My So-Called. A. Michael L.

eyes closed. ‘Well, you did, but who am I to judge? How’s your crazy neighbour? Come by bearing any more hairy muffins?’

      ‘You’re disgusting.’ His chuckle was deep and delicious. ‘She appeared thirty seconds after I got in the door with ice cream and a DVD she thought we could watch together.’

      ‘Was she wearing itsy-bitsy pyjamas?’ Tig teased.

      ‘More like a dress worn for nightclubbing and six-inch heels.’

      ‘Oh, boy, you’re in trouble.’

      ‘Well, good thing I got me a girlfriend who can kick-box the shit out of a bitch, if I remember your words correctly.’

      Tig winced and felt her cheeks redden. ‘Um … well, I can!’

      ‘I have no doubt.’ Ollie paused. ‘So are you stopping by Entangled today? I thought I could use my free tea privileges. If you drink tea …’

      ‘Maybe something a boyfriend should know.’ Tig grinned, and shook her head at herself. Why was this so easy? Chatting on the phone to a random man she’d talked rubbish at last night while drunk should have been more difficult, shouldn’t it?

      ‘Hey, I got a whole history of heartbreak. Apologies for not knowing your beverage choices. Beyond red wine and shots.’

      ‘And margaritas! Don’t forget the margaritas!’ Tig laughed. ‘I certainly haven’t.’

      ‘I will learn all your favourite things as part of my boyfriendly duties – so, Entangled today?’

      ‘I don’t know … hadn’t thought about it,’ she lied.

      ‘Come on. Ruby told me this is where you do most of your work, and I had this terrible feeling, like I might have stolen your work space from you by hitting on you.’

      ‘Huh. Really?’

      ‘Yeah. Look, come down, do your normal thing, and then maybe we could go for a drink, or dinner?’

      ‘You don’t waste time, do you?’ Tig said, a sense of panic rising from her stomach to her chest. Dinner. What did people do at dinner? Don’t order garlic, and dress nicely, and when was the last time she’d ironed anything, or had worn something that wasn’t yoga pants or tie-dye?

      ‘Only got four months, gotta move fast. What do you say?’

      Tig gulped, feeling like she was agreeing to a dentist appointment. ‘Okay.’

      ‘You sure, Miss Tigerlily? You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.’

      ‘Well, I’m terrified, so I can only imagine that’s a good thing,’ Tig said frankly. ‘I’ll be there in a couple of hours, a few things to do first.’

      ‘Don’t be terrified, it’ll be great! Plus, you can feel safe with me. I’m not going to jump you or anything, remember? A promise is a promise.’

      Great, Tig thought, because how awful would that be, a boyfriend who wanted to jump me?

      ‘Plus, messing with a kick-boxer, probably not a good idea,’ Ollie laughed, then trailed off as he heard her hesitance. ‘Honestly, Tig, I don’t want to force you into anything. And think of this as a pre-date, a mini date, if you will. We’ll do the proper pick-you-up, take-you-out thing, too, but I thought …’

      ‘It sounds great, Ollie, really.’ Tig felt exhausted. ‘I’ll see you at Entangled in a bit.’

      They said their goodbyes, and Tig tried to recapture the calm she’d felt just moments before, but it was gone. All she could think about was what she’d wear, and how he’d think she was boring, and the pain of an awkward silence. Although she guessed Ollie had never had an awkward silence in his life.

      She called Ame. ‘I have to cancel on dim sum tonight. Although your fake stud muffin could always pick it up for you.’

      ‘Aw, man, I was totally craving pork shumai. What’s more important than food?’

      Tig screwed up her eyes. ‘Um, I’m going on a fake date. With Ollie. The barman. At Entangled.’

      There was silence, and then a small hiccup. ‘I’m not sure how to respond to this,’ Ame said. ‘What exactly is a fake date?’

      Tig tried to explain as simply as possible in a way that didn’t seem mental. ‘We’re going to hang out, in a platonic way. He’s been through the same situation I’ve been through, and he’s going to show me how to date.’

      ‘Riiight …’

      ‘But it’s not real,’ Tig said resolutely, ‘it’s fake.’

      ‘So you don’t really eat food?’

      ‘No, we just … you know, we’re not actually attracted to each other.’

      ‘There is no way anyone with eyes could not be attracted to that man.’

      ‘Well, I’m not!’ Liar, Tig thought.

      ‘Liar,’ said Ame. ‘So … what is the point of all of this?’

      Tig sighed. ‘I don’t know. It’s just time, isn’t it? I don’t know how to do any of this. I haven’t ever been on a first date! I just fell into a relationship, and now I don’t know how to be an adult.’

      ‘Join the club,’ Ame sighed. ‘I’m a divorcee at twenty-six. Who saw that shit coming?’

      Me, Tig thought, then shook it away. ‘So this is a good idea?’

      ‘Can’t be worse than sitting around getting bitter and angry and eating a fucktonne of ice cream, can it?’ She could hear Ame shrugging. ‘Which is pretty much what my evening now consists of.’

      ‘Where are you?’

      ‘I’m eating lunch in one of the abandoned offices on the thirteenth floor. It’s the only place Clint can’t find me. He just stopped by the front desk when I got back from M&S – he’s taking his new girlfriend out to lunch. She’s six foot and works at Vogue. Looks about nineteen, the perve.’

      ‘Oh Ames,’ Tig sighed.

      ‘Nah, you’re right. It’s time to be done with this. Go on your fake date with the gorgeous barman. At least one of us should be moving on.’

      Tig frowned at how much sense Ame was making, and considered telling her about Darren’s wedding, but she decided she couldn’t deal with the drama. She’d dealt with it herself last night, with the help of Ollie and alcohol. She didn’t have to tell the girls now. She had to focus on how to go on a date without throwing up.

       Chapter Three

      She was not emotionally ready for this at all. Tig couldn’t help but look at herself, and wonder what on earth she had to offer anyone at this point. She was all dressed up: her black polka dot dress, her biker boots and leather jacket. She was dressed for war, if anything. And all she could think of was Darren. Darren leaving, Darren looking at her like she was an idiot for not getting it sooner.

      ‘Look, Lil, it’s just … it’s not the same anymore, you’re not the same.’ He stood above her as she curled up on the sofa.

      ‘Daz, I just asked you to put the kettle on, there’s no need for a hissy fit.’ She huffed and stood up, stretching out. Happy bloody Valentine’s Day to me, she thought.

      ‘It’s not about the sodding tea!’ Darren shouted. ‘You’ve changed.’

      ‘How have I changed?’

      ‘You’re at the gym all the time!’ He shouted.

      She blinked. ‘Darren, you realise we’re getting married in