Page 4 of The Worst Guy Ever
“It’s disgusting that you assume women hit twenty-nine and all they want is to find a husband and slowly die inside. No offence Kara,” I said.
Her hand patted mine on the table. “None taken.”
“How long will this go on for? Do you think you’re Leo DiCaprio or something? You’ll keep getting older and your conquests will stay in their teens?”
“Now hold on, I take offence to that. I never sleep with women in their teens. I’m not that fucked up.”
“What’s your age range, then?” I didn’t even care. It was a stupid thing to ask.
“Twenty-two to twenty-eight.”
“And you’re thirty-three? Same as Luke?”
He nodded and rested his hand in the palm of his hand. “Are you telling me you’ve never slept with someone with an age gap?”
“Never.”
“Bullshit,” Kara coughed.
“Hey,” I whipped my head and glared at her. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, obviously, but he has a point. You’ve had much older than an eleven year age gap.”
“How much older?” His brow furrowed, and damn if he didn’t wear a brooding scowl well.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Try twenty,” Megan chimed in from behind her wine glass.
“Woah. You’ve got a thing for older men.”
“Oh no, she’s gone way younger, too,” Megan said, and she and Kara burst into tipsy laughter.
“Megan!”
“Oh, this is good,” Rob said, rubbing his hands together. “How much younger are we talking?”
As if they had thrown me under the bus like that. How had a discussion about Rob’s appalling, misogynistic attitudes towards women become an Everyone Take The Piss Out of Hattie festival?
“He lied about his age.”
“Oh shit. Not a schoolboy?”
“No, fuck off. Nineteen.” I focused on the view of the garden, desperate to avoid any more judgmental gazes.
“So basically a schoolboy. How old were you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Rob burst out laughing. “OK, so then I think we can all agree that there is nothing wrong with my age group settings.”
“It’s still sexist.”
“Are you bitter because you don’t make the cut? Is that what this is about? You wished you had matched with me.”
“Absolutely not. I’d have blocked you on sight.”
I tried to avoid him, I really did. As the meal moved from pudding at the table to mulled cider on Luke’s patio, I was checking work emails ahead of a busy week when he settled himself down next to me on the garden sofa.
