The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating: A sparkling and hilarious feel good romantic comedy

by Nina Kaye

  We step outside into the cool, misty night and instinctively turn to each other. The silhouette of Arthur’s Seat, just visible in the background, provides the perfect backdrop to our intimate moment.

  ‘Thanks for dinner,’ I say. ‘I really enjoyed your company.’

  ‘Ditto.’ He gives me the same sexy raised-eyebrow look I delivered when I first arrived.

  As we stand there gazing at each other, our breath coming out in little bursting clouds as we exhale, I’m oblivious to the chill in the air. I feel my heart quicken as he takes my hand, pulling me towards him and then slips his arms around my waist. I close my eyes, allowing my other senses to take over, and just let myself melt into an amazing embrace.

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he whispers in my ear as he continues to kiss me, a faint fruity whiff of the Malbec from the restaurant on his breath. ‘Come back to mine? I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t try anything – have too much respect for you for that, and I’m not that kind of guy anyway. I just want some time with you all to myself.’

  I know this is the point at which I should politely decline and say goodnight, to make absolutely sure I don’t deviate from my longstanding three-date rule. Especially as Josh is a colleague and more senior than me. But I don’t want to. I want to be alone with Josh as much as he does with me.

  ‘You come to mine,’ I murmur in response, pulling him in closer. ‘Then I can kick you out if you break your promise.’

  ‘Deal.’ Josh breaks away from me just long enough to hail a taxi.

  Chapter 20

  ‘Morning, beautiful.’

  I open my eyes blearily to see a dishevelled, but still insanely gorgeous Josh standing above me holding a tray. My head is pounding from my repeat offence of consuming far too much booze the night before.

  ‘Oh… err… morning.’ I suddenly feel shy, despite us having explored so much of each other the night before. ‘You’ve… made breakfast?’

  ‘I have.’ He proudly places the tray on the bedside table. ‘Scrambled eggs on toast, tea and orange juice. You like scrambled eggs, right?’

  I rub my eyes and sit up quickly, trying to force myself to come round quicker. As I do, my head feels like there’s an enormous bell clanging within it. I wince from the pulsing pain.

  ‘Oww…’ I clutch my head protectively. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you. You’ve obviously been up for a while.’

  ‘Only about an hour.’ He shrugs. ‘Thought you might need something for your hangover.’

  ‘I most certainly do.’ I give him a sheepish look.

  He passes me the tray and sits down on the side of the bed. I take a gulp of orange juice, a welcome refreshing treat for my parched mouth, and then start to eat my eggs. As I do, I become self-conscious and immediately stop.

  ‘Aren’t you having any?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, I am.’ He grins at me, then reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear to stop it falling in my food. ‘I just like looking at you.’

  ‘Well, stop it,’ I command. ‘You’re making me uncomfortable. Go and get your food.’

  Josh squeezes my nose affectionately, then gets up and pads along the hallway to get his own breakfast.

  Once we’ve eaten, and I’ve gotten past my morning-after-the-night-before shyness, we snuggle up in bed again, me nestled into Josh, while he strokes my arm affectionately.

  ‘Thank you for keeping your promise last night,’ I murmur.

  ‘Of course,’ he replies gently. ‘Always.’

  An hour or so later, when Josh has gone home to get ready for work, I log on to my admin page on my blog site to check my stats, and also to reply to the comments on my latest post. Though I can’t really face doing anything resembling work, it will at least distract me from how awful I feel.

  It’s a good decision: I’m delighted to see that there’s been another jump in my subscriber levels, most likely from people sharing my latest piece, and I’m now edging towards to four and a half thousand. Feeling the need to share this news I tap out a text to Dylan that simply says ‘Approaching 4.5K!’ and hit send.

  Next, I work my way through the comments in response to my second post. There are quite a lot more this time.

  Magpie556: Full of the cold this week so tried the gin twist to see if it would help (like a gin version of a hot toddy). Still feel like crap today, but it was seriously tasty!

  MissGinFizz: Glad you enjoyed it, Magpie556, even if it didn’t make you feel better. I can’t help wondering about your username. You don’t own 556 magpies, do you!?

