"So... who are you with?" The burly security guard steps forward, barring your way.
"I'm with the band," you say, your voice loaded with suggestiveness, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
He raises an eyebrow, taking in your too-tight dress and cherry red...
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We end up in a cute little Italian inspired deli for lunch... my choice obviously... and the food is delicious. Van had tried to drag me into Wetherspoons with comments of "it's cheap and cheerful ain't it?" and "can't go wrong with a Spoons curry eh?" but I'd insisted that I was choosing the location. He'd sulked for all of about five minutes until a waitress came to take our order and recognised him, then begged him for an autograph and a selfie. After that he was delighted with my choice, a goofy grin plastered across his face that lingered for the entire meal.
Conversation had flowed as easily as the large glass of Sauvignon that I'd ordered and by the time we'd finished eating my cheeks were actually aching from smiling and laughing so much. If anyone had suggested a week ago that I'd have such a good time spending one-on-one time with Van I would have accused them of being clearly insane.
For some reason the cocky little remarks he was so fond of dropping into conversation were starting to sound oddly charming. The little things that used to wind me up like his inability to sit still, his exaggerated story-telling and his habit of talking a million miles an hour when he was excited about something seemed endearing rather than irritating. I even found myself melting a little at the stupidly proud grin that crept onto his lips whenever he made me laugh with yet another daft joke.
It must have been the wine, that must have been it. Or maybe the fact that despite the odd suggestive innuendo or cheeky comment he fired my way, he wasn't treating me like a trophy the way the boys back at home did, a pretty accessory on their arm to offset the flashy Rolex on the other. I used to think the glasses of Dom Pérignon they kept topped up made up for the lack of any kind of genuine connection, but now I was starting to realise how empty and hollow it all was. Maybe next time I'd let Van take me to Wetherspoons after all...
We step back on to the street, blinking against the harsh afternoon sun. Van turns to face me with an expectant sparkle in his eyes, rubbing his hands together.
"So, what's next then? It's your turn ain't it? Where d'ya wanna go first?"
I look at him with a thoughtful expression like I'm still deciding even though I'd made my mind up when I'd spotted the storefront earlier, mainly because I wanted to go but also because a mischievous part of me couldn't wait to see how he'd react.
"Victoria's Secret," I announce as we start to walk. "Saw a store back on Buchanan Street when we got out the taxi. I need to pick up some... essentials."
His eyes widen comically and he actually stops dead in the middle of the pavement. "Victoria's Secret? Isn't that like sexy knickers and stuff?"
"Uh-huh," I grin, delighted with how flustered he's looking all of a sudden. "What's up? You don't mind, do you?"
"No, no, not at all, lead the way," he says quickly, an eager smile taking shape as I grab for his hand to tow him along.
I surreptitiously watch him as we enter the store and I have to stifle a giggle. He's trying to act like it's normal territory for him and he's perfectly at ease but I can see right through him. He might saunter in with a cool swagger but I clock the vague pink that tinges his cheeks straight away, the way his eyes bulge as they dart around, taking everything in. There's silky robes draped over mannequins flanking the door and row upon row of pretty lingerie sets on display, and it doesn't take a genius to work out what's going through his mind. He's picturing what I'd look like in most of the stock, I just know it, and if I was completely honest with myself, that was my wicked intention all along.
