I frown. “Um, with the guy who’s currently groping his bum? Jesus, you really are bad at this. I didn’t think I’d have to teach you how to identify single straight men.”
“Oh.” She slumps a little, surveying the rest of the room. Her eyes alight on the bar, focussing on a tall, skinny guy sitting alone, staring at his phone. “Him?”
I wrinkle my nose. The guy looks like a twat. “You think he’s hot?”
“Sure.”
I shrug. Who am I to judge if she has terrible taste? “Then go for it, pet. Go over there, see if you can get his number. We’ll be watching.”
She nods once, then stands back up and heads right over to the bar, little white ponytail bobbing. Josh and I both watch as she struts over to her target and taps him on the shoulder. The guy jumps and turns to look at her. His eyes flick up and down her body, sparking with interest.
She sticks out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Layla,” I hear faintly over the pub chatter. “Are you single?”
“Well, at least she gets straight to the point,” I mutter, making a mark in the ‘eye contact’ column. “Do you reckon she always shakes peoples’ hands in a bar? God, she’s such a little weirdo.”
Josh shifts. “Did we really have to do this?” He asks, watching as the guy pulls out the bar seat next to him.
I raise an eyebrow. “You know, maybe you shouldn’t have signed up for this if you can’t stand to see her flirting with other men. Whole point of the segment is to help her find a boyfriend, after all.” Josh grunts, and I glance across at him. “Seriously, man. Are you actually down to fake-date her? Don’t you think it might, like, hurt too much?”
Josh is silent for a moment, then picks up his drink. “What do you mean?” He asks coolly.
“You know what I mean, Josh. You like her.”
“So do you.”
“I think she’s hot and funny and kind. I don’t have a crush on her. You do.” We both watch as the guy at the bar waves over the bartender, saying something to Layla. Looks like he’s buying her a drink. So far, so good. “I don’t suppose you’ve told her, have you?”
“Why would I?” Josh says quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”
I stare at him. “What the Hell do you mean, it doesn’t matter? You think she would’ve agreed to this if she knew how you feel about her? You heard her — she said she didn’t want anything to get between us.”
“And it won’t.” Josh takes a deep breath. “This is about her, not me. She’s my friend. I’ll help her in any way I can.”
“She won’t want to see you get hurt—” I start.
“Well, I don’t want to see her crying on my couch,” Josh bites out. “Zack. Seriously. It’s not a big deal. Yes, I like her, but it’s not that deep. I can look past my feelings to help a friend.”
I study him. I’ve been best mates with Josh since we were both little four-year-olds in reception. Even back then, he was toddling around, handing out his sandwiches to the kid who’d forgotten his lunch, giving away his toys to the girl crying at playtime.
“That’s the problem with you,” I tell him. “You’re way too selfless. You put everyone else before yourself. Even if they don’t even want you to. You gotta grow out of it, man, it’s not good.”
Josh doesn’t say anything, running his finger along the rim of his glass.
I sigh and clap him on the back. “Look, I get it. You wanna help her. But if it gets too much, just bow out. I’ll take over for you.”
He shrugs my hand off him, his eyes narrowing on Layla. “She looks miserable.”
I follow his gaze and wince. I gotta admit, her body language is terrible. She’s sitting right on the edge of the barstool like she wants to escape. Her arms are crossed protectively over her chest, and she’s avoiding the guy’s gaze, staring at the menu on the wall behind the bar.
“Maybe she doesn’t like him?” I guess.
“She doesn’t have to like him,” Josh points out. “Just sit and flirt with him for a few minutes.”
We both watch as the guy asks her a question. She gives him a tight smile and a short response, then they’re both silent. She sips her wine. Frowning, the man leans forward and tries again, asking her another question. She just nods, looking down at the bar. His face flushes with annoyance.
“Christ,” I say, drawing a zero in the ‘body language’ category. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such shitty chemistry. Maybe he’s a total douche?”