by L.H. Cosway
Michelle rolls her eyes at how melodramatic I’m being.
“Okay, I was curious before, but now I’m really curious,” says Jay. “What are you two talking about?”
“Nothing,” I answer quickly, giving Michelle a sharp look not to tell him. Unfortunately, she ignores it.
“We’d planned on going to this relationship seminar. It’s being held by a guy called Simon Silver. He’s supposed to be some kind of love expert,” says Michelle, all matter-of-fact and with no embarrassment whatsoever.
“Thanks for that,” I mutter.
Jay takes all of this in with an ever-widening smile. I glance at him, tight-lipped. “Don’t make fun of me, okay? I already told you I need help.”
“I could go with you,” he offers.
It’s definitely unexpected. To be honest, I’d been expecting him to point and laugh for at least a few minutes. I mean, twenty-three-year-olds aren’t supposed to go to these things. They’re supposed to be out for a good time. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, though. I’ve wanted to find “the one” since as far back as I can remember.
I want epic love, like you see in the movies. I want it so desperately that it fills my heart when I even think about the possibility of it.
“I think that would be even worse than going with my dad,” I say, and then knock back a big gulp of wine.
Jay makes a mock gasp. “Matilda, I didn’t know you had it in you to be so rude!”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not offended in the slightest.”
He smirks. “Yeah, you’re right. But I still want to go with you. It’ll be hilarious.”
“And that right there is why you’re not coming. No siree, Bob.”
“Oh, go on,” says Michelle, butting in. “Let him go. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I look at her, and she’s got a strange calculating expression on her face as she glances between Jay and me.
“Plenty worst can happen, Dr. Pepper,” I answer firmly. “Anyway, I’ve already decided I don’t want to go anymore.”
“But you spent all that money,” Michelle pouts.
“Yeah, Watson. You spent all that money,” Jay agrees, nudging me with his elbow.
I don’t say anything, leaning forward and resting my chin on my arm in dejection. It does really annoy me, thinking of all the money I forked out for the tickets. Michelle gets up from the table then.
“Listen, you two discuss it between yourselves. I need to use the ladies’ room, and then I’m going to chat up the fox sitting over by the bar all by his lonesome. Toodles!”
Eh, come again? I thought she had her heart set on bagging Jay tonight. What a fickle web her libido weaves.
“Toodles?” Jay asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Rhymes with poodles,” I mumble.
“And noodles.”
“Doodles.”
“Oodles.”
“Strudels.”
“Googles?” says Jay. I shake my head and smile for the first time since Michelle decided to embarrass me. “Okay, I got nothing.”
“Ha! I win the rhyming war,” I declare, and sit up straighter, my hand going for the wine again.
“You feeling better now?” Jay asks, voice low.
“Slightly.”
His arm moves across the back of the couch we’re sitting on. “You’re too fucking cute,” he says, his mouth close to my ear. “You should let me go with you to the thing.”
I eye him and fold my arms. “Can you please forget about that? I’m still dying of embarrassment.”
“How about if I pretend to be a gay dude for the entire day? Will that make you feel less embarrassed?”
“Yeah, like anyone would believe that. I don’t even get why you want to come. It’s for single women, not men.”
“Didn’t I just say I’d pretend to be gay? That way I’d be there for the same thing as everyone else.” He grins.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You think you’re so clever. Fine, you can come, but you have to promise to take it seriously.”
He swipes his fingers over his chest, making a little X-shape. “Cross my heart. So, it’s settled. I’m coming.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, and glance across the room to see Michelle approaching the guy she said she had her eye on. I still don’t get why her interest in Jay has disappeared so abruptly. Perhaps she decided she doesn’t like all his tattoos. Not that you can see much of them with the way he’s dressed right now. And not that I’m not relieved her attention has been diverted. I seem to be developing an ever-growing crush, and watching my best friend get off with said crush might be a little too painful to bear.
Jay moves closer to me on the red velvet couch, his thigh touching mine. “So, you watch porn, huh?”
