Page 69 of The Gin Lover's Guide to Dating

As I say this, my stomach churns uncomfortably, my symbolic loss at pool the evening before still fresh in my mind. I’m not just looking for financial reassurance, I’m looking for reassurance that my whole blogging project will actually succeed.

‘I know.’ Dylan throws me a protective big-brother-style look. ‘Me too. It’ll take a bit of time. And there’s no guarantees on how much you’ll earn from it. You’re probably gonna have to top up your income some other way – hopefully just for a few months – while your blog takes off. The money you make should grow, but it’ll start pretty small.’

‘Not what I needed to hear.’ I chew my lip anxiously. ‘The tips at the bar are way better than I expected, so that’s a help, but how am I going to come up with yet another way to earn extra cash?’

‘You don’t need to.’ Dylan gives me a pointed look. ‘There’s some easy cash to be made, here in your apartment.’

‘What do you mean… oh, right. My designer gear.’ I grudgingly mull this over for a few moments. ‘You know what, I’ll do it. I bought that stuff when I was living a different life. I’m not so attached to it anymore, and I barely have a social life.’

‘That’s my girl.’ Dylan takes a puff of his roll-up. ‘You’ll make a tidy sum with that stuff – you have enough of it. Look it out and I’ll get it on eBay. Hopefully that’ll plug your shortfall until your blog starts to make you some decent money .’

‘And you think it will?’ I seek his reassurance once more.

‘It’s a gamble.’ Dylan stares out into the pea-soup fog soberly. ‘Always was. But what other option do you have? Depends how quickly your subscription rate rises – so far, it’s looking pretty good – and how many of your readers use the links on your site. I’ve already set up the pay-per-click advertising, but that won’t earn that much in itself. Now that you’ve done a couple of posts and have a bit of a following, I think we should sign you up to do some affiliate advertising too.’

‘What’s that?’ I ask.

‘You add hyperlinks to words in your posts. When your readers click on them, they’re redirected to other sites where they can buy stuff. The sellers pay you a commission if your reader buys from them.’

‘I see.’ I scratch my head, trying to make sense of what Dylan is saying. ‘But how could I do that with my site?’

‘What are the possible links to your blog?’ Dylan asks. ‘For example, you could do affiliate advertising with a specialist drinks provider. If people click through and buy gin, or other ingredients for their cocktails, you get a commission.’

‘Right… I get it.’ I perk up. ‘So, what about… maybe… a retailer of romcoms – like books or movies? Because I tell stories, don’t I? About dating.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Or… how about… online dating sites?’

‘Now you’re talking.’ Dylan stubs out his roll-up. ‘They have potential. You’d earn a decent commission if your readers signed up with them.’

‘Great. Let’s do that then.’ I’m encouraged by this. ‘By the way, how’s your own online dating going?’

‘Found it a bit weird at first,’ says Dylan. ‘But I started chatting to someone yesterday on it, so we’ll see how that pans out.’

‘That’s exciting. What’s she like?’

‘Hot.’ He grins wickedly, putting on a pervy-old-man face. ‘That’s enough for me.’

‘Euch!’ I screw up my own face in disgust. ‘I’m glad I’m not her. Well, good luck. And thanks, Dylan, for all your help. Really.’

‘Always a pleasure, Squirt.’ He slaps me on the shoulder affectionately. ‘Now, are you gonna feed me or what?’

‘Yeah, of course.’ We get up and head inside to the kitchen, glad to get into the warmth. ‘I’m not eating though. I’m going out. But I’ll make you a sandwich.’

‘Oh yeah? Is that with loverboy?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ I redden as I take cheese and ham from the fridge. ‘He’s taking me for dinner. At a really nice restaurant.’

‘Best way to get a girl in the sack.’ Dylan chuckles. ‘He must make decent money then. His pocket money probably wouldn’t cover that.’

‘He won’t be getting me in the sack. I guarantee that.’ I tut at Dylan’s chauvinistic behaviour. ‘And what on earth are you talking about pocket money for?’

‘You know, because he’s still a child – gets pocket money from his parents.’ Dylan grins at me, enjoying his own humour.

‘Oh…see you…’ I point the knife I’m using to butter the bread at him, then put it down as I realise what I’m doing. ‘Just drop that. Unless you want to be responsible for me dumping the guy. I’ve had enough of an issue with our ages, without you throwing in more grenades.’

‘Hey, chill.’ Dylan holds up his hands in surrender. ‘I was just kidding. You know that. I’m well happy that you’ve met someone. About bloody time.’

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