‘You’re going “around the world”, no? Like the title suggests.’
‘Oh.’ I take another sip. ‘No, we’re just sticking to Europe. Something about budgets and a low-carbon push.’
He shakes his head. ‘How Eurocentric. It’s giving... coloniser.’
I gasp and rush to explain, but catch his devious smile and scowl at him instead. He throws his head back and laughs heartily at my new discomfort, before throwing a jokey wink my way.
‘Relax, it’s cool regardless. How long have you got?’
‘Six months,’ I reply.
Hie eyes bulge. ‘Eighty dates in six months? Wow. You must be an expert.’
I try to spout out a lie, but the words knot in my throat, culminating in nothing but high-pitched, strained hesitation. It captures his full attention, and he drops his glass back to the table so he can focus on nothing but my newly pinched features.
‘You do date, right?’ he asks.
‘I have.’
‘Often?’
I swallow. ‘I wouldn’t say often . . .’
‘Wow.’
‘Don’t say it like that,’ I say warningly.
‘I’m not! You just clearly like a challenge.’
I look down at my glass, taking a moment to count the bubbles before I continue. I have unintentionally painted myself as a socially awkward, dateless loser. And the sad part is, the visual is pretty accurate.
‘I just thought it would be a good way to get out there,’ I say, trying to salvage my sullied reputation. ‘Full immersion therapy, you know?’
He chuckles lightly, raising his glass towards me. ‘Got it. Pretty smart, actually.’
We clink our glasses, the sound immediately lost in the muffled voices around us.
‘So, this is date number one,’ he says.
It’s my turn to choke this time, the bubbles clashing against my throat and coughing their way back out.
‘You think this is a date?’
He shrugs coolly. ‘We’re two young, very attractive individuals, sat here drinking and chatting. That’s a date, no?’
‘That’s real forward,’ I say, biting down on my cheek to stop myself from smiling at him calling me ‘attractive’.
‘You asked me to come out! And by the sounds of it, you don’t have time to waste getting these dates in so I’d count it if I were you.’ His brow raises. It’s a dare and, dare I say it, it’s doing incredibly dizzying things to my insides.
‘I suppose I could count it,’ I say.
The glint returns to his eye.
‘I knew it.’ He downs his glass. ‘What are you gonna say about me?’
I lean forward as his mouth twists into a smirk.
‘That you’re presumptuous.’
