(Continued from Parental Guidance)
Crossing the foyer of the club, I saw the main doors open, and Nice Guy come in. I quickened my steps in the direction of the suite where the drinks party was taking place.
I put off the inevitable catch-up until sufficient wine had been consumed that it wouldn’t be awkward. But no amount of chardonnay could have prepared me for what came next.
‘We got on crazy well!’ I told a friend, over Skype, the next day. ‘If there’s no follow up from him, I’ll lose all faith in my ability to read men.’
I lost it. I also lost patience and dropped him a line saying if he was ever near my place of work and fancied some ‘heavily discounted vino’ (one of the perks of my job back then, ironically, for it couldn’t have been bestowed on a less grateful recipient), to let me know. He wrote back, ‘I shall’.
(TO BE CONTINUED)