A spurt of laughter erupts from me. “Trust you to remember that tiny detail, you lunatic. I was being sarcastic. You don’t have to take everything I say as gospel.”
His eyes flicker back and forth between mine. “You watch it. I have quite a varied collection, you know. You’re welcome to borrow from me anytime.” He picks up his drink and takes a swig, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“I don’t watch porn,” I say, adamant.
“Everybody watches porn.”
“Well, I don’t. Porn for me is more cerebral. I get a better thrill out of a really emotionally intense romance than watching two random people go at it.”
He leans closer, interest marking his features. “Yeah? Tell me more.”
Another sip of wine. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Like, you know when Harvey Keitel touches Holly Hunter through the hole in her stockings in The Piano? That turns me on more than seeing actual sex.”
“I bet that’s a fucking sight,” he says under his breath.
“What?”
His arm that’s hanging along the back of the couch moves down to rest on my shoulders. I tense up, my heart beating faster at his closeness. “Nothing. That’s probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, Matilda.”
I expect him to be making fun of me, but when I look at him, there’s nothing but seriousness on his face. Shifting away, I focus on my wine, not saying a word. Michelle’s tinkling laughter trickles over from the bar as she places her hand on the guy’s arm.
Jay follows where I’m looking. “Now, remember I said I’d teach you about body language?”
I nod.
“Well, look at your friend as an example. When a girl likes a guy, she’ll do some subtle touching to show her interest, like Michelle’s doing now. So, if you want to show somebody you’re interested, you can put your hand on their arm or their leg for a second, then take it away.”
I try not to think about how his thigh is still touching mine. What does that mean?
“There’s also eye contact,” he goes on. “If you like a guy, you should be looking at him, not at the floor. Look away when you need to and then look back. Maintaining constant eye contact just looks psycho, so you’ve got to perfect it.”
“I always look at the floor,” I say. “It’s such a bad habit, I know, but I can’t seem to stop.”
In fact, I’m tempted to look at the floor right now, but I’m forcing myself not to; otherwise, Jay might catch on to my crush. Perish the thought.
“Whenever you catch yourself doing it, just stop. After a while it’ll become second nature not to.”
At this the waiter returns to our table, asking if we’d like another round of drinks. Jay tells him to give us the same again, and I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Hopefully, by the time I get back, Michelle might have returned to the table. It’s strangely intimate sitting alone with Jay, and my antsy disposition urges me to bolt when I’m in situations like that.
There’s a knock on the stall door when I’m doing my business, Michelle calling, “So how’s your night going?”
“It’s going fine, no thanks to you. I can’t believe you told Jay about the seminar. Now I have to bring him with me. He won’t take no for an answer.”
“We’ll see. It’s going to be a function room filled with two hundred sex-deprived women, and I’m bringing Jay Fields with me. That’s like dangling a bloody steak in front of a bunch of hungry dogs.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re doing those women a favour, allowing them to stare upon such a prime example of maleness.” Michelle laughs, her voice merry. I wonder how many drinks she managed to knock back while she was at the bar.
“Speaking of which, what’s with your sudden lack of interest?” I ask curiously as I flush and leave the stall, going to the sink to wash my hands.
Michelle shrugs and gives me a weird look. “He’s not interested in me. I can tell. And you know I only want men who are willing to worship at my feet.”
“That’s true. So, I guess you’ll be off with Mr Fox from the bar for the rest of the night.”
“For now. If someone else tickles my fancy, I might do a switch.”
We exit the bathroom, and Michelle returns to the bar. As I make my way toward Jay, I notice he’s no longer alone at the table. There’s a redhead sitting beside him, flicking her silky hair over one shoulder. I glance from side to side, weighing my options. Do I go back to the table and suffer being the third wheel, or do I find something else to occupy my time?
The only other way I could occupy myself would be to go chat someone up, but I don’t have the pep for that right now. So I continue my way to the table. When I reach it, I slide in on the other side where Michelle had been sitting and pick up the new glass of wine the waiter left for me.
