I laugh and move my hair out of my face. ‘Yes. I’m hoping she’ll write a song about this. Actually I was thinking how glad I am that I’m not working tomorrow. I think your penis might have broken me.’
‘Was that a compliment? Aww . . . it’s been a while then, hasn’t it? You just need to get back into the swing of things.’
‘How the hell did you know that? Oh God, was I really rusty? Was it like shagging the Tin Man?’
He laughs loudly. ‘Hardly. It was memorable to say the least. Call it intuition. I’m wise in the way of the woman.’
‘Your modesty must be a real burden.’ I roll on to my side and glance at his bedside clock. ‘Shit, is that the time? I have to get home. I promised my daughter I’d take her for breakfast in six hours.’
‘I didn’t know you had a daughter. What’s she like?’
I sit up and feel around on the floor for my underwear. ‘I don’t discuss my kid with men I’ve just met . . . but she’s tremendous. Where the hell is my bra?’
Dylan turns on the bedside lamp, gets up and walks towards the door. ‘But you’re not with her dad any more?’ he probes, taking his robe from the back of the door. I feel sad when his perfect arse disappears under it.
‘No,’ I reply, checking under the bed for my MIA underwear, ‘but I’m looking for daddy number two, if you’re up for the job?’
‘Very funny. Just making sure I’m not going to get a visit from an irate husband in the dead of night . . .’
‘Oh here they are!’ I retrieve my bra and knickers from inside his duvet cover. ‘No, we’ve been apart for years. In fact, he’s getting married soon, while I’m single and following some stupid dating book for my column, which is never going—’
‘What column?’
Oh shite. I start putting on my knickers, frantically trying to think of something to change the subject. I’m certain he can see the look of panic on my face.
‘You’re Glasgow Girl.’
I snap the waistband of my knickers. ‘Never heard of her.’
‘You’ve never heard of the columnist who writes for your magazine?’
Oh fuck off, Sherlock Holmes. I hook my bra behind my back and quickly pull the straps up. ‘What I meant to say was—’
‘Stop digging, Cat. Your secret is safe with me. I’ll make some tea.’
He’s not smirking any more.
A few minutes later Dylan’s making tea in the kitchen while I un-smudge my make-up in the bathroom mirror, periodically chastising myself for letting my secret out. When I get back to the living room, he’s laid my dress on the back of the couch and is texting on his phone.
‘Updating your Facebook relationship status?’ I ask, hoping my feeble attempt at a joke will somehow reverse time.
‘Nope, just ordering you a taxi. I said you were going Southside – you can direct the driver.’
What the hell? I’m not even dressed yet.
‘How efficient of you. Do you have them on speed dial?’ I ask, pulling on my dress and managing to zip it up first time.
He walks to the window and peeks out of the blinds. ‘Well, you said you had to get home.’ I approach him at the window and wrap my arms around his waist, but he wriggles free. ‘Taxi shouldn’t be long. Got everything?’ His tone has suddenly grown cold.
I take the hint and collect my belongings. ‘Not a problem. I’ll wait downstairs.’ He doesn’t object, only nods and walks me to the front door, kissing me on the cheek like I’m his fucking auntie.
I feel wounded. He could at least have kept up the charade of being a normal human being until I left his bloody lovely flat. It’s obvious he has no intention of asking for my number.
‘Oh, and Cat? Good luck with your column. I’m sure that somewhere out there is a cowboy who’ll appreciate your country-music tastes.’ He’s laughing at his own joke now and it wasn’t even that funny.
‘I have one tomorrow night actually. A date, I mean. So, you know, I have options . . . and I refuse to be defined by my interest in ONE musical genre, you big snob. This was just . . . I have no idea what this was. I’m going. Tell Jessie J I said hi. Oh, stop laughing.’
As I creep out into the hallway I’m greeted by unwelcoming cold air and distressingly bright fluorescent lighting. I keep my head down and my heel-clopping to a minimum as I begin my walk of shame down to the waiting taxicab. ‘Nice to meet you, Cat!’ he yells after me. ‘I’ll see you around.’
