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

by Nina Kaye

  ‘Wait.’ I gaze at him in astonishment. ‘You would have supported me?’

  ‘Of course, I would.’ He shakes his head defeatedly, and I realise that he’s really hurting. ‘I really thought we had something special, Liv. I would have been one hundred per cent behind you, but you never gave me the chance.’

  I struggle to comprehend what he’s saying. He’s also hurt to a level I can’t quite connect with my actions.

  ‘Who knew about it?’ he asks. ‘Who did you share it with?’

  ‘Just Dylan.’ I decide there’s no way I’m putting Reyes in the firing line. ‘He came up with the idea of doing a blog. But it was me who had the idea of using the bar as inspiration.’

  ‘Right. Just your best pal. That figures.’ Josh’s words suggest understanding, but his tone and body language betray a victim, deeply hurt.

  ‘Josh.’ I shake my head, and place my palms on the table, trying to figure out what’s not fitting in this picture. ‘I get that you’re hurt that I didn’t tell you about it. And I know I’ve put you in an awkward position as my senior manager. But that’s it. That’s all it is.’

  Josh’s eyes lock on mine.

  ‘Is it, Liv?’ His tone is suddenly a lot more cutting. ‘Is that all? There’s nothing else you need to tell me? Just while we’re laying everything out in the open.’

  I shift awkwardly in my seat, as I realise there’s more to come.

  ‘Wh… what do you mean, Josh?’

  His eyes are overflowing with hurt.

  ‘I mean your pal, GrahamLeeton. He’s not an old friend from university, is he?’

  I flinch as he says the words. How does he know that? Where is this even going?

  ‘He’s… err… he’s just a—’

  ‘Liv, don’t treat me like an idiot.’ Josh bangs the table with his fist in frustration. ‘Do you know what I’ve been doing for the last few hours since that woman made that complaint? I’ve been reading every single word on that blog site – comments and all. And guess who I came across?’

  I gulp as I realise I’m totally busted.

  ‘That’s right.’ Josh eyeballs me. ‘GrahamLeeton – or whoever the hell he is – made contact with you through your first blog post. Then you took things offline, it seems. And if that wasn’t bad enough, some weeks later, you write a post to try to get your readers to help you decide between him and me. You made me out to be some kind of empty-headed tool.’

  The bottom just about falls out my stomach as I hear these words. He guessed that? How? I realise I’ve possibly given Josh way less credit than he deserves. What do I do now? Deny it? Tell him he’s being paranoid? No, this has already gone too far. He deserves the truth.

  I sit silently for a few moments, figuring out how to do this.

  ‘Josh,’ I say eventually. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so bloody sorry. I can explain – some of it, anyway. Yes, I lied about who GrahamLeeton was. I’ve been really conflicted over the whole situation. On one hand, it was just chat, so what harm was it really doing? But then I started to feel more of a connection with him; I realised that things were a bit more complicated. But it all just exists in the virtual world – it’s not a relationship. Also, I wasn’t sure about what we are. We’ve never said we were exclusive, and—’

  ‘Hold on a minute, Liv,’ Josh interrupts me. ‘We’re not fifteen. Did we really need to rubber-stamp our relationship like that? I thought I was supposed to be the young and immature one here.’

  I cringe at his words; so spot on.

  ‘I just assumed, Liv, as we had become so close, that that meant we were in a relationship. I really was falling for you. I know it’s only been a couple of months, but I actually thought we might have a future together. I thought you were it.’

  He looks so sad and broken, I can’t bear it.

  Now it’s my turn to stare at the floor as Josh’s words sink in. I realise he’s so right. Was it just convenient for me to assume that we needed to label our relationship? Why didn’t I give him a chance to be more than the guy I saw in front of me? Or tell him I needed more? Maybe if I had, he could have delivered.

  ‘You’re right.’ I screw up my face in self-loathing at having hurt this lovely man so badly. ‘I messed things up. I didn’t take responsibility, and as a result I’ve really hurt you. You deserved better. Way better.’

