I roll my eyes, laughing.
‘We’re not that desperate.’
‘Not yet,’ she teases.
She’s referring to one time, at a party, when we’d all had a lot to drink, and we were playing some silly drinking game, where we both made a jokey pact: if we weren’t married by forty, we’d marry each other. We’re thirty-two, so there’s still plenty of time. We’re not at last resorts just yet.
‘Come on,’ JJ says, picking up her drinks. ‘Let’s live a little.’
‘Really?’ I reply. ‘Do we have to?’
‘Grab those drinks and follow me,’ she insists. ‘Walk this way.’
Honestly, it’s usually easier to do as she says, and I’m choosing to believe she’s asking me to walk with her, rather than like her. There’s no way I can pull off a sexy walk without falling on my face – definitely not with a drink in each hand.
Before I can stop her, she’s strutting across the bar toward a table of two men, wiggling her hips in an exaggerated way.
‘JJ!’ I call after her, but it’s too late.
The two men look up at us, standing at the other side of their table. One is tall (I can tell even though he’s sitting down) and is pretty much broadcasting his annual income via his outfit and his watch. He has the kind of smirk that makes me think this happens to him all the time. The other looks less confident, less flashy and less welcoming. It’s immediately clear who’s for JJ and who’s for me.
‘Good evening, boys,’ JJ practically purrs, sitting down opposite them without invitation. ‘Mind if we join you?’
The confident one grins.
‘Depends. You buying the next round?’ he replies.
‘We already did,’ she tells him. ‘These are for you.’
She places the Zombie down in front of the man, keeping the Porn Star Martini for herself, then looks at me, silently telling me to do the same.
‘Can I have that one?’ ‘my’ man asks, nodding towards the Porn Star Martini.
‘Erm, yeah, okay,’ I reply, even though I wanted that one.
‘So, come here often?’ JJ playfully asks ‘her’ guy.
‘Often enough,’ he replies. ‘Would you like to?’
Oh boy, best to leave them to it.
‘I’m Whitney,’ I tell the man opposite me.
‘Ben,’ he replies.
‘My friend is a professional extrovert,’ I tell him.
‘I see that,’ he replies with a chuckle. ‘She must work with my friend then.’
I smile.
JJ and her guy – James, I overheard – are already in their own world, flirting up a storm together. Ben and I sip our drinks, making polite small talk about weather, work, the upcoming World Cup which, truly, I know absolutely nothing about. We’re making it work, keeping the silence filled with something, while JJ and James get on like a house on fire.
‘Let’s go back to our place!’ JJ says, clapping her hands together. ‘We don’t live far from here.’
Ourplace doesn’t exist.Myplace isn’t far from here. She shoots me a look, telling me to play along.
JJ lives in Kensington, because of course she does. I live in a flatshare with Andy, who JJ knows is away for work at the moment. He’s always told her he doesn’t mind if she crashes in his room while he’s away, because he knows I don’t love sleeping there on my own. I prefer it to whatever this is going to be.