’
Right, so he wasn’t changing the subject after all. A familiar sense of annoyance at myself gripped me. I was only 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, bones shattered to pieces….
If only to distract myself, I obliged him by looking. 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 someone who probably thought he’d taken a “red-pill”.
A tall woman with short, tightly curled 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. I highly doubted he knewanythingabout women full stop.
‘Sure. I’ve heard all about you. Popular with the chicks back in London, aren’t you? A regular love-em-and-leave-em Romeo type. But women over here are different. More confident. They’re after a real man. You gotta let ‘em know who’s in charge.’
I wasn’t sure what was more disturbing; his views on women or on me? I schooled my features to hide my concern about the reputation that seemed to have followed me across the pond. Who had been talking about me and what had they been saying?Admittedly, I’d never had problems dating but that didn’t make me a player. Did it?
Maybe now I was in my thirties it was becoming more noticeable that I never held down a relationship for a substantial amount of time? It was a decision I’d made when I was young enough that an aversion to long term 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 constantly – 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.
His views on women were definitely a more immediate problem.
‘Why don’t we make this interesting?’ he continued. ‘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.’
I shook my head. ‘She won’t be interested in the slightest, I’m sure.’ I reallyhadn’thit the jackpot finding him at the bar. More like a lucky-dip school fete prize. A moment of excitement followed by inevitable disappointment.
‘You know she’s got you in her sights,’ 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?’
Chapter Six
Elle
This is fine, right, Elle?’ Keisha said, as she wiggled her bottom around getting comfortable on the bar stool.
‘Yeah, I guess it’s OK.’ I finished adjusting the buckle on my sandal – they were driving me crazy today – and hopped up on the seat opposite her.