  He looks so wounded, I want to reach across the table and hug him. I want his forgiveness. But I know this is done; there’s no going back now. I needed to make a decision, and now that decision has been made for me. Only I’m not sure I like the outcome.

  I look up and force myself to make eye contact, if only to show Josh the respect he deserves, and to make sure that this moment is forever etched in my mind.

  ‘You deserve better,’ I repeat in a whisper.

  Josh holds my gaze for a few seconds.

  ‘Damn right I do,’ he mutters, then gets up and walks out of the room.

  Once the door closes behind him, I put my head on the table in despair. How did this get so out of hand? All I wanted was to fix my life and now I’ve blown an even bigger hole in it. I feel I might be sick as I think about the impact of all this. I’ve lost an amazing guy. I’ve lost my job – again. Which means I will now lose my home, for sure.

  And I’ve nuked my chances with the one person who has always supported me: Aaron. How will I ever look him in the face again? Thank goodness it wasn’t him doing my dismissal. That would have been even worse. While I’m contemplating all this, Amir walks back into the room.

  ‘You OK, Liv?’ he asks.

  ‘Not really.’ I give him a feeble smile. ‘But I appreciate you asking. Amir, I’m so sorry. I put you and Josh in an impossible situation. I don’t deserve any sympathy.’

  ‘Listen.’ He puts his palms on the table and leans in conspiratorially. ‘I’ll deny having ever said this, but I’m just sorry you got caught. Your writing is freakin’ fabulous. You’ve been a bit naive, that’s all. I know you, Liv, and I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Had you done a few things differently, like making your content part-fiction, you could have continued. With no risk of people recognising themselves in your work and being outed. I just wish you’d told me about it.’

  ‘That’s what Josh said.’ Feeling the hot sting of tears starting to well up in my eyes, I look up and blink them back. ‘He hates me. And I don’t blame him.’

  ‘He doesn’t hate you.’ Amir perches himself on the table beside me and squeezes my shoulder. ‘He’s fallen for you, big time. He’s hurting, but you never know, once the initial shock wears off, he might—’

  ‘He won’t.’ I shake my head. ‘There’s no way. And it’s probably for the best anyway. I had strong feelings for him, but he was clearly in a place I hadn’t quite made it to yet – not that I gave it a proper chance – and that’s not fair to him.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Amir nods. ‘Right then, shall we get this over with?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I get to my feet. ‘And, Amir… thanks for being the best boss ever.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘You’re kidding me, Squirt!’

  ‘I’m not.’ I take a beer from the fridge for Dylan and pour myself a large gin and tonic. ‘I’m officially unemployed – again.’

  ‘I thought when you said it was an emergency, you were gonna tell me you had writer’s block or some crap like that.’ Dylan seems even more anguished than Amir was.

  ‘I wish.’ I hand him the beer, plonk myself down miserably on the sofa beside him and take a big swig from my drink.

  ‘And Josh dumped you too.’ Dylan gives me sympathetic look. ‘That’s brutal.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say he dumped me…’ I suddenly realise what I’m saying. ‘Yes, I guess he dumped me. But it’s totally my fault.’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t disagree there.’ Dylan absently clunks his bottle neck against my glass. ‘I told you to ditch your online stalker. Josh is a top guy. You’ve blown it there, ya numpty.’

&
nbsp; ‘I know. I don’t need you to tell me that.’ I sigh. ‘But please stop calling Graham my stalker. He’s amazing. Incredible, actually.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘So’s Josh.’

  ‘No, I mean it,’ I persist. ‘I’ve had a complete revelation.’

  I fill him in on the previous night’s conversation and take my phone from my handbag to show him the message from Graham. He reads it slowly and intensely. Once he’s finished, he lets out a low whistle.

  ‘He’s good. I could never have put it like that. Smug bastard.’

  ‘Hey.’ I laugh and give him an affectionate push.

  ‘So, are you gonna finally meet him then?’ Dylan asks. ‘Like, if you’re that into him. You can’t just forever have a cyber boyfriend. That’s weird.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shrug, as I put my phone back in my handbag. ‘I told you before: he said that we couldn’t meet yet. I’m trying to respect that.’

