Page 67 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

‘I think I would have been too scared to even look at you, for fear of getting the sack.’

‘Well, thankfully you don’t have to worry about that now.’ He squeezes my hand reassuringly. ‘Amir is much more chilled out.’

‘He really is.’ I nod agreement. ‘Don’t think I could have a better boss.’

We reach the staff canteen, and wait in a small queue, before filling our plates, and finding a seat at the back of the room near the pool table. We chat easily while we eat, the banter flowing steadily, the chemistry crackling between us through flirty exchanges. We seize any opportunity for the slightest bit of physical contact, Josh being far less discreet than me.

Once we’ve finished our food, Josh sets up the pool table. As he does, I give myself a silent pep talk. I can do this. I can beat him. I’ve done it before.

‘Challenger breaks.’ He hands me the cue.

I chalk it well and make my way to the end of the table. Taking a deep breath, I lean over and line up my shot, all too aware that my break will set up the game, putting me either at an advantage or a disadvantage. I must not mess this up.

Letting the pool cue run smoothly through my fingers, I test my angle several times. Once I’m satisfied that my aim is razor sharp, I focus my gaze on the target, ready to take my shot. Everything is perfectly set up. However, just as I’m about to follow through, I glance up at Josh involuntarily. He’s standing at the other end of the table, his face etched with concentration, making him look even hotter than usual. Momentarily distracted by this sight, I switch into autopilot, and before I know it, the white ball is careering towards the triangle of red and yellow balls.

‘Oh, shit!’ I cry out instinctively, as I despondently watch the balls rattle around the other end of the table.

It’s not a terrible shot, but nothing goes in the pockets, meaning Josh has the upper hand.

‘Oops.’ He cringes a little on my behalf, as he takes the cue from me. ‘What happened there?’

‘Hand slipped,’ I mutter, unable to look him in the face, and furious at myself for allowing my emotions to hijack me like that.

Josh sizes up the options on the table and – fully calm, composed and self-assured – sinks three red balls in a row. Watching him expertly work his way round the table, the bottom falls out my stomach. How on earth will I gain back that ground?

I breathe a sigh of relief when he misses on his fourth attempt, but Josh simply shrugs and hands the cue back to me. He’s trying to keep a poker face, but I can tell that he’s pleased that he’s ahead.

I step back up to the table and weigh up my options. Come on, Liv. Do not let him win, and if you do, at least don’t let it be because you were too busy lusting over him, you idiot. Focus. How you perform in the next ten minutes is a symbol of your ability to get yourself out of the bloody great sinkhole you’ve fallen into in your life.

As the determination not to fail floods my body, my focus returns. I quickly and confidently pot two yellow balls, before missing a third. It still leaves me behind, but not by much.

We continue to take our shots, passing the cue back and forth, neither of us saying a word. We’re committed to one thing only: we both desperately want the win.

Eventually it’s down to the black ball. We take it in turns with carefully calculated shots: aiming for our designated pockets, while tactically trying to create a difficult shot for the other if we miss. As my turn comes round once again, I see I have a good opportunity to take the win. It’s not the most straightforward shot, but I know I have a good success rate with this angle. Taking my time, I line up the cue and do a few practice run-throughs. Then, when I’m ready, I follow through with exactly the right speed and precision.

I hold my breath as I watch the white ball make its way down the table; this is no longer just about beating Josh. It’s the metaphorical summing-up of where I’m headed next in my life. And it’s like someone has hit the slow-motion button.

As the white makes contact with the black, my body floods with relief. My trained eye can instinctively see that I’ve slammed it.

‘Yesss!’ I throw my hands up in the air triumphantly as the black ball disappears from sight.

But my celebration is premature. The white ball, having ricocheted off the cushion, courses back down the table and to my horror, vanishes into the pocket right in front of me, my win cruelly snatched away.

‘Nooo!’ I fall to my knees, hands clutching my head in dismay. ‘No. No.Nooo!’

Why did that have to happen? I had won. I was on my way up.

‘Bad luck.’ Josh appears above me, grinning, and helps me to my feet. ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel like a winner. It’s a bit of a non-event really.’

I stare at him mutely, a thousand jumbled thoughts coursing through my mind.

‘Hey.’ He laughs. ‘It’s just a game. You played well. That was just pure bad luck. Don’t take it so hard.’

‘Sure.’ I drag myself away from the torment circling in my mind and force a smile. ‘I know that. Just a game.’

‘I say we call it a draw.’ Josh drapes his arm around me casually. ‘Or we could void it and have a rematch?’

‘No.’ I shrug him off. ‘Don’t go soft on me now. The rules clearly state that you won – fair and square.’

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