‘Oh.’
‘Oh?’
I feel my cheeks warming – boiling even. There’s no chance I’m not bright red right now, so no way I can style this out. I may as well be honest.
‘I guess I have been stood up,’ I admit. ‘He’s unmatched me… Unless, do you think he turned up, took one look at me and bailed?’
‘Absolutely not,’ the man insists. ‘You look great. It’s his loss. He sounds like a moron.’
I smile.
‘Why are you being nice to me?’ I can’t help but ask.
‘I am nice,’ he replies with a chuckle. ‘I was over there having a drink with my mates, you caught my eye, I twigged what was going on and thought I’d come and talk to you. To cheer you up or save you the embarrassment of sitting here alone. I’m almost offended you think I have some kind of ulterior motive.’
I feel bad, and kind of embarrassed for assuming he was hitting on me, when all he was really doing was taking pity on a girl alone in a bar.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I insist. ‘I’ve met a lot of creepy men recently.’
I sigh heavily. I can’t believe I allowed myself to feel hopeful about tonight, about Chad. But these bloody men are all the bloody same.
‘I guess I’ll go home, then,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the reality check.’
‘Do you want to go for a drink with me?’ he quickly asks as I make a move.
I cock my head, unimpressed.
‘No, nothing like that,’ he says. ‘My friends are heading home soon. I promised one of them I’d walk her home but then I’m heading to Hades to meet a different crowd – you been before?’
‘I haven’t.’
Of course I haven’t. Hades is a super-exclusive nightclub with a list of impossible rules for entry that change from night to night, if not hour to hour. Hades is notorious for turning people away for pretty much any reason the doormen can come up with – they might just hate your nail polish.
‘Come with me, come for a drink, have a dance. Maybe you’ll meet someone better than the idiot that stood you up tonight.’
I’m not going to go to a nightclub with a man I just met in a bar, am I?
‘I can put your name on the list…’
I am just about in touch enough to know that the only way to get into Hades, without adhering to the super-strict, ever-changing rules, is if you’re on the guest list. I don’t know who/what this man is, to have that kind of power, but if he can get me in, well, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a girl like me, right? Everyone, whether they’re into the club scene or not, who has heard of Hades would do anything to peep inside. Just out of curiosity.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ I say with an awkward laugh.
‘I’m Millsy,’ he says, offering me a hand to shake.
‘I’m Cara,’ I reply.
‘OK, now we’re acquainted, what do you say?’
‘OK?’ I reply, although the hesitation in my voice makes my response sound more like a question than an answer.
‘OK, great,’ he says. ‘I’ll walk my friend home and meet you there?’
I pause for a second. I need to think about this carefully. This isn’t a very me thing to do at all but, I don’t know, perhaps the me I am now just isn’t working. I can’t seem to meet anyone worth hanging around with on Matcher, my friends have outgrown me and I don’t seem to be having much luck making new ones as an adult. Maybe I do need to take a few chances. Try to make some friendly relationships and maybe I can meet new people that way, rather than through apps.
‘OK… OK, sure.’
I keep saying OK, but I’m not sure that it is. Is it OK? Am I making a huge mistake?
‘Cool, I’ll meet you by the bar.’
‘OK,’ I say again. God, I sound like a broken record.
‘What’s your last name?’ he asks. Quickly adding: ‘For the list.’
‘Brooks,’ I reply – I want to say cautiously, but if I were being that cautious I wouldn’t be telling him at all.
‘Cara Brooks,’ he repeats back to me.
‘What’s your surname?’ I ask, levelling the playing field.
‘Mills,’ he says with a laugh, as though he thinks that I think that Millsy is his first name. I haven’t ruled it out. ‘Joe Mills, but my friends call me Millsy.’
‘Am I your friend?’ I ask as a bemused smile spreads across my face.
‘If you don’t stand me up, sure,’ he replies. ‘See you in a bit.’
I watch as Millsy heads back over to his friends. He helps a cool-looking blonde girl with her jacket before they head to the door together. Am I supposed to believe that’s just his friend? That he wants to be just friends with me? I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s way out of my league, but why would he be nice to me? Perhaps I’ve been online dating for too long, but I struggle to believe that genuine men exist at the moment.
You know what though? I am going to go to Hades. I’m not going to sit here moping about Chad, wondering what he might have thought was wrong with me to put him off dating me. I’m going to seize the day, go to Hades, hang out with Millsy and see what the night brings. You have to understand, though, I never do things like this. In fact, I’ve never done anything like this. My idea of a wild Friday night usually involves being locked in a fake jungle, solving puzzles to try and escape.
I hate phrases like ‘you only live once’ but, you do, right? I’d be mad not to go to Hades and see what it’s like. And if anything bad does happen to me, well, at least it will get me out of going to my cousin’s wedding with my ex.
5
‘What do you mean I can’t come in?’ an angry brunette in a barely there dress asks the doorman angrily.
‘No selfies in the queue,’ the doorman insists.
‘Can I still come in?’ her friend asks.
The first girl practically hisses at this betrayal, but then laughs when her friend is turned away too.
‘No, you were dancing in the queue.’
I feel my eyes widen with horror. The list of rules really is super strict here. I’ve been queuing outside Hades for a little while now, and so far I’ve seen people turned away for dancing, smiling, nodding their head to the music, being too enthusiastic about getting in, wearing pastel colours and even for wearing dangling earrings. As I approach the front of the queue, I feel my palms start to sweat. What if Millsy was full of crap? What if there’s no way he could have got me on the list? What if he was exaggerating or messing with me? Why did I just trust him like that?
With no turning back now, I step up to the two doormen. All I can do is give my name, hopefully before the onslaught into my appearance kicks in, and hope that Millsy was telling the truth when he said he’d put my name on the list.
It’s only when I get to the front of the queue that I realise there is a second roped line, at the other side of the door, where people on the guest list are breezing through.
I am just about to open my mouth when the doorman, the shorter of the two (although he’s still at least six foot) nods me through. I hover on the spot for a second, thinking I’m misunderstanding the situation. I mean, what are the chances I can get in on my own?