  ‘Sod that.’ Dylan takes a swig of his beer. ‘Put the pressure on. He’ll cave if he thinks you’re getting too impatient.’

  ‘Hmm… OK… I’ll give that some thought.’ I raise a sceptical eyebrow at him. ‘I think maybe I’ve got more urgent things to sort out, don’t you? Like putting this place on the market before it’s taken out of my hands, quite literally.’

  ‘Any idea where you’re going to live?’ Dylan’s face turns serious with concern.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What about money, Squirt?’

  ‘Don’t even go there.’ I chew on my lip. ‘My best chance is to keep my focus on my blog, so I still have some income – it looks like it will grow. I was thinking I could just start going to different bars and get my material from them.’

  ‘Sounds like a decent plan,’ says Dylan. ‘Are your subscriber numbers still climbing?’

  ‘They are.’ I nod. ‘I’m hoping I’ll have better income this month, but I’m guessing it will still only be a few hundred at best. I need to sell this place and everything in it fast. Then I can assess where things are at. I can also try and get another bar job. But at this rate, I’m going to be in sheltered accommodation for a bit, at least.’

  ‘No way!’ Dylan looks alarmed. ‘That just can’t happen. I know you won’t want to hear this, but what about your mum? Could you not stay with her for a bit?’

  ‘Dylan, I haven’t spoken to my mum in years. There’s no way I’m going crawling back to her now. Not a chance. I’d rather sleep on the streets than spend even one night in that piss hole.’

  ‘Right, well…’ Dylan rubs his forehead. ‘There’s no way I’m gonna let you go into sheltered accommodation. You can couch surf at mine until you get sorted with something. And you can store your stuff in my room. My flatmates are just gonna have to deal with it.’

  My instincts are screaming at me to stay independent and politely decline Dylan’s proposal, but I resolutely fight them off. I remember Aaron’s words about me being so stubborn and refusing offers of help – when everyone in life needs a bit of help at times.

  ‘OK, thanks, Dylan.’ I lean over and give him a hug. ‘That means a lot. I’ll make sure I’m out of your way quick as possible.’

  ‘No worries, Squirt.’ He ruffles my hair, causing me to duck out the way. ‘You’re like my wee sister. There’s no way I’m letting you go under. Actually… seeing as you’ve had this epiphany over your upbringing, how about you join me at the Broken Arms for a few drinks sometime soon? As I’ve said, the guys are always asking for you.’

  I wrinkle my nose, my instincts having kicked into gear once again. Then I see the prove-you’re-not-a-snob-after-all look Dylan is giving me.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ I protest. ‘It’s just… it’s been so long. I’m out of the loop. Everyone will be staring at me, judging me.’

  ‘That’s all in your head.’ Dylan shakes his head.

  ‘Is it?’ I look him straight in the eye. ‘Why would they welcome me? I abandoned them. Left them thinking that I thought I was too good for them. You always make comments like that about me, so why won’t they?’

  ‘I do that to keep you grounded.’

  ‘Well it’s effective, I’ll give you that.’ I feel myself starting to sweat. ‘Dylan, it’s not just them. It wasn’t a happy place for me.’

  ‘I know,’ he soothes me. ‘I get that. But why not be brave? Give it a go. For me?’

  I stare at the floor, mulling this over, sorely conflicted. The last thing I want to do is put myself in yet another a vulnerable position, but I do owe Dylan for everything he’s done for me. And then there’s the progress I’ve made with getting over my past. As much as I want to run screaming at the thought of returning to Ridgemore Estate and the Broken Arms pub, and feeling all those unpleasant feelings again, maybe this is the final step to rid me of my demons: to go and face them head on.

  ‘I… err…’ I look up at Dylan. ‘OK, I’ll do it. I’ve hidden away for long enough. Maybe I’ll even get some blog material there. You’ll need to buy my drinks though – I can’t afford to go out anymore.’

  ‘Deal.’ Dylan sticks his hand out and I tentatively shake it.

