The Wedding Date. Jennifer JoyceЧитать онлайн книгу.
even need to have a boyfriend – real or otherwise – to parade in front of Ben?’
I should have known Ryan wouldn’t understand. He’s never been in a relationship long enough to have his heart broken. He’s been dumped – plenty of times – but never by someone he truly cares about.
‘You should have seen the pity on Francesca’s face when she realised what a loser I am. Ben’s moved on and I’m still stuck in the same place I was nine months ago. Imagine how I’m going to feel when I see that look replicated by the hundreds of guests Francesca will have invited. There’ll be people there who I used to know through Ben and I don’t want them to feel sorry for me. I just want to be able to walk into that church with my head held high.’
‘I don’t see why you can’t go to the wedding on your own,’ Lauren says, frustratingly not getting my point at all now that the idea of a real, bone fide boyfriend has been snatched away from her.
‘I can’t turn up alone! I’ve told Francesca that I’m proper loved up with my gorgeous boyfriend.’
‘So say you broke up. Couples do, you know.’
I wonder whether Ben and Eden will break up. The thought gives me a warm, glowing feeling inside. I hope she dumps him so he’ll know how it feels to have your heart torn out, tossed on the floor and stomped all over.
‘I can’t – won’t – turn up on my own. Francesca’s changing the seating plan and everything. Plus, Ben’s going to be there with Eden. I need to show him that I’m over him.’
‘But you’re not,’ Ryan – unhelpfully – points out.
‘Which is why it’s even more important to pretend that I am.’ Duh.
‘I think “important” is pushing it,’ Lauren says.
I stick my chin out. ‘It’s important to me.’
Lauren’s face softens and she takes hold of my hand. ‘Then we’ll help you. Let’s find you a hunky temporary boyfriend.’
‘Thank you.’ I’m relieved I don’t have to do this alone. I haven’t dated anyone other than Ben in almost four years and I don’t know where to start.
‘So where’s good to meet men?’ I’ve been out of the game for so long that the rules are fuzzy.
Lauren swivels her head left and right. ‘How about the pub?’
I look at the other patrons of The Farthing – most of them are over fifty. Some over eighty. Not quite what I’m after.
‘Not them,’ Lauren says, seeing me eyeing Kenneth, one of our fellow pub quizzers. ‘Who do you flirt with every week?’
Lauren and I look at each other, goofy grins on our faces. ‘Dan!’ I leap out of my seat. I can’t believe it never occurred to me before. Dan the Barman is the perfect contender for shiny new boyfriend. He’s quite a bit shorter than I am but he’s cute and funny and extremely flirtatious. He’s been working at The Farthing for ages – a couple of years at least – and we’ve always had an easy rapport. I’ve never taken our flirting seriously as I was either with Ben or still hung up on him, but maybe now the time is right.
I’m locked into my seat for the next hour or so through fear. Dan is just metres away behind the bar, laughing at something one of the regulars has said as he pulls a pint. He has a nice laugh; throaty and a little bit evil, like there’s a naughtiness hidden behind his cute exterior. Yes, I bet Dan can be very naughty indeed.
‘Are you going to go and talk to him or not?’ Lauren takes a pointed look at her watch. ‘We have to get up for work in the morning.’
‘When has that ever stopped us before?’ There have been many late nights in The Farthing over the years, whether it happened to be a work night or not. ‘And yes, I am going to talk to him. When I’m ready.’
‘What’s the rush anyway? Apart from thirst?’ Ryan lifts his empty glass and gives it a shake. ‘Francesca’s wedding isn’t for another six months – why do you need a boyfriend right now?’
Lauren and I exchange a look. Duh! ‘Because I need it to look authentic. I’ve told Francesca that I’m in a relationship now. I can’t turn up with a bloke I’ve only been on two dates with, can I?’
‘I suppose not.’ Ryan shakes his glass again. ‘So you’d better go and chat to Dan then. Grab us a pint while you’re there.’
Mentally prising away the fear glue, I force my body out of the chair and make my way to the bar, which has filled up considerably. The landlord has jumped behind the bar to help out, meaning I’m in danger of being served by Colin instead of Dan so I hang back, pretending to study the lunch menu scrawled on the board beside the bar.
‘You’re a bit late for food,’ Dan says, leaning his elbow on the bar. ‘Can I offer you a packet of nuts instead? Or a packet of cheese and onion?’
You can offer me much more than that, me laddo.
‘Oh, no. Thank you. I’m not hungry.’ It takes an age to spit that handful of words out. I’m suddenly tongue-tied and flustered, the flirty side of me overshadowed by nerves. Can I really do this? Can I bag myself a date with Dan the Barman?
‘Thirsty then? Because I don’t have much more to offer.’
I bet you do, tiger. Let’s start with those skinny jeans. Get them off, right now.
‘Um, yeah. Two pints and a red wine please.’
Why am I such a dweeb? It’s not usually like this between us, I swear. It’s the pressure. It’s putting me off my stride.
‘How did you do last night?’ Dan has grabbed a couple of pint glasses and is busy filling one with lager.
‘Do?’
‘The quiz.’ Dan nods towards the back of the pub, where The Know It Ales are still celebrating their victory twenty-four hours later. Smug gits.
‘Oh. Terrible. Really terrible.’ There’s no point sugar-coating it. Everybody knows we’re never destined to make it any further than the very bottom of the leader board.
‘Never mind.’ Dan places one full glass on the bar and starts to fill the other. ‘Did you have a good weekend otherwise?’
‘Yeah, pretty good.’ I hope Dan doesn’t ask me to elaborate. Other than taking part in the pub quiz, I’d done little more than lounge in my pyjamas and watch a film with my folks. Mum let me choose a musical for us to watch, as long as it was either ‘Annie’ or ‘The King and I’ so she could gush over the shiny heads of Daddy Warbucks or King Mongkut of Siam (she has an obsession with bald celebrities). I don’t want to tell Dan this, obviously, as I need to appear fun and alluring if I want to secure a date.
‘You?’ It’s better to steer the focus away from myself and my rather sad weekend. And quickly.
‘I was working mostly. It’s lucky I love my job, hey?’ Dan winks at me as he places the second pint on the bar. He turns away from me to pour Lauren’s glass of red wine. I don’t have long left. In a few seconds I will pay up and return to my table dateless.
‘What do you like to do when you’re not working?’ Please say something interesting. Don’t be a stamp collector or a wanderer of antique markets (apologies if you are either of these things, but they don’t float my boat and I don’t think I have it in me to pretend convincingly).
‘I’m in a band.’
Oh. That’s pretty cool, actually. ‘What do you play?’
‘Drums.’
I picture Harry Judd from McFly. Nice. Very nice. ‘Are you any good?’
‘Me or the band?’
I hand over the money and give what I hope is a coy one-shouldered