Page 8 of Handle with Care
“Raj Sandhu.” My date produces two guest passes with a flourish, along with his ID. “We’re on your list.”
The woman looks at me, equally unimpressed and unconvinced. “And you are?”
“Dylan Alexander.” I try to sound as breezy as Raj, but it’s freezing out here, and I’m at the point where I’m desperately hoping my teeth won’t chatter. I’m considerably less suave, more frozen.
“He’s with me.” Raj gives me a sidelong glance and winsome smile. Lots of teeth. Definite player material.
She skims the list and grudgingly nods her approval. The bouncer waves us through in the nick of time as we’re splattered with more rain, and a gust of wind hits us. We go to the coat check and beeline for the bar. In short order, we have drinks, and Raj spots a free table as other people leave.
We raise our glasses.
“How long have you been in London?” Raj asks. “I saw on your profile that you’re new here.”
“Just over two weeks,” I offer. In some ways, it feels like a lot longer since everything is so new. By the end of the day, I’m totally wiped out from taking in a new city and a new job. It could be a lifetime.
“Where’s home?”
“Vancouver. Canada. How about you?”
Raj gives an expansive shrug and grins. “London. Born and raised. How boring, right? I’m trying to change that.”
“You don’t seem boring,” I tell him. Honestly, I don’t know a thing about him, and I’m hoping he’s not dull. “You said you’re a student?”
“PhD student, yeah. I’m into dead philosophers.”
“That’s very niche,” I say lightly. “What, can’t dance to the live philosophers?”
“Not as many treatises or as much spicy academic discourse,” he quips. “I mean, I love reading articles about academicsfighting pettily over interpretations and translations, but yes, you’re right—very niche. Not Nietzsche.”
“God, that’s a terrible pun.”
“I’m not even sorry.” And he looks suitably unrepentant, his eyes glimmering.
“What else are you into?” I challenge, mirroring his grin. I can still work with this, even if I’m about to get my ass handed to me by a philosopher.
“Mm.” He gives me an appraising look. “You.”
Total. Player.
“You say that to all the guys?” I ask over my drink. “But go on, I want to hear more.”
“Only on date night.” He shifts, then looks appealingly guilty. “I should confess something.”
“Oh.”
“I’m moving next week.”
“Yeah? To which zone?”
“Actually, I’m moving to Oslo.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. Of course he’s moving to another country, seeing as I’ve newly arrived. Just as things were looking up with the night’s surprisingly easy banter so far. “Oslo! Huh. If I had a dollar for every time a guy said that to me… It’s okay, I won’t hold it against you.”
“It’s a shame because I’m already having a lot of fun.” He looks suitably woeful at the loss of potential future dates with me. “You always meet the good ones when the timing is rather shit. What do you do? You said you came for an internship?”
“At a museum.” Then the workday comes back to me, and I can’t help but shake my head. “We had a meeting today, and this guy joined my team. He’s a complete tool. I think you’d call him a prat.”
“Gotta watch out for those ones,” Raj teases with a broad smile. “They’re the ones that get under your skin. Hard to forget,those prats. Also, look out for cads. They tend to run together in packs.”
