Page 68 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

‘OK, well don’t say I didn’t offer,’ Josh teases me, oblivious to my inner torture and the significance of the loss for me. ‘Guess we’d better get back.’

As we wander back through the staff corridor together, Josh chats away merrily, dissecting every moment of our game like an overenthusiastic football commentator. I nod along, pretending to listen attentively, but my mind is elsewhere. Is it a sign?

I didn’t lose because I didn’t try hard or play well, it simply came down to bad luck. Just like everything that’s happened in recent months with my career. That doesn’t seem like a coincidence. Sure, I’ve set up my blog. I might be getting great feedback from my existing subscribers. But I’m yet to make any money. What if it doesn’t take off? What if I fall victim to bad luck there too?

‘Liv? Did you hear me?’

‘Oh… err… sorry, Josh.’ I give my head a little shake to bring my focus back to him. ‘I missed that. What did you say?’

‘I was asking if you wanted to catch a drink at a late-night bar after work. I’ll be finishing about the same time as you tonight.’

‘A drink… I don’t think so, Josh. I’m really tired today.’

‘You’re not still upset about the game, are you?’ He jabs me playfully in the ribs.

I look at him, momentarily irritated. He hasn’t the slightest clue. He’s just oozing charm as usual, but not even attempting to tap into how I’m feeling. But then, how could he? He’s not a mind reader. He couldn’t possibly have known about how big a challenge I set myself there. And he has no idea about my past. We still barely know each other. That’s just not fair, Liv.

‘It’s not that.’ I reach out and take his hand. ‘I just felt a bit more tired than usual this morning and it’s catching up with me again. How about tomorrow instead? I’m off, and you said earlier you’d only be working till six. We can have a proper evening out together.’

‘Great thinking.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Although I’d have liked to do both. I’ll probably see you later when I’m doing my rounds, but as I won’t be able to speak to you properly, I’ll give you your goodnight kiss now.’

He pulls me towards him and kisses me gently but firmly on the lips, then lets me go. ‘See you later, Liv.’

‘See you.’ I smile shyly at him, now tingling all over, all doubting thoughts completely forgotten.

Chapter 19

Picture the scene. Early evening. Low lighting. A smooth funky beat. The smug, indulgent feeling from having found a peaceful haven for an intimate drink on a Thursday evening – away from the parched, alcohol-seeking packs of workers.

She is stunning. He is super-hot – and irresistibly charming. Two beautiful people have found each other, and to them nothing else exists right now. They are each other’s worlds.

Delivering two perfectly prepared French 75s to their table (a divine combination of gin, champagne, lemon juice and simple syrup – a drink of perfect elegance to match their own), my presence is barely noticed.

I watch in awe, totally beguiled, as I mix drinks for another table. Even the consistently satisfying scent of the Pear Drop Fizz I’m mixing (a fruity combination of pear-infused gin, cava and simple syrup, garnished with a cinnamon stick), barely impacts as I’m gripped by this Hollywood-esque scene before me. Are they famous? Or just ludicrously rich? They drip with style – the highest-end designer pieces on display like Christmas tree baubles. They look perfect, they act perfect, they move perfectly together. Their interactions, totally in tune, are fit for the big screen.

But it’s almost too perfect. As I continue to scrutinise them like they’re lab rats, something doesn’t seem quite right. He is attentive, far beyond normal confines. She is almost theatrical in her show of self-elegance and irresistibility. Like she’s teasing him, keeping herself just out of reach. He’s trying to connect with her on an emotional level she’s refusing to accept.

Just as I’m becoming consumed with frustration at not knowing what’s really going on, I’m rewarded with the plot twist. In walks another woman, equally dazzling in her appearance and demeanour. He looks up, freezes. Now it’s a very different movie. The cheating rat has been caught. And there’s no doubt about it: he’s been set up. I’m almost reaching for the popcorn as the scumbag is outed, despite his best – but hopeless – efforts to explain things away.

The story ends with a predictable but satisfying finale, with not just one, but both untouched drinks thrown in his face, and two victorious women marching away together, arms linked in a clear display of unity. All that is left is a rather wet and sticky shamefaced idiot, and a mess that, in this case, I don’t mind cleaning up one bit. My only reflection is the ironic thought that, although with them in spirit, I can’t help thinking it’s such a waste of my lovingly made drinks.

This week’s recommendation is an easy one. It’s got to be the gin twist – made from gin (obviously!), lemon juice, sugar and hot water. Not just because of the unexpected developments of this tale, but also for its warm and satisfying character – a lot like the feeling of sweet revenge. And like cheating scumbags, it’s a drink that has been around for a very long time.

Looking forward to your verdicts!

‘It’s another stonker, Squirt.’ Dylan hands my laptop back to me, picks up his roll-up cigarette and takes a long drag from it, before exhaling with smoke rings. ‘Nice one, getting it out so quickly.’

It’s 5.30 p.m. the next day, and we’re sitting on my balcony, despite the bleak, dense sea fog that’s crept in from the Forth Estuary. The air is close and damp; tiny microscopic droplets of water seem to just hang there like unwelcome insects. After reviewing the draft version of my second post that morning, it’s now finished and published on my blog site.

‘Thanks.’ I’m immensely pleased with this feedback from him. ‘It’s not got as much humour in it as the last one, but I think that’s OK. It’s still telling a story.’

‘It made me laugh.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘I think it’s great. How are your stats doing?’

‘I’ve reached three and a half thousand subscribers with this new one already.’ I puff myself up proudly. ‘Can’t believe it.’

‘I can,’ says Dylan. ‘My contacts are good. And so is your writing. You’ve created a great “bus-home-from-work” read. Chuck those out twice a week and you should build and keep a decent following.’

‘How long will it be till I start making money from it, though? I’m really conscious of time.’

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