Chapter 8

Finally, I come to the conclusion that he’s not messaging back anytime soon. Ghosted on my first attempt. I sigh, toss the phone on the bed, grab my book, turn off the TV, and start reading.

Within five minutes, I’ve dozed off.

I wake about an hour later. It’s warm in the room, and I have a slight headache, but I feel a whole lot better when I look at my phone and discover I have another match, and he’s already sent me a message.

His name’s Tim, and he’s the first guy I swiped right on. He’s twenty-six, a dentist, he plays Minecraft, and he likes Andrew.

Oh well. Here goes.

Andrew:Hey! Looks like

He used punctuation and a smiley emoji. Things are looking up!

Me:Yeah. You are my lucky star!

Tim:LOL wot?

Shit.

Me:Sorry, it’s a quote from Andrew. Ripley sings the song at the end?

Tim:Oh yeah, sorry, I haven’t watched it for ages. LOL cool. You into sci-fi?

Me:Yes, and fantasy. Books and movies. You?

Tim:Yeah, some, I like horror movies mainly.

I’m not a big fan of horror, but at least he’s talking to me.

Me:What are your favorites, apart from Alien?

Andrew:Oh, The Exorcist, The Shining, Saw, that kind of thing. You?

Eesh.

Me:I enjoyed The Thing.

Tim:Yeah that was okay.

Me:You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!

Tim:LOL why?

Argh…

Me:No, it’s a quote from the movie.

Tim:Oh right, LOL.

Me:Sorry. I feel like an idiot now.

Tim:No, it’s cool. You sound fun.

Well, that’s something.

Me:I’ve only just started using Tinder. Do you normally chat for a while?

Tim:Sometimes. What are you looking for?

Me:What do you mean?

Tim:Are you on here for something long term? Or do you just want to hook up?

I stare at the screen, my heart in my mouth. Oh my God. Am I really about to type this? I take a deep breath.

Me:I’m just looking to hook up. You?

Tim:Yeah, sounds cool. And you’re gorgeous! I’m totally up for that.

It’s clumsy, but at least it’s a compliment.

Tim:You wanna meet somewhere? Have a drink?

I blow out the breath.

Me:Sounds great. Can you suggest somewhere?

Tim:Murphy’s Law in Courtenay Place? At six?

Me:Okay!

Tim:See you then.

Me:Yes, see you!

I toss the phone onto the bed again and fall back, my hands covering my face. Holy shit. I’m actually going to do this.

It’s only three p.m. so I have three hours yet. Too nervous to stay in, I gather up my jacket and purse and head out.

I walk down to the cinema and pick one of the movies that’s about to start. It’s some kind of historical drama, but two hours later, when I finally begin the walk back to the hotel, I can’t recall anything about it.

It’s not really surprising. Even though I tell myself that virginity is just a state of being, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t accept that having sex for the first time is a big thing. Of course it is. Nearly every magazine article and book you read, and every movie you watch, tells you that sex is what makes the world go around. And the older you get, the more the thought of doing it is going to be nerve-wracking. But at least I’m trying to rectify the issue.

When I get back to the hotel, I take a shower, pluck out any stray hairs that remain after the wax I gave myself at home, slather myself in moisturizer, spray on a decent amount of perfume, and dress in what I hope is a sexy combination of lace bra and knickers beneath my dark jeans and a red top, because Claire said guys think it’s sexy. I nearly always wear my hair up in a scruffy bun, but tonight I leave it down in the hope that he might like to run his fingers through it. I apply a decent amount of makeup because it gives me confidence.

When I’m done, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror.

The clothes and makeup are good, but it doesn’t look like me. I feel as if I’m on stage, wearing a costume. I suppose that is what I’m doing. I’m putting on an act tonight, behaving as if I do this all the time. I guess it makes it easier if I pretend to be someone else. Real Chantel hasn’t kissed a guy since she was sixteen, and that was only a playful peck. Sexy Chantel is experienced and has one-night stands all the time. She’d totally be comfortable with going back to a guy’s place and letting him strip off her clothes and have mad monkey sex with her.

Oh jeez. Deep breaths, girl.

I’ve already texted Charlie, and she messages me back, saying:Good luck! Let me know how it goes! Just relax and try to enjoy it!

I reply with:Will do!Then, at 5:45, I slip my phone into my back pocket, grab my jacket and purse, and head out again.

