I cringe at my phrasing. ‘How many Nellas you have. In your contacts.’ I try again. ‘How many youknow.’
‘Plenty, but according to the Gospel of Nella, I don’t hang around long enough to get their numbers.’
Healmostmanages to sound playful, but a note of exasperation comes through loud and clear.
‘At school you were allergic to anything longer than a one-night stand.’
He nods slowly. ‘And you don’t believe I’ve changed? Do you also think I still drink my body weight in Desperados every Friday night?’
He’s right – I’m being unfair, but I don’t know how to retreat elegantly. ‘I haven’t given your drinking habits much thought.’
‘Just my sex life you’ve thought about long and hard?’
He draws out the last three words, and his mouth softens. Is he enjoying goading me?
He hasno ideahow graphic my thoughts have been. And I’m seized by the urge to tell him, just to see the shock on his face.
‘I had a confusing dream about you.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Confusinghow?’
He rubs a knuckle against his bottom lip, and I can’t tear my gaze away from his mouth.
‘We should get to the bar,’ I mumble, regretting my impulsive confession.
I dart into the drinks tent to put some distance between me and Mark’s fleshy bottom lip.
I slide into a gap at the bar but Mark is quick to follow, and a moment later I hear his low voice behind me.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
He’s standing very close, but no part of him is touching me – unlike the guy next to me whose thigh keeps rubbing against mine. And not accidentally.
‘You were speaking Japanese,’ I tell Mark over my shoulder. ‘That’s all.’
Another stroke against my leg from the creepy guy next to me. Mark must see it because he leans in and puts a territorial hand on the bar, and, as if by magic, creepy guy removes himself from my personal space. Funny that.
‘I can see how that would be confusing,’ says Mark, close to my ear. ‘But I suspect I was doing something that didn’t require words.’
I shiver. He’s so close I can barely breathe. Half an hour ago he was all sleepy and vulnerable, but if I turn round now, the look in his eye would be lethal.
If he could just take half a step back, my brain would start working again. I lean forward on the bar, but all that does is push out my rear end.
Surprisingly, thisdoesmake him take a step back.
I clutch at the first unsexy activity I can think of. ‘You were playing golf dressed as Batman – and not the cool Batman from the movies. The naff version fromOnly Fools and Horses.’ The image of middle-aged men in ill-fitting Lycra helps cool my overheated mind.
‘Chicken.’
My breath hitches, and my heart knocks.
He’s called me chicken once before. He was standing dangerously close to me that time, too.
The barman is waiting for my order, but I’m too flustered to speak.
Mark steps in. ‘Two pitchers of Pimm’s, a bottle of Mythos and …?’
It takes me a second to realise they’re waiting for me to answer.