  AK1987: Ha! Love what these two women did. Cheating scumbags should all get this treatment. Wish I’d done the same with my ex when he ‘forgot’ he was in a relationship.

  MissGinFizz: Sorry to hear you’ve had a similar experience, AK1987. Hopefully you’ll meet someone more deserving of you, if you haven’t already.

  FinnBear: Wish I could pull two hot birds at once. Can’t help but salute this guy. LOL.

  MissGinFizz: I can see by the response you’ve had from other readers on the site that your comment hasn’t gone down well, FinnBear. Each to their own I say, but if you’re having trouble ‘pulling’, then perhaps you might want to review your approach – and whom you choose to idolise.

  SexySeventySeven: French 75 is my fave cocktail ever! Love your blog, MissGinFizz.

  MissGinFizz: It’s one of my favourites too, SexySeventySeven. Try swapping the simple syrup for elderflower cordial for a slightly different flavour and experience. It’s delicious!

  About two-thirds of the way through answering the comments, I come across a familiar username:

  GrahamLeeton: Another captivating piece. You may have reduced the humour in this one and gone for more mystery, but it flowed perfectly and drew me in just as effectively as your last. You tell a great story in 500 words.

  MissGinFizz: Well hello again, GrahamLeeton! Great to have your comments once more. You’re the only person on here who comments on my writing rather than what I write about. Are you a writer yourself?

  I quickly move on to the next comments, responding to one after the next until I’m done. Just as I’m about to log off and shut down my laptop, I instinctively seek out the comment from the subscriber who goes by the name GrahamLeeton again. My mind wanders off into a daydream where he’s some hotshot magazine editor who becomes so enchanted by my blog that he simply has to have me work with him.

  As I’m rereading his comment, I’m surprised to note that he’s already replied to my response.

  GrahamLeeton: Let’s just say I have a keen interest in literature of all kinds. And I know talent when I see it.

  I blink at the screen. What on earth does that mean? Whether he’s in the publishing industry or not, he’s certainly caught my attention. Impulsively, I tap out another response.

  MissGinFizz: That’s very cryptic. Means you could be a million copy best-selling author, or you work in a bookshop…

  I click the ‘post’ button, and my comment appears at the bottom of the emerging thread. I read it back, chuckling to myself as I do. This is actually quite fun. I wait a few minutes, but there’s no response. Mildly disappointed, I’m about to log out of my blog site, when another comment appears. It’s him again.

  GrahamLeeton: Would you be disappointed if the bookshop option was right?

  I cock my head to the side, contemplating his question. It’s a good one. Would I be disappointed? And if I was, would that make me shallow and snobbish? Or would it just mean I’ve been conditioned to look for the Hollywood-style happy ending in what is actually a rather ordinary world – one where Oscar-winning plots are definitely not the norm.

  I compose and post my answer.

  MissGinFizz: How is it that in a matter of three short exchanges you have me questioning my personal values? My answer is ‘no’, I wouldn’t be disappointed – at least that’s what I’d like it to be.

  This time, his response is almost instant.

  GrahamLeeton: I very much like your hon
esty, MissGinFizz. It would have been tempting to just go for the textbook answer there. :)

  Who is this guy? He knows nothing about me, yet he’s managed to get under my skin in a matter of minutes. I start to construct a response, then delete it. Then do the same again. I’m frustrated at being tripped up. But the reason for my hesitation is clear: I’ve met my match.

  After a few further attempts, I post my next comment.

  MissGinFizz: It didn’t come without an inner struggle. Now you have me wondering if you’re a psychologist… ;)

  MissGinFizz: You’re not, are you?

  I wait on tenterhooks for what he’ll say next. He doesn’t disappoint.

  GrahamLeeton: I’m interested by your focus on ‘what’ I am, rather than ‘who’ I am. Does it really matter what I do?

  I squeal with excited frustration as I realise he’s got me again.

  MissGinFizz: Now I’m thinking I need to reassess my values and life choices. How do you do that? Let’s start again. ‘Who’ are you, GrahamLeeton? I would like to know about you.