I give the redhead a small smile and then take a sip. Most girls tend to like me. I suppose that’s because they find me non-threatening. This woman, though, looks at me like she just sniffed something bad. Hmm, must be the dress I’m wearing; it does show a healthy dose of cleavage. A little zing of excitement goes through me. It seems I quite like being a threat.
“Hey, you’re back,” says Jay. “This is Matilda,” he says to the redhead. “We’re housemates. Matilda, this is Charlene. She’s a flight attendant, has a white Persian cat, likes going to the gym, and just recently became a redhead.”
Is that a note of sarcasm I hear in his voice?
I do my best to contain a snicker. “Were you lurking on her Facebook profile or something?” I ask dryly.
“Shush, you’re revealing all my secrets,” he says with a wink.
“He managed to guess all that just by looking at me,” Charlene explains. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“Definitely.” I turn my attention to Jay. “So, tell us how you knew.”
Jay leans back to peruse Charlene before pointing out the evidence. “White cat hair on the dress, but longer than typical domestic cat hair. Persian was the most obvious choice. Musculature on the arms suggests she works out. However, the slight acne around the chin beneath the makeup says it’s only a casual health kick. So, not an athlete who’d be on a very clean diet, which would lead to clear skin. It’s not hormonal acne, because that usually carries on from the teenage years and therefore there’d be scarring, which there isn’t. Also, the whiff of cigarette smoke. Most athletes don’t smoke. So, a gym membership it is. The bags under the eyes show a lack of sleep, indicating either insomnia or a demanding job. Plus, I got a look at her flight attendant badge sticking slightly out of her bag.” He smirks. “And lastly, I know the hair is a recent dye job because of the slight stains on the scalp.”
He folds his arms casually. I have to admit, I wasn’t ready for that onslaught. I don’t think Charlene was, either. In fact, she looks kind of embarrassed at him picking apart her appearance like that. It’s one thing for him to tell her random facts no stranger could possibly know. That’s the exciting bit. But it’s another for him to explain how he knows them.
After a few seconds she laughs it off, though. “Oh, my God, I never knew people could tell these things about me. It’s kind of freaking me out, but it’s so much fun! Okay, now do her,” she says, pointing to me.
Jays turns his head, a wicked tilt to his lips. “I’d be happy to.”
I can’t tell whether or not he meant that as an innuendo. I raise my hands in the air. “Please don’t. I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be a spoilsport,” Charlene chides. I cut her an annoyed look.
Jay leans forward and takes one of my hands in both of his. The touch surprises me, scattering goose pimples across my skin. He rubs his thumb over the top of my index finger, and I suppress a shiver. “You see these little scratches? They show you do some kind of work with your hands. The dressmaking, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, but you already knew that.”
His lips twitch. “Okay. You’re a deep sleeper. You enjoy healthy comfort foods. You do some form of exercise. My bet would be cycling. When it’s warm out, you like to sit in the sun. You don’t dye your hair. When men touch you, it makes you nervous. Your favourite style era is the fifties…and you wish I’d shut the fuck up right now.” He stops and sits back in his seat with a smile. “Well, how did I do?”
I narrow my eyes. “Too well.”
“You want me to explain how I know?”
“Not particularly.”
Charlene rolls her eyes and puts her hand on Jay’s shoulder, leaning close to him. “I want to know. Tell us.”
Jay angles his body away from her ever so slightly, then starts to speak. “I can tell you sleep deeply because the whites of your eyes are clear. People who sleep bad get redness, or their eyes can be bloodshot. I’m a prime example of that.” He points to himself, and it makes me wonder why he doesn’t sleep well. “I know you like healthy comfort foods because you’re not fat, but you’ve got curves. You’ve got muscles in your thighs and calves, but not in your arms, which shows you exercise mainly with your legs, hence the cycling. You’ve got a small scattering of freckles across your nose from sitting in the sun. Your hair is an exact match for your eyebrows, so it’s most likely not dyed. Plus, your dad showed me some of your kiddie pictures the other day,” he admits.
