When the day finally draws to a close, I’m exhausted and can’t wait to get home to my bed. It seems that’s not to be, as Jay convinces me to come have a drink with him. He brings me to a pub called the Gypsy Rose, where there’s an old rocker sitting in the corner, strumming a guitar and crooning into a microphone.

“So,” I say as I hitch myself up onto a barstool, “this is where you like to spend your time.”

“Yeah,” says Jay. “It’s got character.”

“Oh, so that’s they’re calling it these days.”

The bartender, a surprisingly young and attractive rockabilly type, comes over, and he and Jay do this suave little handshake.

“What can I get you two?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Jay replies.

“And I’ll have a vodka and orange,” I say, avoiding the wine because it will probably be more like vinegar.

“So, did you enjoy yourself today?” Jay asks once we’ve been served our drinks.

“Uh, yeah. It was very helpful,” I reply, lying through my false teeth. In all honesty, I’m really embarrassed that I paid so much money and came away with nothing but a goodie bag filled with pat advice.

Jay chuckles softly as he lifts his beer and takes a long, thirsty swig, his mouth curving in a smile. “So, basically, you thought it was a load of horseshit.”

“What? That’s not what I said!”

Jay twists on his stool so he’s facing me head on. “Watch me carefully.” He clears his throat before repeating my exact words back at me while shaking his head. “That’s what you did, Watson. Your mouth was saying yes, but your body told me no. Mouths lie, bodies tell the truth.”

I groan. “Okay, so I was bored out of my mind for the most part. The role-playing could have been useful if I had been paired with someone better than Miss Paisley Shirt. Even I could pretend to flirt better than her.”

“All right, how about we try again now? Pretend I’m some dude you’re into, and you want to chat me up. Go on.”

Pretend? Sure, Jason, I’ll pretend I’m into you.

“I think I’ve suffered enough for one day, thank you very much,” I reply.

Jay tuts. “Chickenshit.”

“I’m not chicken — I’m just not in the mood.”

“You’re chicken. Come on, Matilda, I’m waiting.” He starts to drum his fingers on the bar to emphasise his point. I know he isn’t going to let up until I do this, so I sit there for a minute, trying to think of an angle. I get up, walk over to the corner, and then walk back, slipping onto the stool again. Jay stares straight ahead, nursing his beer.

I cough. “Hello.”

He gives me a casual glance, then says, “Hey.”

“Do you, uh, come here often?”

His chest starts to move up and down in silent laughter. I expect him to drop the whole thing and tell me my line was shit, but he goes with it. “Yeah. Do you?”

“No, actually. This is my first time.”

A smirk. “Your first time, eh?”

God, he really loves his virgin jokes. “Yes. My name’s Matilda. What’s yours?”

“Royston. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Matilda,” he replies, offering his hand.

I sputter a laugh. “Royston, seriously?”

“You got a problem with my name?”

I try to keep a straight face. “Nope. None at all.”

“Good.”

I open my mouth to say something, but I’ve got nothing. I let out a long sigh.

Jay laughs. “What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, I give up.”

Knocking back another gulp of beer, he gets up from his stool. “Okay, you want me to show you how it’s done?”

“Eh, yes?” I reply eagerly.

“I’ll be right back.”

He walks away, and I turn back to the bar, running a finger over the rim of my glass. The stool next to mine squeaks, sliding closer. I feel Jay’s arm touch off mine as he takes my hand in his. He’s all up in my space, and it’s hard to breathe, hard to focus.

“Hey,” he murmurs huskily, his gaze boring into mine.

“Hi,” I croak.

“Great eyes,” he goes on, voice low.

“Oh. Thanks.”

His gaze wanders down my legs to my feet, and it feels like his mere presence is taking up every inch of my personal space. Normally, if a man did this to me, I’d be running in the opposite direction. But Jay has this way about him that makes me like the touching, as though he is a magnet and I’m a piece of metal. I like the closeness, even though in this role-play we’re supposed to be complete strangers.

“Fantastic shoes.”

“Thanks. Again.”

Now he just keeps looking at me, his eyes flickering back and forth between mine. I get lost in their greenish-brown depths, and his mouth moves closer, close enough so that I can feel his breath on me. My hand is still in his, growing sweatier by the second. His tongue sneaks out to wet his lips, and for a brief moment I forget what we’re doing, because it feels like he might kiss me.

“Darlin’,” he breathes softly, and I melt.

Involuntarily, I squeeze my thighs together tight, suddenly aching between my legs. A tiny, almost inaudible gasp escapes me. This is it. He’s actually going to do it.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls away, giving me a sly grin. “Well, how did I do?”

I knock back the last of my drink in order to give myself a chance to recuperate. “Uh, yeah, you did okay. You didn’t really say much, though.”

“I never really need to,” he answers smugly.

“Well, we mere mortals don’t have that luxury.”

“Sometimes I go with: ‘Do you know what you’re doing later? No? That’s funny, ’cos I do.’”

A burst of laughter escapes me. “You’re joking! That works?”

He nods his head. “Yup. Like a charm.”

“I think you could probably say, ‘I’ll be Burger King and you be McDonalds. I’ll have it my way and you’ll be lovin’ it,’ and you’d probably still score.”

Jay slams his hand down on the bar top. “That’s a good one! Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

“Are you being sarcastic? And no, I’m not a complete cheeseball.”

When I look at him, he’s turned to face me, his chin resting on his fist, his hair hanging slightly over his forehead. He couldn’t look any more edible.

“You’re more appealing than you think, Matilda. It’s your mindset that’s pulling you down.”

Okay. Can I please have the first part of that quote engraved in gold and hung over my mantelpiece forevermore? The only response I can come up with is my usual unladylike snort.

He shakes his head, and then a man wearing a black leather jacket and biker boots walks into the pub. He gives Jay a nod and then goes to sit at a table by himself.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Jay says, leaving me and making his way over to the man. They shake hands, and Jay pulls a small, thin package from the inside pocket of his coat. He hands it to the man, and the man gives him an A4-sized envelope in return. Then they sit and talk for a minute before shaking hands again, and the man leaves. Jay returns to his stool beside me.

“What was that all about?”

“Just a man about a dog.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm,” Jay says, mimicking me.

“Has it got to do with your case?”

“We are nosy this evening.”

“Fine, I’ll stop asking questions.”

Jay stands, his stool scraping against the floor. “Are you finished? I think it’s home time.”

“Yeah, I’m done.”

We leave the pub and drive back to the house in silence, though it’s a comfortable kind. After spending the day with him, I feel like I know Jay a lot better now. Well, I don’t know much about him in terms of hard facts, but I do feel less antsy in his company, more relaxed.

The next day at work is another slow one. Dad comes in and out of his office several times to check the appointment list. It’s still just as empty as it was the last four times he checked.

“Things will pick up,” I try to reassure him, but he doesn’t look reassured.

I take a long lunch and go sit in the park to eat my sandwich. Since I managed to get my new sewing machine with Jay’s help, I no longer have to save up and can afford the nice sandwiches from the deli, rather than bringing a packed lunch. Although, from the way our appointment numbers have gone down, I’ll probably be back to saving again pretty soon.