I held up my hand in warning. "Don't even say it."
"Can't blame a guy for trying. Have a nice night."
He ambled off, shrugging his shoulders when he got back to his group. I went back to looking around the room. Now there were more people dancing, there was less to look at unless you were a cataloguer of dad-dance moves. Not wanting to throw myself into the melee just yet, I settled for watching the band playing.
Lead singer, a guitar slung over his shoulder which wasn't being played, looked like he was close to my age, but the floppy hair and ironically cool t-shirt and skinny jeans suggested he'd rather be ten years younger. The drummer, sat behind him, was a bald bloke in a jumper and jeans, ten years older. I guessed he was probably a dad who drummed in a wedding band as a way to make a lot of noise without disturbing the kids or his neighbours. The other guitarist was younger, with untidy hair and a scraggly beard, but he was clearly talented and effortlessly picked his way through the chords. Finally, furthest from me was the bassist, hidden partly in shadow. When the disco lighting changed and she became visible, I stared. She was fucking gorgeous.
Unlike her bandmates, who looked like they'd dressed for a Saturday morning jam session in someone's garage, she was dressed up from head to toe for a wedding. Her long dress, blue with a floral rose pattern, swished as she turned, and her smile broadened. Then she tapped her foot in time with the middle eight, counting, her fingers moving to begin the bass line when it came back in. Slender fingers with pink nails. Even her hands were elegant. I tried not to blush visibly as I thought about what she could do with those hands. Those fingers.
Her long, bleached-blonde hair was dead straight and she'd pinned half of it back with a bow to keep it out of her face as she played. She was so pretty, too, with high cheekbones and pale skin, but there were sharp creases around her eyes which matched the smile playing on her lips. Somehow she had an almost-familiar look, like I'd once known someone who looked a bit like her. A little rush of envy and attraction went through me as the song ended and I saw her say something to the drummer, making him laugh.
The guitar strap on her shoulder was rainbow coloured, which gave me a sliver of hope, but I'd learnt not to get too excited. She could be anything, from a 'rainbows and unicorns are
so
awesome!' girl, to 'I'm just such an ally to the movement' girl. And anyway, even though she was female, I hadn't expected her to be my type. But there was absolutely something about her that was magnetic and meant I couldn't look away from her.
As these idle thoughts ran through my head, I stared at her lovely lips, still wearing that smile, one which simultaneously suggested mischief and charm. The kind of girl who'd praise your mum's cooking after dinner while sliding her hand into your knickers. Maybe I was judging far too early. That was the excitement of strangers: until you met them, they could be anything you wanted. In any case, I needed to find something else to think about. Something else to do. Perhaps I should go back to the bar for another drink. As I thought this, I tore my eyes away from her smile and realised with a jolt that she was looking back at me. Our eyes met and hers crinkled, deepening the creases, her smile wide, and I impulsively smiled back. Then grabbed my champagne flute in a frenzy and dashed off to the bar, mortified. Why was I always
staring
at everyone?
By contrast, when I got to the bar, no matter how hard my gaze drilled into the back of the bartender's head, he didn't seem to notice me, busying himself instead with restocking one of the fridges. The back of the bar was mirrored and I took the opportunity to double-check my appearance: particularly my lipstick, which was a strong red I was paranoid about smearing. I knew I looked hot tonight: the inevitable male attention which this attracted was proof enough. The bridesmaid dress was clingy, especially around the hips, and I smoothed it again, forever worried it was riding up. My push-up bra was generating enough cleavage to look acceptable in the dress, and I brushed my fingers through the tips of my brunette hair, getting it to sit on my shoulders properly.
"Can I help?" the bartender finally asked, catching me at the exact moment I was tilting my head to see if I'd smudged my eyeliner.
"Uh, yeah, another of the pink rosé things," I said, thrusting my empty glass at him. He turned and picked an open bottle out of the fridge. As Jacqui was going for the whole Valentine's theme for the wedding, the sparkling rosé was free and I wasn't saying no to free drinks.
"Thanks," I said, taking the glass and sipping it to make it easier to carry it back to the table. When I looked up, the bartender was looking at me.