It takes me about ten minutes to walk down to the bar on Courtenay Place. By the time I arrive, my heart’s racing and my mouth has gone dry. I’m so nervous, but I want to do this so much that I force myself to cross the busy road and head toward the Irish bar on the corner. I double check my phone as I walk, reminding myself what he looks like.

Although it’s a Tuesday, it’s close to Christmas, and the bar is busy, with people milling about outside, gathering with drinks to chat, or sitting at the tables, sharing food. I was hoping he’d wait for me outside, but I can’t see him anywhere. After scanning the crowd, I go through the open doors into the dimly lit interior.

I pause on the threshold, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Then I hear someone say, “Chantel?”

I turn and see a guy standing there, beer in hand. He’s only an inch or so taller than me, and I’m only five foot seven. But that doesn’t matter, right? He’s not bad looking, although his hair is a lot longer than it was in his photo, and hangs around the collar of his jacket with a kind of surf-dude look.

“Tim?” I ask, breathless.

He nods. “Want a drink?”

“Um, okay, thanks.” I follow him to the bar, feeling a little queasy.

What do you want?” he asks.

“Gin and tonic, please.”

He waves to the bartender and asks for a G&T. I swallow hard. Should I offer to pay?

“How are you doing?” he asks, raising his voice above the sound of the music and conversation.

“Good, thanks.”

He nods and looks at his phone. I wonder whether he’s double-checking my profile on Tinder, but when I glance down, he’s checking his messages.

I stand there awkwardly, waiting for him to finish. When he’s done, he pulls up G****e, and I see the cricket score of the Black Caps match against Sri Lanka on the page.

“Two hundred and eight for two last time I looked,” I tell him.

He glances up, surprised, then pockets his phone. “You’re into cricket?”

“Yeah. I think they’re going to cream Sri Lanka in this ODI.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know much about it.”

Oh jeez. This is going well.

The bartender passes me my G&T. “I’ll pay for mine,” I say to Tim.

“Okay,” he says.

I touch my credit card to the keypad. Then I wait for him to suggest sitting at a table, but he doesn’t. He has a mouthful of beer and looks around the bar.

“So you’re a dentist,” I say, determined to have a conversation with this guy.

He looks back at me then. “Yeah. You’ve got good teeth.”

I laugh, then sober as he just raises his eyebrows. Oh, he wasn’t making a joke. “Thank you. I’ve always thought the front two were a bit big.”

“They’re large, but they’re not buck teeth. I’ve seen much worse.”

“Oh. Well, that’s something.”

“Yeah.” He eye-dips me then as he takes another sip of beer. Wow. That’s obvious. My face is up here, bro. Maybe I should check out the size of his knob and see what he thinks of that.

I have a large mouthful of G&T, glad of the burn of the alcohol down to my stomach.

“What do you do?” he asks.

“About what?”

“As a job.”

“Oh. Didn’t you read my bio?”

He laughs. “No.”

“Right. I’m a book reviewer.”

“Oh, cool. What kind of books?”

“Sci-fi and fantasy novels.”

Nice.” He finishes off his beer and puts the glass on the bar.

Okay. I already know that Tim isn’t going to be the love of my life, but that’s not why I’m here. It doesn’t matter that there’s no real connection between us, right? I just want what’s in his trousers. It’s not going to be the best sex I’ll ever have in my life. But it will be sex, and after this, at least I’ll know how it all works. It’s what people do all the time nowadays.

I have a couple of quick mouthfuls of my G&T, then say, “Do you live nearby?”

His eyes light up. “Yeah, a few

“Shall we go back to your place?”

“Okay, cool.” He heads for the door, and I follow him out.

It’s a beautiful early summer evening. We walk for five minutes, then turn left onto a quieter road. We pause at a pedestrian crossing and wait for the lights to change.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

I blink. “Here?”

He shrugs.

There’s nobody else waiting to cross, so I take a deep breath and say, “Okay.”

He moves closer to me, lifts a hand and slides it into my hair, then pulls me toward him for a kiss.

It’s not my first ever kiss—that was reserved for Henry Williams when I was twelve—but it’s the first I’ve had as an adult, and I’m therefore surprised when he thrusts his tongue into my mouth straight off the bat. I stiffen, fighting the urge to move back. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, and I close my eyes, trying desperately to stand still. Where his arm is raised to cup my head, I can smell his armpit. Oh God… this is awful. I knew it wouldn’t be romantic, but holy shit, this is even worse than I imagined.

