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Wednesday, 4 January 2017

Weekly Series: Doomed Date Diaries by Bethany Quinn: Part 5





Part 5


Doomed Date Diaries by Bethany Quinn


37. Neville


First things first. He had great eyes. Fabulous eyes in fact. I would happily have drowned myself in them right there and then- no holding my breath- just a running jump and straight in at the deep end. They were that good.
They were an uncommon blue with flecks of grey and the kind of long, dense eyelashes that I've always dreamt of having myself. (I've got the sparse, weedy types that mean I can make a mascara last for the best part of a decade.) The whole package under dark, quizzical brows. I've always been a sucker for a great pair of eyes. Yup- big tick on the eyes. The eyes were definitely not far south of spectacular.
That wasn't to overlook the smile. That was pretty good too. It sent a jolt of electricity down my spine every time I saw it. He made me laugh in that easy, unforced way that made me want to have his children- all of them. Well maybe not so much the having part- but a great deal of the making bit.
He was everything I was looking for- tall, refined, attentive and gainfully employed. Such a shame then that he was sitting on the next table with his wife and I was fending off Neville.
'What do you think of handcuffs?' Neville asked, sounding for all the world as if he was talking about pipe lagging.
At that precise moment I felt overwhelmingly relieved to be sitting in a busy bar with staff who knew me well enough not to pour me anything that hadn't been awarded at least an 'Editor's Choice' in a Sunday newspaper wine review.
I'd already said a firm but courteous 'no' to leather, fairy wings, stirrups and low fat fromage frais. I'd also chosen to ignore the fact that Neville liked to preface everything he said by playing a few notes on an imaginary glockenspiel on the table in front of him.
'Actually I prefer a box of chocolates and a bad movie', I said.
As the perfect man left the bar I felt my heart sink in a series of lurching, downwardly spiraling somersaults.
'I've got a trapeze in my bedroom,' Neville said with a 'ping pong ping!'
'Neville, you should be locked up,' I said, gathering my stuff together for a hasty getaway.
Unfortunately, Neville looked like he just might enjoy it.

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