On my knees

The stranger's hand

He's even better looking than I remembered. All chiselled jaw and carefully trimmed five o'clock shadow. He's picked up a healthy tan from his latest trip to LA and his muscles are rippling out of his rolled-up sleeves. You're quite a looker Marc Burgess, I think.

"Come on, let's dance," says Tina, pulling me over to a minuscule space directly in front of his line of vision. We start writhing to the house music, not my cup of tea but then again, if I had it my way I'd be curled up on the sofa with an actual cup of tea watching X-Factor right now, not in Mechu, a fancy club in Birmingham, in six-inch heels that are already killing my feet.

We make a good show of being the pissed party girls and dance with a few of the guys that have circled around us. Tina looks like she's really enjoying herself but I have no patience for it, I keep stealing looks at him. Before long I feel his eyes on me and yes, a flicker of victory does spark up inside. One of his friends makes a beeline towards us and Tina quickly has him entranced, skinny arms wrapped around his neck. I want to get this done with and approach him first but we've been over this, it's important that he comes to me. You can tell that he's the sort of man who likes to get what he wants.

Tina winds herself around his mate and I'm dancing on my own for a minute when I feel a hand on my waist. I don't even have to look round to know that it's him and I surprise myself by feeling a surge of electricity crackle from the spot where he's touching me lightly.