The Perfect 10

Foolishly I reminded him.

This evening, Monday, thirty-five hours after the ‘incident’ – I’ve almost forgotten all about it – we at least arranged to meet when we were both sober. We went for a coffee, but that turned into wine, and we ended up back at mine, and now we are having sex again. I am afraid that we have become fuck buddies, but I don’t want to confront him because I have nothing to say. Adrian is a nice but average thirty-year-old bloke, with a big laugh and good hair and trendy trainers. He works in IT. I know what I am getting, I know that his favourite film is Rocky IV, I know he prefers Indian to Chinese, I know he reads his horoscope, and is mildly left wing.

Adrian is still somebody’s dream man, if such a thing exists, but I am starting to wonder whether he is still mine, now that I am learning to differentiate between liking somebody and being attracted to somebody. I realise that I have to feel something deeper: he can’t just be funny, or bright, or look right. There has to be something that makes him right for me, even though I admit that I don’t know what that something is. Maybe it will be something small. Maybe we will both like film quizzes, and sit late into the night on his battered old leather sofa making our way through two bottles of wine and a bar of dark chocolate, and quizzing each other, until we decide to go to bed … It could be that small, I think, but it will matter, of course.

Adrian rolls off me onto the bed. This time I made the necessary pleasurable noises without going to the effort of actually faking an orgasm in its entirety. I don’t have the energy or the inclination. He doesn’t seem bothered.

Adrian mumbles something into the pillow.

‘Sorry?’ I ask.

He raises himself up on to his elbows and looks at me seriously. ‘Who would have thought it, eh?’

‘Thought what?’ I stroke the hair out of his eyes.

‘You and me.’ He smiles at me, and kisses my forehead.

‘It’s not the strangest thing that’s ever happened.’

‘No, I know. Not now. It just shows …’

‘Shows what?’ I ask.

‘You know,’ he closes his eyes and hugs me, drifting into sleep, ‘what a difference a year can make.’

‘Well, people’s feelings change all the time,’ I say, nervously trying to stop him before he goes too far.

‘Hmmm?’ His eyes are still closed, and he presses his face into my neck. ‘You’ve done so well …’ And he falls asleep.

Three hours later I am still awake, while Adrian snores loudly on the other side of the bed. Yep, I’ve done so well.