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“I’ll text you,” I said, trying to sound like a man who had options. “Maybe breakfast another time.”
Bryony’s eyebrows went up a fraction. Then she smiled, and it was a nice smile, but it was a smaller one.
“Sure,” she said. “Another time.”
She didn’t give me her number. I realised that about four seconds after she’d stepped into the corridor to get dressed, which was about four seconds too late. I stood in the empty booth pulling my shirt on, still buzzing, still smelling of her, telling myself it was fine. She knew where I’d be. I knew where she’d be. Friday.
Dez let me out through the front. He looked at me the way you look at a man who has just stepped on a rake.
“She doesn’t ask twice, mate,” he said.
“She asked me to breakfast.”
“I know. I heard.” He held the door. “Nobody gets asked to breakfast.”
I went back the next Friday with a clean shirt and a speech prepared. Scarlett was on the stage. She saw me, smiled warmly, waved, and then spent the whole night working a table of accountants. When I finally got a song with her on the floor she was lovely, funny, all professional sparkle, and she called me babe like she called everybody babe.
“Breakfast?” I tried, at the end.
“I’m on placement mornings now, babe.” She kissed my cheek. “Shame. Bacon was on me.”
I went home and lay on the bed, thinking about the best sex of my life and the breakfast I’d turned down, and laughed until it hurt.
Ending 2 of 25: Playing It Cool. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.