Gin, Fizz & Tonic

Accident prone

Zander's hand sneaks across the table, reaching for mine. I snatch it away and plead that I'm desperate for a pee to give myself breathing space. A woman in a fake pink fur applies another coat of lipstick as I dry my hands, mentally planning what I'll say to Zander to put him off.

Point out that I snore and fart excessively? Or that I'm only willing to live with someone if they don't mind me taking a crap in front of them? That I spend my winters yeti-like because I give up hair removal mid-September and don't resume it until April...

The main issue with this strategy, however, is that none of this is true. Although the snoring might be a possibility. How would I know, seeing as I'm asleep through it? But while I don't mind sacrificing dignity if it repels Zander, he'll see right through it, especially because we've known each other so long.

By the time I return, a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc has materialised, which Zander pretends that he asked me if I wanted before I departed for the toilets. He's already made headway with his second pint.

One more drink only, the woman with only a passing acquaintance with willpower tells herself, and only so you can make it clear to Zander that his feelings are NOT in any way reciprocated.

I fiddle with the stem of my glass. "Zander, you're not in love with me."

"I am!"

Every tic is ingrained in your memory when you've known someone since they were knee high to a grasshopper. Zander's blink, or rather, lack thereof—is his tic. When he tells you something he wants you to believe, he doesn't blink. He keeps his eyes open for so long, it makes you question whether you're in a competition.

Like he does now.

"No, you're not. It's the familiarity you enjoy. Like a pair of old slippers." Just as Bella said this morning.

He still has those eyes wide open. "Jesus, Ginny, you're not a pair of old slippers. What a stupid thing to compare yourself to. C'mon, think about it! Why do we keep ending up with each other? Don't you reckon our subconsciouses know we're perfect for each other? Bella's right in a way, only the two people who should be settling down are me and you, not me and her."

The second glass of wine has disappeared far too quickly, and I am at that dangerous stage where I'll start believing him. Fortunately, his eyes flicker sideways when I peek at the big clock on the wall. Towards the woman in the fake pink fur, two tables away, also drinking white wine, who blows him a lipsticked kiss, and he winks back—not quickly enough for me not to notice.

I smirk; he has the grace to look shame-faced.

Raising myself to my feet, I pull my coat back on and wind my scarf around my neck. "Goodnight, Zander. Hope Gruesome's nicer to you tomorrow and that you manage to stay friends with Bella. I'm off home."

"Aw, Ginny!" A brief flash of annoyance crosses his features, then he shrugs it off. To my surprise he sticks one arm and then the other into his coat. I'd assumed he would make a beeline for pink fur coat woman.

We head out the door. The pavements have a light coating of frost, as spring has yet to make its presence known in Scotland. At this time of night, the 44 bus to my end of town only runs every half hour, and I've just missed one.

"So, have you watched the latest series of Stranger Things yet?" Zander asks, shivering in the night air.

"Not yet, I..."

Damn it. This is a Zander ruse. Any second now, he'll say... wait for it...

"Oh! Me neither! I got this new TV last week. Fifty-four inch screen and amazing surround sound, so if you fancied it, you could come back to mine, and we could watch it together. You can stay over. I'll sleep on the sofa."