Don't Fall For Me

Claire

I look up at the neon sign flashing above the bar with my arms crossed, fully aware I probably look more like a petulant five-year-old than a disgruntled twenty-five-year-old.

“Can we go somewhere else, please?”

“Come on, Claire,” my best friend Kara says, pulling on my sleeve. “I promised you a night out, and this place has the hottest bartenders in all of Melbourne.”

“Yes, and Dylan James is one of them,” I point out. “I can’t face him. Not tonight.”

“I’ve never seen him here on a Thursday before. I’m pretty sure it’s his night off.”

“Unless you know that for a fact...”

“On the off chance he is in there, we’ll tell him you’re drinking away your sorrows. I’m sure you two can play nice for an evening.”

“Yeah, right,” I mutter.

“For goodness’ sake, Claire,” Kara says, sounding exasperated. “I’m freezing my arse off out here when I could be enjoying the man candy inside. I don’t mind suffering for a good cause, but your preoccupation with avoiding Dylan is ridiculous. He’s a stirrer and a tease, but he’s hardly the devil.”

Whether or not Dylan James qualifies as the devil-in-disguise is purely a matter of opinion, and had I known ahead of time that Kara was planning to bring me here of all places, I would have called off the evening, but she refused point-blank to spill the beans. Now I know why. Kara often comes here after work, so I know she likes the place. But she’s also well aware that I don’t, and for good reason. Now our friends are waiting for us inside, and I’ll put a downer on everyone’s night if I walk away. Talk about bulldozed!

“Fine,” I say with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you,” Kara says, rubbing her bare arms. “If Dylan’s around, I’ll personally tell him to lay off you tonight, okay?”

Before I can beg her not to say anything at all about me to Dylan, Kara is walking into the bar. After sucking in a breath, I follow. With the lights dimmed, it takes a while for my eyes to adjust. Once I have my bearings, I look over at the bar and the people working behind it. My shoulders drop in relief when I don’t see Dylan anywhere.

“See?” Kara says, gesturing around the place. “No Dylan tonight. We’re in the clear. Oh look, I see Danni and Tori over there.”

“What took you guys so long?” Tori asks as we approach the four-seater table the girls have snagged.

“I had to drag her in here,” Kara says, jerking her head in my direction.

Tori grins. “Don’t worry. I haven’t seen Dylan around. It must be his night off.”

I try not to look as miserable as I feel as I sit down. “Good.”

“Cheer up, Claire Bear,” Danni says affectionately. “It’s been too long since it’s just been the four of us.”

“Three months to be exact,” Tori agrees, picking up her pocket mirror to check her makeup. “I’m sure the last time we went out drinking was to commiserate Claire’s last break-up.”

I carefully place my handbag at my feet. “Thanks for that reminder.”

Danni shrugs. “Hey, any excuse for a party.”

I’m about to point out that being dumped is no reason to party, but I stop myself when Kara shoots me a warning look.

“Don’t pretend you’re heartbroken over the guy, Claire. A man who insists on having a manicure every week is more high maintenance than Tori is.”

“Hey! I’m so not high maintenance,” Tori instantly objects, snapping her pocket mirror shut.

“My point is,” Kara continues, unabated, “you weren’t even together for two months before you asked him whether he wanted to meet your mother.”

“Two months is not an unreasonable amount of time.”

“Maybe not, but not only did he baulk at the suggestion, he flat out dumped you. If that doesn’t tell you that he wasn’t Mr Right, nothing will. In my opinion, him dumping you is definitely cause for celebration.”

“To Claire finding the next Mr Right,” Tori toasts, raising her glass of white wine to her lips.

Kara scowls. “Don’t encourage her. The last seven guys she dated were losers with a capital L.”

Heat sweeps up my neck and face. “They weren’t that bad.”

“Oh, they were,” Kara says.

Danni and Tori murmur their agreement, and I stare at my friends. “You thought they were all losers?”

Tori nods but won’t meet my gaze.

“The last guy kept a pocketbook of all his expenses...in his pocket,” Danni reminds me. “He couldn’t go to the supermarket to buy gum without having to write it down.”

“I appreciated his conscientiousness.”

“He wasn’t normal, Claire,” Tori says quietly.

“Forget it,” Kara says to Tori. “She doesn’t care what we think. As long as the guy ticks all the boxes on her list, she’s going to date him.”

“Zero successes in seven attempts reflects a problem with the list,” Danni states bluntly.

