hundred guys waiting in the wings hoping Jeremy drops dead.’
‘Adam? And Erica? I thought he wanted Lane.’
‘Long story, which I am not going to go into.’
‘Well if Erica could get your brother’s eyes off Lane after what I saw of him at the gallery last week, she must be something else. And you’re telling me there’s nothing special about flight attendants?’
‘It’s not about her job. It’s about …’ waving her wineglass ‘… her.’
‘Beautiful, is she?’
‘Very.’
‘Smart and confident and classy?’
‘Very.’
‘Experienced with men?’
‘Very.’
‘And these men swarming all over her never call her the next day?’
‘I … She … They … Hmm …’ She frowned, like she was trying to pull up memories. ‘Maybe it’s that she doesn’t always take their calls.’
‘Ah, now that’s quite different.’
***
David could tell the moment the implication sank in because her eyes bugged out. ‘That means they just don’t call me the next day. Or even the day after that. Or in Craig’s case, four days after! Well if that doesn’t totally … totally … Oh! And those dimples of yours are not helping me feel better about it.’
‘You’ve really got it in for my dimples tonight. Most girls like them.’
‘I’m not most girls,’ she said darkly.
‘You don’t like them?’
‘Not tonight, I don’t.’ She looked at him. ‘And there they go again! Indenting, in that infuriating way.’
‘So tell me, bluebell, dimples aside, are you sticking with me, or are you going to sack me as your adviser and hire Erica the paragon of feminine pulchritude?’
She pursed her lips for a long, thoughtful moment. And then she said slowly, ‘Erica’s advice usually ends with her saying there are plenty of fish in the sea, so get out my rod and reel.’
‘Good advice, if you’re angling for a cyclothone.’
‘A what?’
‘A cyclothone. The most common fish in the sea. They’re everywhere. But you see, I don’t think you want an everywhere fish, bluebell. You want something like a Fan Caulofrino Fin Fish—very hard to find, but once it’s attached to a female, it’s hers for life.’
‘Hers for life,’ she repeated thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I like that. It’s exactly what I want. Someone for life.’
‘And now that you’ve let me compare your future husband to a truly hideous-looking fish, I think it’s time we talked about the negs.’
‘The what?’
‘The negs. You’ve heard of guys negging girls, right?’
‘No.’
‘But I’ll bet it’s been done to you, even if you didn’t know it was happening. Guys do it all the time to good-looking girls, trying to take them down a peg or two in the hope of getting laid.’
‘Charming.’
‘Actually, it’s pathetic, but it seems to work.’
‘Example?’
He put his sketchpad down. ‘Say we’re in a bar …’ Walking towards her. ‘And I come over to you.’ Stopping in front of her. ‘I’m nervous as hell, because you’re a ten and I’m barely scraping a seven on a good day. So I might look at your hair.’ Looking at her hair. ‘And I nod, as though to say, Not bad. Not good mind you, but not bad. You’re starting to think there’s something wrong with your hair. But then, I say, “Nice,” and you’re feeling better. Maybe even starting to preen. Until I add, “You’re doing the two-tone hair on purpose, right? Blonde with black roots? I didn’t know the 1980s Blondie thing was back in fashion, but you go girl.”
‘And voila! You’ve been negged. You’re going to speak to me, and it’s not because I gushed about your pretty blonde hair, but because I rearranged our relative social values. I’ve indicated you’re not that special. I’m saying that even though twenty other guys have been kissing your tush all night, I’m not going to. I’m not responding like all those other guys—therefore I have a power those other guys don’t. You want to know why I’m not tripping over my tongue for you. You’re wondering how you’re going to get me kissing your tush like everyone else.’
‘Well, I’m certainly not wondering if my dark roots are showing, since I’m a natural blonde.’
‘Maybe you’ll tell me that … but that still means you’re talking to me, doesn’t it?’ And then he smiled, and his eyes dipped to just below where the ruching of her dress finished, low on her belly. ‘Natural blonde, huh?’
She looked where he was looking and her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh. My. God.’
Up came his eyes, brimming with silent laughter. ‘See? The conversation is begun, whichever way you want to play it.’
‘I need to see this in action.’
‘Any nightclub, any bar, any weekend, you’ll see it. And the thing is Sarah, you can turn the tables and do it yourself. In fact, I want you to do it. To try it, at least.’
But she was shaking her head vehemently. ‘Sorry, I can’t see myself talking about a guy’s pubic hair, even tangentially. Not going to happen. I need another example.’
‘Okay. Craig’s fedora—God, the options! But we’ll do an easy one. Something like, “My grandfather always told me gentlemen only wore hats outside—is this a new thing, wearing them indoors?” See? It doesn’t have to be vicious, just something to show him that you’re not going to fawn all over him. Once he knows he has to work to get you, he’s invested. He’ll be plotting to get you out on another date, calculating how soon he can call you.’
‘Hmm, I think I get the idea,’ she said, but she sounded doubtful.
He was close enough to smell her, now. To touch her. To … taste her. What would she do if he licked her, just below one of her ears, where the delicious scent she was wearing would be warm and heady?
Jesus! Where had that sprung from? No licking allowed.
He hightailed it back to his sketchbook, flipped to a fresh page, and started drawing hard enough to tear through the page. He rubbed a thumb over the tear, as though that would smooth out his own sudden edge.
‘But it seems a terrible way to live, hurling insults at each other,’ she said.
Time
