Page 53 of The App Trap
“Do you know that bloke?” he asked.
“Er… yeah, he used to be my… dentist. Weird, eh?” I lied.
“Oh. He seems a bit...”
“Edgy for a dentist? I know. Mad, eh?”
“This country.” He laughed.
Good. He seemed to buy that load of horseshit, so I hurried him back to the car and drove off back to London.
When we returned to my flat, we decided to have a kiss outside. And my word, it was another great kiss, bringing back memories of rolling on the floor at Corky’s wine bar all those weeks ago. Oh, did I not mention that bit before?
But whilst we were immersed in passion, some cheeky little Herbert had decided to whip his manbag from the front seat of my car like something out of the beginning of a Dirty Harry movie. We were so engrossed in what turned out to be the perfect kiss, that he was in and out like a ninja. Because of that, there was no time to reflect on the kiss now.
The robbery really spiked my adrenaline, and left me super focused. Harry had the bright idea of tracking his iPhone signal from his work phone which was plugged into my car stereo. Then we managed to tail the thief to Finsbury Park of all places to perform a kind of mild stakeout, until the police arrived a while later thanks to me and my contacts. Well, my brother.
Harry seemed to think that it would be a bad idea for me to tackle the criminals without police protection, especially as my karate skills were limited to non-existent. I hardly thought that my white belt-second mon in judo was going to cut the mustard either. By the time the police arrived on the scene, the criminals turned off the phone anyway and had probably scarpered somewhere else.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” asked the female officer.
I remained purse-lipped, knowing damn well that she did and from somewhere not too far from here and not too long ago.
Harry decided to stay at my flat and we ended up not having sex but still enjoying ourselves. We’d already done some sexy stuff before, and I was geared up to the nines with condoms and lube, so I wasn't entirely sure why we didn't do anything. I had my suspicions that it was G&T related, as he wasn’t long for the land of nod.
We had brunch the next day, and to my delight, he didn't even take a picture of his meal. Apparently, he only used his Instagram account to follow crazy animals and accounts that contained videos of people falling over. What a guy.
A third date was secured and everything seemed like it was going to plan. The only thing that I had left to do out in the field was to go out with Werner and not have sex with him. Only then would I be free to fully escape the Alcatraz of online dating.
Chapter
Seventeen
It was mid-week and Werner was arriving from Germany this very afternoon. He wanted to meet in a bar in Sloane Square. Werner had come all the way to London to see me and I felt like I had a duty to go out with him, even though I didn't want to risk messing things up with Harry.
At work, Neil was in high spirits––the kind of spirits that you were in when you were in love with a beautiful woman. This was a mixture of good and bad news; good because I could technically be the boss’s son and start taking the piss at work; bad because I didn’t want my mum to date an utter penis-hole like him.
Mum had been in a great mood over the last few days and had dropped the hint that there was a new man on the scene. Dating apps really did have alotto answer for.
There was also some other news that reached me through the relationship grapevine. Ben had acquired a new play partner and when he told me that he was a skinny, four-eyed, red-headed copper with a slavery fetishfrom South London, I somehow had the feeling that I might know just the man he was talking about.
This all went to show that while there were millions of folks bumming around London, it was an incredibly small place as far as the world of dating went. Tonight would prove that more than anything.
I met Werner in a bar in Sloane Square where you couldn't move for tweed jackets and elbow patches, which was exactly the opposite reason why I wore my tweed jacket with elbow patches. That was just an unhappy coincidence.
The date was off to a bad start as he looked nothing like his picture. On top of that, we simply did not get on. I found him incredibly bossy, and after about an hour or so I couldn't even look at him. Of course, this wasn't his fault, it was just that we were simply incompatible.
He was into all sorts of weird bands I’d never heard of, and had tickets to go and see some European electronica outfit at the Camden Roundhouse and on top of that, tickets to go and see The Muppets live at the O2 for the Friday night––and IlovedThe Muppets.
I parked my phone in what’s known to some as ‘affair mode’ (airplane mode), just in case Harry called or texted whilst I was out dealing with this situation. After a further couple of hours staring at the floor, Werner suggested, no, told me that we were going back to his hotel. He’d mentioned how much it cost a night more than twenty-six times, so I felt I had to at least go back for a drink in the hotel bar before coming up with an escape plan. Although if I hadn’t come up with one by now, it was unlikely that I would within the next hour or so.
I sorted out an Uber to get us back to the Ampersand Hotel and we arrived there at about 10:30pm. There wassome kind of work party going on in a part of the bar, so I suggested we avoid that area and grab a table at the opposite end of the establishment. A waiter sauntered over to us, and as we ordered our drinks, I checked out the guys at the work-do. I mean, that was what you tended to do when you were on an awful date, anyway.
As I did, I saw averyfamiliar face and suddenly all of the blood rushed from my head to my toes, like I’d been on some horrific ride at Alton Towers.
Harry was standing over there, chatting to an important-looking suited man who seemed like he may be in a position to offer a promotion or two. Well, that was me screwed if he looked over. I made the waiter stay for as long as possible so that I could hide behind him, then immediately faked a toilet break in order to gather my thoughts and work out how to dig myself out of this sloppy, wet ditch.
I slipped off unnoticed and made it to the toilets. After admiring the exceptionally immaculate South Kensington hotel tiling for a few seconds, I did that thing that people do in films when they’re in a bit of fix––I splashed water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. Then of course I realised that there were no paper towels.
