Free Barely Yours by Charlotte Eve

again at the text message I’ve just received.
     
    Hey American gir l This is Will’s friend Bruce here. I was hoping we could continue that fascinating conversation we had a few days ago. I’d like to get to know you better. Drinks sometime? xx
     
    I toss the phone back onto the sheets in disgust. Know me better, he says? He knows nothing about me. He just heard my accent and started talking about all the places he’d been to in America. He didn’t even ask which state I’m from.
    I’m so goddamn angry with Will, I’ve got half a mind to run downstairs right this moment, interrupt his evening, and let him know exactly how I feel. But I know just what he’d do. He’d simply shut the conversation down immediately. Start by telling me off for something imaginary that I’d done, just like before. Then leave me in a mess of emotion. There’s no point. Damn him. Why did I ever get fooled by his charm, his height, his accent.
    He seemed like the perfect gentleman but I guess he’s just another bastard.
    So what am I gonna do tonight then?
    Same thing I’ve been doing all week – hiding away in this apartment, pretending I don’t even exist. Doing my best to avoid any awkward conversations; in short, making life easier for him.
    This place seemed huge when I first moved in. I couldn’t believe I had my very own kitchen, my own bathroom, my own living room. But tonight it seems tiny and claustrophobic, and I don’t know how I’m gonna spend another evening in here, cramped on my own.
    I don’t feel like seeing any friends right now; they’ll be able to tell just how upset I am and I don’t feel like explaining.
    And so, before I can change my mind, I hastily grab the phone from beside me and type out a text.
     
    Sure. How about tonight?
     
    I hit send.
    What the hell did I just do?
    Within seconds I can see on the screen of my phone that Bruce is typing a reply.
     
    Great. 8 o clock? I’ll send a car.
     
    §
     
    A couple of hours later, we’re sitting opposite each other in some swanky wine bar, and Bruce is on his third Negroni, while I’m still nursing my first elderflower Collins. I’m not interested in getting carried away tonight. And surprise, surprise, Bruce is still talking about himself. He’s moved on from his travels though, and now he’s telling me in-depth about his job at a ‘top London commodities firm’. I’ve hardly understood a word he’s said, to be honest, but actually, I don’t think he’s even noticed.
    Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh on him.
    He’s actually a nice guy, if a little boring. I mean, he’s not being a sleaze or anything. It’s not one of those dates where the guy can’t keep his eyes off your cleavage. And he did send a car for me, and he’s paying for all the drinks, and he said he’d chosen a bar that wasn’t full of city trader types on purpose so that I would feel more comfortable. So I guess he has thought about me at least a little bit.
    Although it was kind of forward, asking me on a date out of the blue like that, it was Will who gave him my number in the first place.
    I bet he put him up to it. I bet Will told Bruce to ask me out just to mess with me.
    But still, nice guy or not, I can’t help but stifle a yawn. He’s really not my type. Physically, I’ve never gone in for blondes, but looks aren’t even the main thing. I guess a girl just wants to be asked a question once in a while.
    And maybe he’s a little more perceptive than I thought, because all of a sudden he stops his monologue to say, “Look, I can see you’re yawning your head off. I can tell this isn’t going too well. I guess you’re just not that into me , huh?” he adds with a smile.
    I laugh for the first time this evening – for what seems like the first time all week.
    “You’re a nice guy,” I reply, “but if I’m totally honest, yeah, I guess you’re just not my type.”
    “I get it,” he grins back. “And I think I might know what you’re