Happy Hour (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 25

There is no doubt in my mind that if me and Chris share a bedroom we are going to take our relationship to the next level, so I'm really glad I've not had a massive amount of time to build up this Glen Coe trip in my mind. Because I'm not sure I've ever been this nervous.

Adam is the last person I've slept with. As you remember, that was well over a year ago. And, given how much I like Chris, I feel like a lot is riding on this. Pun most definitely intended.

So I've dragged myself out of bed early on Sunday, despite still being a tad emotionally drained from the night before, to make sure I'm prepped aesthetically, shall we say, for the night ahead. I'll not bore you with the details but I can confirm it involves quite a bit of shaving and a lot of moisturiser. I also spend half an hour with an intensive conditioning treatment on my hair which seems a bit superfluous but by the time I'm finished prepping it's the only hair I have left pretty much so it seems a shame not to treat it.

Sorry, that was probably a bit TMI, but you get the picture.

Chris has offered to drive, which suits me just fine - it's nice to get a break from being the chauffeur, plus I'd probably be way too distracted by his presence anyway to remember how to actually operate a car.

The closing notes of "Enter Sandman" are blasting out of his speakers when he pulls up and gets out of the car to help me with my overnight bag and camera. "Still a big Metallica fan then?" I laugh, then remember he doesn't know about my list.

He smiles. His eyes are hidden by aviator shades but I know they'll be sparkling right now. "You knew that about me?" He asks.

"Told you I always noticed you," I say lightly, shrugging.

"It's good to hear," he replies. "You were really good at pretending not to."

"So were you."

"True." We climb into the car and get on the road. "What do you want to listen to?" He asks. "I don't want to force you to listen to Metallica the whole journey."

"You can have my super-dooper road trip playlist if you like. It's got a bit of everything." I open Spotify and connect my Bluetooth to the speakers, setting it on shuffle mode like me and Paige always do.

He starts laughing as Sisqo's "Thong Song" starts playing. "This takes me back."

"I used to fancy Sisqo," I confess. "Who was your dodgy late 90s crush?"

He looks thoughtful. "Probably Ginger Spice," he says eventually, chuckling. "She terrified me but I was a bit obsessed with her. To be fair though, I was only about 10."

My hair is quite reddish; it was redder when I was younger before I discovered highlights. I can't help but wonder now if he noticed me because of it, although my hair was nowhere near as bright as Geri's back in the Spice Girls' heyday.

"Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you," he says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. He has a way of doing that sometimes. I smile.

The tunes randomly belt out and we provide commentary on each one, each song throwing up a memory or a random question. He tells me how he had his first kiss (a girl called Millie when he was 14) to the sound of Aqua's "Barbie Girl". (My first kiss soundtrack, I tell him, was a Take That song. I can't actually remember which one.) We each state the case for what the best Foo Fighters song is - I'm representing "Best of You" while he is adamant that it's "Everlong." (We eventually reluctantly agree to give them joint first place status.) We try to outdo each other rapping to "The Real Slim Shady". We're both surprisingly good.

I'm having such a good time. No nerves, no feeling awkward. Being with Chris is so easy. Of course, I'm still trying very hard not to think of what will inevitably happen when we reach the hotel. Trying not to put too much pressure on myself. On us.

"More Than Words" by Extreme pops up next and that prickly-skinned feeling overwhelms me again. I don't know if it's the fact I'm sitting next to Chris in a car combined with the song that brings the memory rushing back, but there it is. Clear as day all of a sudden. Or night, rather. I sneak a look at him.

"You remember, don't you?" He says. He's staring straight ahead at the road but he glances over quickly at me and catches my eyes . . . And, much like the way he did, that first time I met him, he smirks. My breath catches and I feel a blush spreading across my cheeks.

"This song was playing in your car that night," I realise. "And you caught me looking at you and I was so bloody embarrassed."

"It was the only time I actually thought you properly noticed me," he admits. "I tried so hard not to smile. I couldn't help it though, had to try and turn it into something else."

"How much time we wasted pretending we didn't care," I breathe.

"Every time I heard this song from then on, it made me think of you." He sighs. "Every bloody time. No matter what." He reaches out and lightly strokes my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

Seems that I was the file in Chris' mental filing cabinet like he was in mine... and I didn't want to be locked up either.

And now it's my turn to smirk.