I don’t know this guy. We have no connection at all. Am I really going back to his place? Can I see myself taking off my clothes, and letting him touch me in the most intimate way?

And what about safety issues? How do I know if he’ll be gentle and kind, and not rough or even violent? Oh my God, this is so ridiculous. Why did I ever think this would work?

I move my head back, and he lowers his arm.

“Tim,” I say gently, “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Aw,” he says.

“I’m very sorry to have wasted your time.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t look angry, just disappointed.

“I haven’t done this much, and I’m a bit nervous. I thought I could do this, but actually I don’t think I’m ready to sleep with someone straight after I’ve met them.”

His eyebrows rise. “You’ve never had a one-night stand? Wow.”

“No.”

“Okay.” He looks puzzled at that revelation, but just says, “So you want to go back to the bar?”

I smile. “Actually, I think I’ll head off. It’s not you, it’s me. Again, sorry to waste your time.”

“Ah,” he says, “don’t worry about it. Happens a lot.”

Yeah, I think, I bet it does if you stick your tongue down a girl’s throat straight away. But I don’t say it. Instead, I say, “It was nice to meet you,” and then I turn and stride back down the road, walking fast, all the way back to my hotel.

I go straight up to my room, lock the door, take off my jacket and shoes, then flop back on the bed with my hands over my face.

Tears prick my eyes. I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea. How did I ever think I could meet a guy, go back to his room, and be intimate with him when I’ve only just met him? It was absolutely ridiculous. It was never going to work. Maybe it does for people who are sleeping around regularly, and therefore for them sex is just a small step further than kissing. I wanted it to work. I really, really did. But I should have known the reality was going to be nothing like the fantasy.

My phone buzzes, and I pick it up and see it’s a text.

Claire:How’s it going? You in bed yet? LOL

Me:Total disaster, I’m afraid.

Claire:Oh no! What happened? Did you meet him?

Me:Yes. He was okay. Not horrible at all. But there was no chemistry. And it was all so cold and clinical. I froze and had to

Claire:Aw, honey, I’m so, so sorry.

Me:Yeah, well, I suppose I should have guessed that would happen. It was a nice fantasy.

Charlie:Oh don’t give up! You have another night to go!

Me:I know, but I can’t see it working. I’m just not the type of person who can sleep with someone they don’t know. Not the first time, anyway!

Claire:Well keep checking your messages. You never know. The next one might be the right one!

Me:Yeah.

Claire:Look, why don’t you come to the party? There are lots of guys here! They’d be all over the confident, sexy older woman.

Me:LOL thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m going to take a bath then go to bed. Start again tomorrow!

Claire:Okay, fair enough. You still on for the zoo in the morning?

Me:Absolutely! See you there at ten?

Claire:Yeah, sleep well. Love you!

Me:Love you x

I put the phone down and stare up at the ceiling.

You never know. The next one might be the right one.

It could be true. But I’m abandoning my idea of a one-night stand for now. I’ll have to hope when the time comes—if it ever does—that whoever ends up being my first isn’t turned off by the thought that I have no idea what I’m doing.

For now, though, I think I’ll order myself another G&T on room service, take a bath, and watch a movie.

Looks like it’s going to be a while before this girl l.

Bummer.

“I’m off.”

I look up from the monthly financial report I’m halfway through checking, glance at my watch and see it’s only six-thirty p.m., and give my twin brother a wry smile. “You’re taking this relationship thing a bit seriously, aren’t you?”

In the past, the two of us and our younger brother have worked until seven or eight p.m., or even later when it’s busy, often sending for Uber Eats so we don’t have to worry about getting dinner when we go home. Since his girlfriend moved in with him, though, Saxon has been keen to leave the office early to be with her.

He lifts one hand, palm up. “Reading financial reports.” Then he lifts the other hand. “Spending time with a gorgeous redhead who’s prepared to let me kiss every freckle she possesses.” He pretends to weigh the options, then rolls his eyes.

“Go on then,” I tell him good naturedly. “Fuck off. And give Catie a kiss from me.”

He throws me a wry look. “Absolutely not.”