‘But I don’t care, I really don’t care!’
Sam raises an eyebrow.
I laugh. ‘OK, I get it! It’s not convincing! But I really don’t–.’
I fall silent.
‘Even if he was hoping for something that night,’ Sam says, ‘that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not interested in something more long-term.’
‘No, that’s true. But, still, it didn’t feel great, as in, it felt like that was all he was interested in, and because I haven’t heard from him since… that kinda suggests–.’
I break off. Three people have just come in: Pleasant And Stilted, his girlfriend, and the hostess who hasn’t heard of carrier pigeons. It’s like a reunion of sorts, with one member noticeably absent.
Everyone’s pairing off for the last dance of the night. I turn to Sam, who’s beside me, and has been for much of the evening.
‘Would you like to?’
‘I was going to suggest it, only,’ he nods discreetly in the direction of the only other man without a partner, ‘I always feel the paying punters should get a dance…’
He’s a saint, this guy. I pull a face. ‘What if I’d rather dance with you?!’ A thought occurs to me. ‘Does it make a difference if I’ve been dumped?!’
He laughs. ‘Yes.’ And leads me to the floor.
I haven’t danced with Sam in months; I’d forgotten just how good he is. How he places you like a china vase, spins you like a top, makes you feel like the only girl in the room – the world!
Walking off the floor, I put my arm around him, rest my head against his shoulder.
‘Thank you Sam, I so needed that dance.’ I give his arm a squeeze. ‘Best one of the evening – thank you – and not just because…’
He smiles. ‘My pleasure.’