  I wait impatiently for his reply, but after several minutes I realise it’s not going to come. He must have logged off. Did he have to go? Or did he leave me hanging on purpose? Whatever the reason, it has the same effect as watching a long-awaited TV programme you’ve set to record, and it cuts off just before the end.

  I log out of my admin page and try to distract myself with a few tasks around the house. Yet my mind keeps creeping back to our online conversation. Shall I log back on and check if he’s replied? No. Control yourself, Liv. He’s a man sitting behind a screen, about whom you know nothing. Remember the Hollywood storyline trap you were just pondering. I remind myself I have a real-life super-hot, attentive man in my life called Josh, and he really is incredible.

  Later that afternoon, I arrive at the hotel, complete with the remnants of a hangover the size of the Atlantic.

  ‘What the hell happened to you?’ Amir looks me up and down from behind the bar where he is preparing the garnishes. ‘You look rough as a badger’s arse.’

  ‘Late night,’ I grumble. ‘And thanks for that.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He grins then calls over his shoulder. ‘Reyes, check the state of this one.’

  Reyes appears from the storeroom. Her eyes widen as she spots me.

  ‘Chica. Dios mio! You are looking very tired. You are not well?’

  ‘She’s not ill.’ Amir chuckles. ‘She’s just been up all night doing Josh.’

  ‘Hey! I have not!’ I’m mortified by this assumption. ‘And how do you even know I was with Josh last night?’

  ‘Because we saw him about an hour ago.’ Amir bends down to put the garnishes in the fridge. ‘It didn’t take a genius to work it out. He was striding about like he owns the place. He’s clearly well into you.’

  ‘You think?’ I’m temporarily distracted by this observation. ‘Wait… he didn’t tell you that we… you know… did he?’

  My mind starts to race. Josh wouldn’t make that up just to look good – surely. He’s not that kind of guy. Or is he? Once again, even through my mental fog, I realise I barely know him.

  ‘Didn’t have to.’ Amir shrugs, putting my worries to bed in an instant. ‘It was obvious, wasn’t it, Reyes?’

  ‘He is looking like a cat that has made a lot of cream.’ Reyes nods agreement, a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Tell me all the details.’

  ‘OK, stop.’ I hold up both hands to silence them. ‘Both of you, just stop. Firstly, that did not happen. Secondly, I’m not sure I like the idea of my personal life being the talk of the hotel. And thirdly, why would a cat make cream? Seriously?’

  Amir splutters with laughter, while Reyes just looks confused. I clutch the side of the bar top, almost to steady myself – the combination of my hangover and this topic of conversation now too much.

  ‘Come on. Calm yourself,’ Amir soothes me and guides me behind the bar to a seat in the storeroom. ‘How is it the talk of the hotel? Josh didn’t say anything. He’s a top guy – wouldn’t do that. And no one else seems to know about you two yet. We only know because we’re your friends. Remember?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I just don’t want to be the focus of office gossip. That’s part of the reason why I was funny about seeing someone from here in the first place.’

  Amir looks me straight in the eye. ‘Liv, do you have any idea how many people in this hotel are in relationships?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The answer is: a lot.’

  ‘Really?’ I look up at him hopefully.

  ‘Yes.’ Amir smiles at me kindly. ‘You’re far from the only one. Nobody’s going to care – not for any longer than a day anyway. People who work in hospitality work crappy hours, so they end up coupling up with each other. They don’t have much chance to build relationships otherwise. It’s the same as people in the police and other shift-working professions.’

  ‘Right.’ I perk up a little. ‘I guess that’s not so bad then. Only…’

  ‘Only, what?’ Amir prompts me.

  ‘Well, I guess I’m just a bit concerned about Aaron finding out.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I don’t really know.’ I ponder this for a moment. ‘Maybe just because I don’t know how he’ll react. He’s hard to judge. I don’t want him to think I’m taking the piss or anything, you know, when he’s helped me out.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t need to worry about that at all,’ Amir reassures me. ‘Aaron’s awkward, but he’s still human. He knows better than most how working in this industry affects personal lives.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘I agree with Amir.’ Reyes leans casually against the doorframe. ‘You have no worries, Chica. And I am sorry if we are making you like this.’