Oh, I’m so having words with Dad about that.
“You flinched very slightly when I touched your hand, which means you either don’t like me or men don’t touch you very often, which is why it makes you nervous. I can tell you like the fifties because most of the dresses you make have details that are reminiscent of that era. And your eyes did a pretty good job of telling me you wished I’d shut the fuck up.” He chuckles.
“Well,” I say, letting out a long breath, “that was spot on. Disturbingly so,” I grumble.
“I’ve been paying close attention, Watson,” he says, and I suppress a tremor.
“Seriously, that was so good,” Charlene exclaims. “You should, like, have your own TV show or something.”
Jay gives her a sardonic look. “Yeah, I should, shouldn’t I?”
An Abba song comes on, and I hear Michelle calling me to join her and Mr Fox. Both are currently shaking it over on the dance floor.
“Matilda! It’s ‘Dancing Queen’ — get over here now!” she drunkenly shouts. When we were younger we discovered Muriel’s Wedding, and Abba has been our guilty pleasure ever since.
I turn back to Jay and Charlene. “It looks like I’m wanted.” Then I stand up and go to Michelle. She grabs both of my hands when I reach her and starts swaying me from side to side. “I love this song,” she yells over the music while Mr Fox hovers close behind her. It seems like I’m destined to be the third wheel in some form or another tonight.
“Who’s the ginger bitch?” she asks, nodding toward the table.
“Some air hostess.”
“Huh. Oh, don’t look now, but Jay’s coming over. Ginger bitch doesn’t look too happy.”
“Really? He’s coming over?”
“Oh, no wait. He made a beeline for the bar.”
I exhale in relief. I like dancing, but dancing with Jay is not an experience I think I
can handle. The song ends and changes to a slow number, so I leave Michelle alone to slow dance with her latest acquisition. Joining Jay, I ask the bartender for another wine.
“Aren’t you going back to Charlene?” I ask. “She’s still over there waiting.”
Jay turns to face me while I continue looking directly ahead. I’m not sure why, but I can’t seem to make eye contact. I see him frowning at me out of the corner of my eye, his brows all drawn together. “Do you want me to go back to her?”
I shrug and glance at him, then gulp down more wine.
“You should take it easy. It’s only ten o’clock.”
“It’s fine. I’ll probably head home soon, anyway. Michelle’s not going to be much company for the rest of the night.”
“Does she usually leave you alone like this?” Jay asks, moving his body slightly closer.
“Nah, I normally get to talk with the friend of whoever she’s flirting with. Fun, yeah?”
Jay doesn’t reply, but his jaw moves in a weird way. He keeps on staring at me until Charlene takes it upon herself to come to him.
“Hey, I thought I’d save you the trip,” she says in a sweet voice, sliding onto the stool beside him. I turn away and let my gaze drift over the crowds on the dance floor. A man wearing a blue shirt leers at me, so I make sure not to have any more eye contact with him. Jay nudges me, holding up his phone.
“I just got a text from Jessie. Apparently, the cougar turned out to have a husband who wanted a ménage a trois, and she needs rescuing. You want to come with me?”
“Uh, sure. I’ll just send Michelle a quick message to let her know we’re leaving.”
And, just like that, we’re out of there and on our way to get Jay’s car to pick up Jessie.
From the daggers she gives me, I get the feeling Charlene is none too pleased about it.
Eight
When we stop off at the house, I make a quick change into some jeans, a T-shirt, and plimsolls. Overall, the night was a bit of a bust, so there’s no point in holding onto the glamour. Jay honks his horn, and I hurry downstairs and out the door.
I sit in the passenger seat, and Jay manages to speed while keeping just below the actual speeding limit. We head out toward a quiet suburb, with Jay’s GPS giving us directions as we go. In the end we drive down a dark country lane toward a large grey house. It all seems quiet, with Jessie nowhere to be seen. However, the second we stop at the end of the stony driveway, the front door flies open and Jessie emerges, her tall form running toward us like a bat out of hell.