He smiles, a little jolly, which takes her aback.
“It’s cool. Glad a girl knows what she wants and how to get it. Only, you’ve got no hope with me.”
She turns her head sideways, flirtatious and teasing. “Is that a challenge?”
“No, statement of fact. I’m gay.”
She knows her face has become fixed, trying to mask not so much disappointment, but the inward kick she’s giving herself for not having realised. Unfortunately, Diarmuid can see the exact trajectory of the kick, and he becomes smug again.
“Oh that poor gaydar of yours…”
She makes her best rueful expression, and gives his arm a playful nudge. “Hush. Take it as a compliment I was considering you.”
“Hmm. I suspect you’d consider most men, even if briefly.”
A genuine flicker of hot angry boils in her chest
“Not saying that it’s a bad thing—”
“But you don’t mind me thinking that you think it is.” The words are said through her teeth. He probably can’t even hear her, but he must catch her meaning.
His jaw locks as he swallows, frowning at her. “Alright. I’m an arse sometimes.”
She waits a long moment, before saying, “Apology accepted.”
Diarmuid raises his beer bottled, and she her cocktail glass.
About half a minute after their peace treaty, she speaks, feigned coyness. “So you’re not even up for an experiment?”
Diarmuid chuckles. “Not me. Xavier would, but go anywhere near him and I’m not afraid to fight dirty. He’s mine tonight.”
She looks over to where Xavier is talking with Square Glasses. Xavier’s face is animated as the other guy does the talking, the kind of interest you show to someone to indicate your rapt attention.
She looks back at Diarmuid, and indicates over her shoulder. “You sure about that?”
Next: 41. Competition
Image found on flickr, by Bruno Girin, used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.