Fiction: Interesting...

'afternoon

Bit of an empty head today, so I thought I'd tell you a story.

...

Interesting...

We were out in the car – me, Steve, Darren, Mikey. Mikey was driving, Darren and Steve in the back. I’d called shotgun (once in sight of the car, of course). We were driving around fairly aimlessly – bored, so we decided to go smoke a joint on the top of Arthur’s Seat. It’s a brilliant view, all lit up at night. White spires rising up out of an array of orange streetlights.

Bit parky, though, and I’m not a great fan of just sitting in the car, so we headed back to the flat, grumbling about not having any money to go to Taste that night, but mostly just shouting at each other. Havin’ a bit i’ banter, eh? We drove down between the Palace and the Parliament and up Regent Road, merrily dealing out abuse to each other, in the grand Scottish tradition. While driving up the Hill towards Easter Road, I rolled down my window, stuck my head out the same and shouted, “Show us yer cock, mate” – in a fit of high spirits, you understand.

I saw the guy lift a hand to wave at the car, but in a lazy, “…and who are you, exactly?” kind of way. Darren said, “Wouldn’t mind, actually. He was quite fit.”

“Aye, but there’s very few you wouldn’t mind, Daz,” I replied. “You’re not the fussy type.”

That got a laugh and Mikey pulled into the garage on Abbey Mount, not without a comment on ‘poofs – fuckin’ sluts the lot of you.’ More laughter, and I nipped into the garage to grab some munchies while Mikey was filling up the car.

Helluva queue for a Sunday night, though, so I waited. Someone came in behind me and I turned, expecting to see Mikey, money held out for the petrol – doss bugger doesn’t do queues if he can help it. It wasn’t Mikey, though. It was the guy I’d shouted out the car at, smiling and tugging some earphones out his ears.

“Was it interesting?” he asked.

“What?” I replied – any and all banter making a sudden, sharp exit. Darren was right – I wouldn’t mind either.

“Whatever you shouted out of the car,” he answered, hand vaguely lifted to re-enact the moment.

“Um, no,” I said, blushing furiously and desperately wishing it had been.

“Ah, well,” he replied, “that’s a shame. I do like it when things are interesting.”

“Sorry,” I said, wishing I could think of something witty to say – some chunk of chat. Also wishing I wasn’t such a dick.

Mikey came in then, predictably waving money. I took it and turned back to the till, embarrassment now my wee pal, settling in for the duration. I was fiercely aware of him standing behind me. He couldn’t help but be looking at me. I was hoping like Hell he was looking at my ass, actually and tried to get an idea of this by clocking our reflections in the garage window. Simultaneously pleased with my choice in trousers for the evening and furious at my inability to find just one fucking thing to say. And why was I such a stumbling moron all of a sudden? He wasn’t God’s gift or anything. Attractive – and definitely shaggable. But he just seemed so cool. “I like it when things are interesting.” Not something you hear every day. And then I had it.

“So do I.”

“What?”

“So do I,” I repeated, completing the half-turn I’d made to speak over my shoulder so I now faced him. “Like it when things are interesting.”

“Hm,” he replied, smiling. “So we have something in common.”

“Yeah,” I said, grinning, eyes flicking up and down him. About my height, glasses, and a fringe my fingers itched to fix.

“Excuse me, mate?”

I turned and blushed again – more of those in ten minutes than the last ten months, I’m not usually the shy and retiring type. The queue had evaporated past me, seemingly without me noticing and, going for the full body embarrassment, I stumbled while approaching the till to pay, ‘cheers’-ing the attendant who’d called for my attention. Transaction over, I turned back to – well, what was his name? Acutely aware of the attendance waiting behind me, I stuck out my hand.

“I’m Craig.”

“John,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Craig. It’s been,” – smile -, “interesting.”

“Yeah,” I said and, grinning in my turn, I found myself walking out the door and back to the car, all three of my compatriot smiling away, eyes fixed on me.

“Aye aye?” Daz called form the back seat. “Makin’ pals?”

“Maybe,” I replied, turning to lean on the car door, eyes seeking John, still at the counter, trading banter with the attendant.

“Sod it,” I said. “Wait a minute.”

I pushed the car door shut and waited, fidgeting, restless, my heart starting to pick up. John finished his transaction at the till and came towards the door. My mouth was dry. Fuck. What if he wasn’t gay? What if he was just chatty? He pulled open the door, arm at full stretch to shift the bugger. Heavy things, garage doors.

He exited, eyes lighting on me and aborting a move to stick his earphones back in.

“Hello again,” he said. “Thought of something else interesting?”

“Depends,” I replied, heart hammering – never having gotten over the overwhelming terror of asking someone out.

“On what?” he asked, smilingly. I don’t think he’d stopped smiling once.

“On whether or not you want to give me your number?” His smile broadened.

“I surely do,” he said, hand dipping into his pocket, producing a phone which he flicked open with a practiced gesture. I hastily grabbed my own, nearly dropping it in my hurry to get it ready. He reeled off his number and I punched it in, offering mine in return. He shook his head.

“Just ring me. Sometime. It’ll make it more – “

“Interesting,” I finished for him, broad smile on my face. My heart had calmed down in my chest but I had to have strong words with the rest of my system on really not needing all this adrenaline, thanks very much.

“I’ll ring you. Definitely,” I assured him.

“I hope so. See you soon, then.” He offered his hand and I took it eagerly, holding his eyes with mine. Or maybe the other way around. We might have stood there for a while but Daz, ever tactful, stuck his head out the window.

“C’mon, eh, Craigy! You can get laid later. All right, mate?” he added, nodding at John.

“Shut the fuck up, Darren!” I replied, fiercely. John laughed, disengaging his hand from mine. I felt the lack.

“Hi there, Darren,” he called, waving through the window. Turning his gaze back to me he added, “Call me.”

“Definitely,” I repeated. He turned, hand lifted again in that lazy way.

“See you round, then,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Bye,” I replied, watching him go – and enjoying it. Darren went to stick his head back out the window, but I forestalled him by jumping back into the car – slapping the top of his head on my way in. I slipped my seatbelt on and turned to Mikey in the driver’s seat, grin splitting my face.

“Come on, then,” I said. “What are we waiting for?”

Mikey only smiled, shaking his head. “Tart,” he said.

“Jealous,” I replied. The boys in the back raised a ruckus as we drove off.

Wahey!

...

Have a good one,

C