The Cupid Touch

The Cupid Touch Chapter 4 - Nothing But Charm

**A Short chapter for you, with a longer one to follow tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!**

I shouldn't have drunk anything. It's incredibly obvious in retrospect. To be honest, it was probably pretty obvious at the time. It was like getting drunk before an exam. It may have made me feel better, but it was only going to make things a whole lot worse.

The trouble was, I was trying to drown out my hyper-awareness of Joe-Moe sitting right next to me. I was trying to numb the little squeeze my stomach gave whenever he said anything, and my electric sensitivity to the occasional moments when his sleeve or his leg brushed against me.

All of it spelled out danger. Danger, danger, danger. I knew where this kind of feeling lead, and I didn't want it again.

So I sank glass after glass of white wine, and spoke ever more energetically to the bio and math scholars sitting to my left and opposite me. But the wine didn't work, and somehow everything I said to everyone else was really directed at him. I was simultaneously trying to challenge him, trying to make him dislike me, and really wanting him to like me a lot. It was not a rational mindset, but in my defence, I know a lot of people who don't know what they want when it comes to possible romance.

Along with all of that, I was listening to what he was saying, alert to any complaints about me to his neighbours. But he was chatting to them nicely, making them laugh and generally acting like a halfway decent human being.

I was so busy thinking about Joe-Moe, in fact, that I failed to notice how I was coming across to the bio student with the side parting who was next to me. I was turned towards him, talking animatedly, shifting a little closer every time I managed to touch Joe-Moe's leg or arm, and making a point of laughing at his jokes.

See? I was saying in my head to the football star I was ignoring. I'm not a bitch. I just mean it when I show disinterest.

I was engaged in a mild argument about appropriate funding amounts with the bio student - whose name was possibly Marty, possibly nothing even close - when he suddenly leaned across and brushed my hair out of my eyes. I fully expected him to at least sit back afterwards, but instead, he slid his arm down to rest on my shoulders.

You're an idiot, I thought. Not at him. Of course he thought I liked him. How was he supposed to know the complex internal dialogue that was going on about the guy I wasn't even talking to on my other side?

I did what I always do in those situations. I gave a cold sort of smile, and moved away until he had to take his arm off. The only way to turn now was dead-center, and it was like Joe-Moe had been waiting for this.

He leaned fractionally towards me and said, very quietly, "Hard to tell the impression other people are getting sometimes, isn't it?"

It wasn't even a gloat, or a tease. It sounded like sympathy.

"I don't know," I said, feeling immediately argumentative for some reason. "I usually have a pretty good idea. It's easier when you're universally horrible."

"Not universally," he argued back. "Your female friends clearly like you and you can talk quite nicely when you want."

"That's the thing," I said. "I don't normally want to."

"So it's just about stopping anyone getting close," he went on, as if I hadn't spoken.

"No it isn't."

"Looks a lot that way from here," he said, and held out a plate of truffles towards me. Were we on coffee and chocolates already? I looked down at my empty place in confusion. There was just a single coffee cup now, half-full. I had no memory of two courses.

"Who cares what it looks like to you?" I asked, and folded my arms, ignoring the chocolates despite really wanting one.

"You do," he said, and I made the mistake of making eye-contact with him. He was looking at me steadily, his pupils large and dilated in his very green eyes.

I could feel that gaze all over. I might as well have forgotten all the make-up and the armour; even the pale blue dress and the shoes. I felt like he could see me, totally undefended. And in return I could see him.

I don't know which was more of a surprise: feeling like I'd been caught out and understood, or seeing clearly that there was a shadow over him. Underneath all of the banter and the apparent self-confidence, he was somehow fragile and sad.

Music started up somewhere. Downstairs, I guessed, where there had been a drum-kit and music stands set up.

"Come and dance," Joe said suddenly.

It shouldn't have made me panic, but he was still looking at me with those steady eyes. "We have to wait for the speeches," I said, when I should have just said no.

"They had them before dessert," he said, with a sideways grin. "Come on. Nothing to stop you."

He put the truffles down, and picked up his wine-glass to drain the last of the red he'd been drinking. I wondered if he'd had as much as I had, but I suspected he hadn't.

"I don't want to," I said, quietly.

All he said was, "Yes you do."

And he stood, and held his hand down towards me.

I think if he'd been more insistent - had grabbed my arm and tried to drag me, or argued with me more - I would have resisted. I'm used to resisting, and I know how to make it awkward for someone to try to force you into something.

But he gave me a choice, and with the warm haze of the wine through me, and that look still burning between us, I made the wrong decision.

I took his hand, and let him draw me easily to my feet.