  ‘No, don’t apologise, it’s fine.’ I offer her a feeble smile. ‘I overreacted. Guess I’m still feeling a bit vulnerable after everything that’s gone on.’

  ‘That’s totally understandable,’ says Amir. ‘And being hungover won’t be helping either. Messes with your head. Just take it easy tonight, yeah?’

  ‘Thanks, Boss.’ I get up from my seat to receive the friendly hugs I’m being offered by my friends. ‘Compared to Clara, you’re like the male equivalent of Mother Teresa.’

  Around midnight the bar is nearly empty, allowing Reyes and I some time to chat as we hang aimlessly, waiting for the few remaining punters to pay up and go. Amir has taken the opportunity to nip away and focus on some of his managerial tasks.

  ‘So, you are liking Josh then?’ she asks me. ‘It is looking like this when you come back from your break with him earlier.’ Her eyes are twinkling with mischief.

  ‘Yes. Of course, I like him. Who wouldn’t?’ I consider how to sum it up for her. ‘He’s gorgeous – obviously. More than gorgeous. He’s like a total Adonis. And he’s really sweet and fun to hang out with. We have such a laugh.’

  ‘This is all so good.’ Reyes clasps her hands together, clearly thrilled. ‘I am very happy for you, Chica.’

  ‘Me too.’ I smile to myself smugly. ‘You know, something else – he’s actually really respectful and considerate. Definitely doesn’t behave like I’d expect from a guy who looks like him: that’s such a bonus.’

  ‘How are you expecting this kind of man to be?’ Reyes looks puzzled.

  ‘A total twat.’ I shrug. ‘Full of himself. I’ve come across enough of them, particularly at work. Though never quite in Josh’s league.’

  ‘Ah, OK. I understand this.’ Reyes nods. ‘Some hombres think too much that they are the best. And they are treating the chicas badly.’

  ‘Exactly that.’ I nod. ‘Over here we call them players.’

  ‘Players. Pla-yers.’ Reyes repeats this slowly to commit it to memory. ‘Ah, that is reminding me. I have been learning a game. It is new. We must play it.’

  ‘A game?’ I look at her sceptically. ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘It is being called Snog, Marr
y, Avoid.’

  ‘Snog, Marry, Avoid?’ I let out an incredulous laugh. ‘That’s not a new game. I used to play it at school with my friends when I was, like, fifteen.’

  ‘It is not new?’ Reyes looks disappointed.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. There’s even a TV show based on it. We actually played a variation on it in school: Snog, Marry, Push off a cliff. But it’s the same principle.’

  ‘So, we will play your version.’ Reyes’s face brightens again. ‘I would like to do this. Will you play?’

  ‘OK…’ I shake my head to check I’m not in some kind of weird dream where I select my ‘snog’ guy, then suddenly find myself making out with a slavering warthog on a train to Nepal, or something similarly strange. ‘Do you want to ask first, or shall I?’

  ‘I will ask first,’ Reyes announces. ‘Who you will snog, who you will marry, and who you will… push off a cliff? Your choices… Josh… Amir… and… Paulo from the kitchen.’

  ‘Ooh, that’s difficult.’ I mull over my choices, upping the suspense to humour Reyes. ‘I’d push Paulo off the cliff, because I don’t know him and he’s about twice my age. Plus, I’d never kill off Josh or Amir. Obviously, I’d want to snog Josh. But that means I have to marry Amir… maybe that’s OK though – a purely platonic marriage where we see other people.’

  ‘You would not marry Josh?’ Reyes looks shocked and riveted. This takes me back fifteen or so years to my chemistry class, where my lab partner, Kyla and I, spent hours playing this game – to the severe detriment of our grades.

  ‘If I marry Josh, then I have to snog Amir,’ I say. ‘And I’m not sure I want to visualise that. As much as he’s a lovely guy, he’s firmly in the friend zone.’

  ‘And Josh is not a man that you can marriage?’ Reyes persists. ‘You tell me he is all these things, but he is not that?’

  ‘It’s just a bit early for that question, is it not?’ I laugh, but Reyes looks serious, so I try to give the question some proper thought. ‘At this stage, I’m not sure. He ticks most of the boxes, but…’