"You here on your own?" he asked, leaning against the bar.
"Yes," I said plainly, and then walked off before he could say anything else. I was beginning to understand why Jacqui had wanted to get married: a wedding ring would make this kind of thing a lot easier.
Jacqui was having a great time on the dancefloor, glued to her new husband. Despite the fact that I ran the risk of needing to prod more men away, I left my drink on my table and headed over to join her, pleased that I had a nice knee-length dress that I wasn't about to tread on as I showed off my moves. She gave me a big smile when she saw me, and finally managed to unstick herself from Marcus for a couple of pop songs, giving him a chance to grab a drink and a breather while we giggled and wiggled.
"Romance is in the air," she squealed into my ear, gesturing towards a couple who were snogging in a corner of the dancefloor. "Your turn next."
"I wish," I replied, my eyes flicking over to the bass player. She was concentrating on a difficult part of the song, her head down, strands of hair that had escaped the bow falling around her face. There was something about seeing someone doing a skill they were good at which was just so... sexy. I definitely fancied her and looked back at Jacqui, not wanting to be obvious. Was praying to Cupid for an arrow really such a lot to ask?
When I'd worn myself out and worked up a thirst, I gave Jacqui a kiss on the cheek and left her in Marcus's renewed care, rescuing my abandoned drink from the table and sitting down, my feet aching from my heels. The bride had embargoed any pictures of the wedding on social media until the next morning so even though I took a few crazy selfies of us dancing, I couldn't post anything yet. But I could at least catch up with what other people were doing with their Valentine's Day. I scrolled and scrolled, sentimentally zeroing in on anything that looked romantic. I didn't want to reply to any of my messages in case it made the recipients think I was sitting on my phone instead of enjoying Jacqui's wedding. The music finished and I joined in the ripple of applause, not looking away from my phone. I scrolled again and reached for my drink. Then I became aware of someone approaching the table, and I thought it would probably be Jacqui coming over.
"Hi!"
It was the bass player, still smiling as she sat herself down in an empty chair, tucking her dress under her legs. I was stunned and she politely pretended not to notice.
"Hi," I replied, giving her a smile in return and feeling self-conscious as she kept looking at me. She seemed to be waiting for me to say something. "Um, your band sounds really good. Way better than most wedding bands I've heard."
She laughed gently. "Thanks. You don't remember me, do you?"
Now I was on red alert for an upcoming social faux pas. I scrutinised her again, and up close I was forcefully reminded of just how pretty she was. Her eyes were a chocolate brown, framed by long lashes which seemed natural, and there was a kink in one of her eyebrows which, whilst asymmetrical, really suited her. I could see the edges of her bow on the back of her head, which reminded me about her question, but I couldn't remember ever seeing anyone who looked like her.
"Sorry, no. Are you sure you've got the right person?" I asked cautiously.
"I'm sure. You're Savannah: you used to get the number fifteen bus home from school."
"Were you in one of the school years below mine? I haven't got a very good memory for faces and names, I'm afraid," I said, trying to laugh it off. Actually I had an excellent memory for names and faces, which was why I was confident I knew nearly all the guests here at the wedding. And confident I didn't know her.
"I'm Alexandria. With an 'i'-'a' on the end. Not Alexan
dra
," she said, prompting me.
"Um..."
"We used to do A-Level maths together, with Mr Kinsey."
I was fairly sure I knew everyone who'd been in my maths class and there were no blonde girls named Alexandria. But her hair was dyed, so maybe at school it was a different colour. Even then, though, the only girl with a name like that was the goth chick who'd sat in the corner and doodled all the time, and she was called Alexandra. No 'i'-'a'. I think.
"Did your hair used to be black...?" I asked, laughing nervously.
Alexandria bounced in her seat a little. "Yes! That was me!"
"Oh my God, you look so different!" I said, covering my mouth with shock. "I absolutely did not recognise you."
She giggled slightly, pushing her hair over her shoulder. "Don't worry: you're not the first person to say that."
"What happened to all the leather and black lipstick?"
