‘I just want all this done and dusted so none of us has to pretend any longer,’ I said.
‘Hold onto that thought,’ he whispered. ‘They’re back.’
I turned round to see the pair of them walking back towards us. Jess was holding onto Nick’s arm like a debutante about to be announced at court. In Nick’s other arm was a fresh bottle of champagne.
God, were we all expected to buy such expensive rounds?
‘You’re not usually such a big drinker,’ I said, as Nick reclaimed his seat next to me.
‘Champagne never gets me drunk.’
‘How weird,’ I said. ‘It gets me pissed faster than anything.’
‘I’ll have to look after you, then.’
Fake-boyfriend Nick was the over-protective type.
Jess elbowed Simon in the ribs. ‘They’re so cute together, aren’t they?’
Simon half shrugged, half nodded.
‘Nick was just telling me how they met. It’s such a darling story.’
I twisted in my seat to gawp at Nick who was sitting there wearing an enigmatic smile. What on earth had he been telling Jess? Surely not the Jonny story?
‘Tell Simon, too,’ she said to Nick,. ‘It shows a side of Zoë I bet he had no idea about.’
I didn’t like the sound of this.
‘I’d better not,’ said Nick, theMona Lisasmile morphing into a faux-sheepish grin. ‘It might embarrass her.’
What the actual fuck had he been saying?
‘They met in a boxing class,’ said Jess.
What did she just say?
‘Boxing? I thought you knew each other from work,’ said Simon, looking alarmed.
I jumped in to reassure him. ‘Boxercise, there’s a difference. We knew each other from work, then happened to be in the same class one night.’
Nick leant closer to me and bopped me on the nose. ‘And as the punches flew, so did the sparks.’ I stared at him openmouthed. Had he really just said that with a straight face?
Simon looked ready to throw a punch of his own. ‘Christ, Nick, you weren’t hitting her, were you?’
‘Of course not,’ I told him. ‘We just did a bunch of cardio exercises and practised punches on Styrofoam boards.’
Nick nodded emphatically. ‘Zoë isn’t someone to mess with.’
Too bloody right I wasn’t, although he was skating on pretty thin ice right now.
I stood up. ‘You know what, there’s no queue at the bar right now – I’ll go and get another round. Nick, will you give me a hand?’
My mistake was in the wording, because Nick took the request literally and held out his hand. I thought about just pulling him up by the wrist, like an errant toddler, but it would have looked weird. I gingerly took his hand, hoping to get away with just the briefest of touches, but he wrapped his fingers around mine and held on with surprising force. We snaked around the tables trying to get to the bar, but with each step my palm grew hot in his grasp. Sweaty too, which was a bit awkward. I mean, I didn’t give a monkey’s about Nick, but the last thing I wanted him to think was that I was some kind of freak.
Zoë Frixos: The Incredible Sweating Woman.
Once we’d reached the bar, I let go and discreetly wiped my palm against my trouser leg.
