Page 57 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

‘Hey, you’re useful for a lot of things.’ I look him straight in the eye. ‘I hope this doesn’t come from the way I’ve treated you over the years.’

‘Nah. Don’t worry.’ He bats my words away. ‘It was definitely that rocket of an ex of mine who did it.’

‘Well, maybe we need to focus on your stuff as well,’ I suggest. ‘Reyes might not be available. But there are plenty of women who are, and any one of them would be lucky to have you.’

‘Aww… quit it.’ Dylan gives me an embarrassed shove.

‘I mean it,’ I persist. ‘How about I do something for you in return, and set you up with an amazing online dating profile?’

‘Sure, why not.’ He shrugs. ‘I had wondered about giving it a try. But who’d want to date a guy who can’t spell for shit?’

‘You’d be surprised.’ I raise an eyebrow at him. ‘You did just read my blog, right?’

Chapter 16

Several hours later, I’m dancing round my apartment, music blaring, getting myself glammed up for a night out with Reyes, for which she has insisted on paying. Despite feeling highly uncomfortable, and deploying several bulletproof (I thought) excuses, nothing would put Reyes off: ‘Chica, you come out with me, and I pay, and that is it. I hear no more!’

As I wing my way round my apartment, dabbing on make-up, styling my hair and gathering my outfit and accessories, I intermittently check the stats of my new blog page. Refreshing the data for the third time in an hour, I’m stunned to see that my subscriber list has jumped from eighty-three to two hundred and one. Two hundred subscribers in a matter of hours.

‘Wowsers!’ I do a little shimmy to the music. ‘Dylan, you may just be my second guardian angel.’

Grabbing my phone, I tap out a text to him.

Two hundred! I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s obviously working. :) xx

He replies almost instantly.

One of the few perks of my job. I have contacts. Remember there’s gonna be an initial spike and then it’ll tail off. Most important thing is to publish regular posts.

I tap out another message.

Don’t worry, I will! I’m loving this. Thank you so much, Dylan. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Speak tomorrow. xx

I put my phone in my handbag, not expecting a reply, but it pings again.

Took you long enough to realise. :P

‘Cheeky sod.’ I smile, replace my phone in my bag, and then return to my beautifying.

Just over an hour later I enter Salt, an edgy bar in the Cowgate, a nightspot I’ve not been well acquainted with since my student days. It’s dark inside, with individual booths sporting vintage memorabilia that have been adapted and arranged in a very alluring way. Low, modish music pumps out of the speakers creating a chilled-out atmosphere. It’s not the kind of place I would ever have noticed, never mind frequented, but I actually quite like its funky charm. I look around for Reyes, but not seeing her, I take a seat in one of the empty booths.

‘Hi there.’ A young male barman wearing skinny distressed jeans and a statement T-shirt approaches me. ‘I assume you’re meeting someone, but would you like a drink while you wait?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ I smile at him and quickly scan the drinks menu, before remembering that Reyes is paying. ‘Actually… can I just have a tap water for now?’

‘Sure. Coming right up.’ He disappears, returning a couple of minutes later with my water.

For the next ten minutes, I mess around with my phone to pass the time as I wait for Reyes. I scroll through my Twitter and Instagram newsfeeds while I wait, paying them little real attention, until I scroll past a Twitter share and do a double take. It’s my blog. Someone I know has retweeted the link.

Delighted, I click into it and start to read through my piece, smiling to myself as I do. I indulge in the words, sentences, paragraphs, chuckling guiltily at my own wit, and can’t help feeling a swell of pride. I did this. Despite all the crushing setbacks of the last few months, I managed it. It’s out there for all to see.

‘You look pleased with yourself,’ a male voice prompts me.

Assuming it’s the barman, I don’t even look up. ‘Actually, I kind of am.’

‘Willing to share?’

He slides into the seat opposite, causing me to glance up in confusion. Instead of finding myself face to face with the barman, I’m looking at Josh. An off-the-scale smoking-hot Josh. Instead of his usual immaculate hotel uniform, he’s wearing a very six-pack-enhancing fitted T-shirt with jeans – and that same dizzyingly, enticing aftershave. Caught by surprise, it takes a moment to catch my breath, and I force a little cough to cover this up.

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