Page 17 of The Meaning Of You

I braced myself.

“I’ve known you two years,” he began. “And one thing I’ve learned is that any guy would be lucky to have you. If you were a bit younger or I wasway, wayolder, I might even make a play for you myself.”

His words froze me in place and panic squeezed my chest. “I . . . um . . . oh . . . look . . . I don’t . . . you’re too?—”

Gazza roared with laughter. “Oh my god, you should see your face. I’mnotinterested in you, Madigan. Have you lost your freaking mind? It was an example. You’re my boss, for a start, not to mention a whole music generation older than I am.”

“Two, probably,” I corrected. “And both of them better.” I narrowed my gaze, my cheeks heating. “But I’m hardly decrepit, just so you know.”

“I know.” But he was struggling not to smile. “I’m just not into...oldermen. They’re not my style. I was simply making a point.”

“A point which I clearly missed in the mortifying moment which followed,” I pointed out.

Gazza swallowed another smile. “All I really meant to say was that I used to date. A. Lot. But working for you has totally killed my love life.”

“I... what?” A frown cut across my brow.

“You’ve become my muse, Madigan.”

“Your... muse?” I shook my head in confusion. “What in the hell does that mean?”

Gazza chuckled at whatever he saw on my face—horror most likely.“It’s really quite simple. Whenever I meet a new guy, I compare them with you.” He shrugged. “Not many make the grade.”

I blinked, trying to make sense of his words. “You compare them to me?”

“Yes,” he said, somewhat impatiently.

“But—” I screwed my eyes shut, then opened them again. “That makes zero sense. I’m a dating disaster, remember? Blunt and anti-social.”

He snorted. “That’s a bit extreme. You’re a university lecturer. You can’t be that bad.”

I cocked my head. “Don’t bet on it. That’s me in control. It’s nothing like a relationship. The last guy I dated called me—” I hesitated. “—well, to be fair, he actually didn’t call me much at all after I accompanied him to an award night and spilled red wine down the front of his boss’s white shirt. I apologised profusely, but his boss was a total prick and hurled abuse at me. I called him an arsehole in return and Daniel was... well, livid, not to put too a fine point on it. He thought I should’ve grovelled in apology, but it wasn’t my fault his boss was a complete tosser. Needless to say, that was the last I heard from Daniel.”

“Oh my god.” Gazza’s shoulders shook with laughter. “You see, that right there is what I mean. You’re real, Madigan. Nopretence or fronts. And you’re a good guy in all the ways that count. A little dense about romance and men maybe. A little scared about being hurt again—I’m running on instinct here, so don’t shoot me. You’re completely unaware of your appeal, and you’re a whole lot stubborn about not putting yourself out there.” He shrugged. “But essentially you’re a good guy.”

“Gee, thanks.” My tone dripped with sarcasm.

Gazza’s eyes gleamed. “You’re exactly the kind of man my mother swore existed and I never believed her. But now I know she was right. I want a good guy of my own to grow old with. In short, I want my own Madigan. And that single realisation fucked up my entire dating regime.”

“Your own...” I drifted off, groaning. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Gazza grinned. “Why? You don’t think I deserve a good man?”

“What? No. Of course I think you deserve—” I caught sight of the wicked gleam in his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Gazza’s expression sobered. “To be honest, it wasn’t just you. I’ve had my fair share of duds over the years and I’m over it. So now, when I meet someone, I ask myself is this guy Madigan material? Does he have that kind of potential? If not, I might use him for a fuck, but that’s about it. No dating. No wasting my time.”

I dragged my hand down my face and stared at him. “Madiganmaterial? Are you on something?”

Gazza laughed. “No. And I’m not asking your opinion. I was just letting you know that you have a lot to offer, and you shouldn’t give up dating because of a few bad experiences.”

I eyed him with suspicion. “Have you been talking with Shirley?”

Gazza’s eyes danced. “I wish. But no. Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying. And like you said, you’re not decrepit. You must have at least ten good years left in you, right?”

I landed a kick to his shin and he squealed.

“Ow!” He hopped about on one foot. “What was that for?”

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