  ‘And you’ll need to give me a bit of time to sort out this mess I’m in first too.’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘But, Squirt?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m gonna hold you to this.’

  ‘Oh, I know you are.’ I laugh. ‘I’m well aware of that.’

  A few hours later, once Dylan has left, I’m sitting at my breakfast bar trying to keep myself busy by composing my next blog post, using some ideas I had scribbled down previously. But with everything that’s happened, I’m struggling to concentrate. I’m plagued by memories of this afternoon’s disaster, guilt and sadness from how I messed things up with Josh; as well as worries about how I’m going to stay afloat financially. Eventually, deadlocked, I get up to make myself a snack.

  As I’m buttering my toast, it suddenly dawns on me that my phone has been uncharacteristically silent. I’m not aware of having received any new messages since the early afternoon. Understandably, there have been no texts from Josh. But I’ve not heard from Graham either since my last message to him. With everything having gone south earlier, I hadn’t clocked his lack of response. I glance at my watch and see it’s ten-thirty p.m.

  Abandoning my tea and half-buttered toast, I pad over to my handbag and grab my phone. I’m hoping I’ve accidentally switched it to silent, and that there’s a whole raft of messages from him asking where I am, and if I’m OK. I press the home button and my screen lights up, but all I see is my wallpaper image staring back at me; no alerts or messages dominating the small space.

  Just to be sure, I open up my blog chat app, but all it shows me is the last message I sent to Graham. There’s been no response. A sinking feeling immediately engulfs me. Where is he? Why has he not answered? We’ve had unanticipated pauses in our conversations, but not for this long. I had asked him a question. He couldn’t have mistakenly regarded my message as the end of a conversation.

  Don’t blow this out of proportion, I coach myself. You’re just feeling vulnerable. Maybe something came up. Just like it did for you. Do I have any real reason to think that there’s anything wrong? No. He did say he had some complications in his life right now. Maybe it’s connected to that. Shaking my head at myself for being so paranoid, I decide there’s only one way to solve this. I tap out a short message.

  MissGinFizz: You had as crazy a day as me? I almost forgot I was waiting for you to reply!

  I place my phone on the breakfast bar, and return to my half-made tea and toast. My ear remains continuously tuned to my phone, waiting for that all-important message of reassurance. It’s still my focus as I switch on the television and flick absently through the channels, then give up and switch off the television. Finally, I shut down my laptop, wash my face and brush my teeth, and head to bed.

  As I lie there, my phone sitting mutely beside me on my bedside t
able, I’m consumed with anxiety and sadness – knowing I’m not just being paranoid. If he was busy, or just temporarily forgot about my message, he would have answered by now. He wouldn’t just not reply. I may not know what he looks like or where he lives, but I do know how he interacts. Something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.

  Chapter 28

  Two weeks later, I’ve started frequenting several different bars to get my blog material. This is so I’m not always seen in the same one – a lone person nursing a single soft drink for hours does stand out a bit. Having learned the hard way about regular customers and their distaste of being mocked while simply going about their business, diversifying my territory has been a priority. I’ve also added fiction in each of my posts to ensure no one recognises themselves in my work again.

  I push open the door to The Green Room, a trendy gin bar in the West End, where – no surprises – the décor and furniture display different and complementary shades of green. I walk inside, immediately hit by their moreish signature apple scent. Even though it’s a Wednesday evening, there’s a lively buzz about the place and I can immediately recognise a potentially rich source of material. Having used the time I’ve gained from being sacked from the hotel productively, I’ve started a second, sister blog, focusing on the wider spectrum of human interactions and behaviour; as well as a broader range of alcoholic beverages. So, I know I’ll get something from this visit.

  I carefully select a table that offers a good view right across the bar without me having to move or change my sitting position. Taking a seat on the comfortable armchair-style seat, I read through the menu, reminding myself of the range of gin-based drinks available. My taste buds tingle.

  ‘What can I get you?’ A surly-looking waitress has approached without me noticing.

  ‘Oh, err…’ I put down the drinks menu guiltily. ‘Can I just have a mineral water, please?’