Live for the Day by Sarah Masters Page B

sitting untouched. “Whatever.” Yeah, I sounded rude, but that was self-preservation for you. Ward them off before they got the chance to wound and all that.
    “D’you fancy going out after work?” he asked.
    I widened my eyes at that. Come on. Asking me out was going a bit far.
    “Where to?” That wasn’t what I’d intended to say, but the words were out now and there was no taking them back. Oh, I could get up then walk away, leaving what I’d said behind, but, perversely, I wanted to stay and see this through to the end. Even if I did get hurt. He’d wind me up, set a time and place, and I’d go there, standing alone while waiting for him to appear. And he never would. Tomorrow, there’d be sniggers at work, everyone knowing I’d been stood up. It would only be the second time it had happened.
    I was a glutton for emotional torture, me.
    “Okay,” I said, sighing the word to let him know I was well aware of his game. “Where d’you want to go?”
    He shrugged. “Not bothered. You choose.”
    Well, that was a first. Last week they’d picked the location, with several vantage points for other people to hide and watch the show. As far as me standing there like a lemon could be a show. Yeah, I really had been put through the wringer. All the joy squeezed out of me, my mind a limp rag.
    “I have no idea what you like doing, so me picking somewhere to go…” I shrugged.
    “So I’ll tell you what I like doing, shall I, then you’ll have more idea of where we can go.”
    “If you want.”
    “I do want, otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
    This man was either a bloody good actor or he was being earnest. I couldn’t make my mind up which it was.
    “I like walking,” he said. “Just walking, not knowing where I’m going and letting my feet take me there. I love reading—same kind of scenario. I pick up a book, having not read the stuff on the back, and find out where the book will take me.” His eyes seemed to light up. “I like art—boring but true—and visiting galleries so I can play this game I always play. Nerdy game, but I enjoy it. I try to imagine what the artist was thinking while they were painting. A bit like people-watching, where you invent lives for them, knowing your scenarios are probably so far removed from the real thing but doing it anyway.” He lifted one shoulder, tilting his head toward it, as though he felt sheepish.
    He was genuine—out and out bloody genuine.
    And I had no idea how to deal with that.
    He’d spoken so—what was the word?—effortlessly, like what he’d said had come straight from inside, not fabricated to match the moment or convince me to like him. When I thought about it, he’d admitted to being what some people would think of as boring. I thought he was downright fucking brilliant to like doing those things—I liked the same shit. Weird, that.
    “Okay,” I said, planning what I was about to say next. I fiddled with a strip of lettuce that I hadn’t managed to poke back inside before. “What about The Atrium?” I wanted to test him, see if he’d heard of it.
    “The best choice. You ever sat in the seating area there and just watched all the people as they come in?”
    “No, but I gather you have.” So he knew exactly where I was on about—a good sign. The Atrium was an art gallery tucked away behind the high street, hidden from general view and, I supposed, only known about if you were into art.
    “Many times.” A faint blush crept onto his cheeks. “Well, more than many. I don’t have much else to do but visit places like that.”
    This bloke… I told myself he was the real deal, someone I might be able to hang around with once in a while. A friend, a person who shared my interests. I let my mind wander, imagining us doing all sorts of things, knowing that if we did my life would be a lot richer. Less lonely.
    Fuck it. I’d take the chance.
    “Seven o’clock all right with you?” I asked. “By the statue of the naked