It’s true that I’ve struck out in the dating department this year. And last year. And the year before that. But I’ve spent a good amount of time fine-tuning the list of qualities I want in my perfect man. And because I know what I want, I find men I’m compatible with. So, the problem isn’t the list, per se. It’s what comes after every time I start dating a suitable candidate. It’s fair to say I haven’t really connected with any of my boyfriends. I certainly haven’t fallen in love with any of them. And they haven’t exactly fallen in love with me, either.

Considering I had zero chemistry with the last ’loser’, two months wasn’t a bad run. The reason I hung in there for as long as I did was that Evan seemed as passionate about putting down roots and starting a family as I am.

“I need a drink,” Kara says, standing up. “Who wants what?”

“Another Sunrise for me please,” Danni says.

Tori nods at her half full glass of white wine. “I’m right.”

“Claire?”

“Cider, please.”

“Help me carry them over, will you?”

Getting drinks isn’t a two-person job, and I’d be happy to get the next round, but from the way Kara is looking at me, I can tell she wants to have a say without Tori and Danni listening in.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Kara starts as we walk towards the bar. “I probably shouldn’t have said all that. It’s just...I’m frustrated. I know you’d hoped to be married with children and a house by now, but you’re only twenty-five.”

Nearly twenty-six, and my birthday looms like a date with a guillotine. I’ve been working towards my dream life since I became an adult. Unfortunately, I didn’t factor in how long it might take me to find a man to settle down with.

I accepted a long time ago that my desires in life aren’t exactly in line with those of a ‘modern’ woman. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about being independent; I don’t expect a man to support me. During my studies, I roomed first with Kara and then with Tori, and then I moved out on my own. I save every cent I can from my job as a consultant for a large banking chain. I’m not looking for a knight in shining armour to rescue me, I just want a man to put down roots with. What is so wrong with that?

“Kara, they estimate that it becomes less and less likely for the average Australian to be able to buy their own home with every year that passes.”

“I never know who ‘they’ are.”

"They are the experts.” Some of those experts happen to work at the bank with me. “Interest rates are on the rise and now that they’re abolishing the first home buyers grant, it’s going to be ten times more difficult to buy real estate. I’ve been saving for this since I was fifteen. All the money I have means nothing. I’ve put in three applications for a loan and every single one has been rejected by the banks. They won’t lend to me because I’m single.”

Which is why I’ve been working so hard to remedy that.

Kara sighs, and I know what she’s thinking. For many people, the idea of owning a house is a dream, but for me it’s an obsession.

“I know you think me wanting my own place is stupid.”

“I don’t. Not really. It’s just the whole checklist for the perfect man thing that I have a problem with. You can’t rush meeting the right guy.”

“I’m not trying to rush it, but I need a guy to get the house, and marriage and kids have been on the cards for me from the beginning.”

Mum didn’t bat an eyelash when Dad upped and left us to go to India so he could ‘find himself’. Until then, I’d always thought my mother was the flightier one of my parents; she’d moved us round constantly over the years because she had an artist’s soul and she needed change and variety to feed her creativity. And yet, when Dad went off to pursue self-actualisation, Mum was the one who stuck around. The day Dad left, she made it clear to me she didn’t need a man in her life.

Maybe I should feel the same way, but I don’t.

I want a home where I can hang my pictures up without having to get permission from the landlord. I want rooms where I can choose the colour of the paint and how to decorate. I want my own vegetable patch. I want to pay off my own mortgage, not somebody else’s. And I don’t want to have to worry about the end of my lease and where I would move to next should the landlord decide they want a new tenant. According to the banks, I need a partner to make me a more ‘appealing’ candidate.

And I won’t put my future children at risk of instability and unpredictability by choosing the wrong partner. Children aren’t at the top of my list just yet, but I won’t leave life to chance. I’m looking for a man with similar values and ideas. It’s sensible. Logical. Practical.

“I’m merely being proactive in looking for one that fits the criteria I want in a mate,” I tell Kara. “The list embodies everything that isn’t negotiable. In a world where you can never take anything for granted and divorces happen more than they don’t, I want to find someone who’s right for me.”

“I understand that. But ever since your third home loan application was knocked back, dating has become more of an obsession for you than it already was.”

“Because I’m not getting any younger.”

“Let me ask you this. When was the last time you genuinely felt happy?”

It’s a good thing we’re finally at the bar, because Kara’s question has my head spinning. It really can’t be all that long ago I felt truly happy. But as I speed through the past few weeks, then months, in my mind, I realise I don’t have an answer for her. Sure, there have been moments when I’ve had fun, times when I’ve laughed. But the last time I felt happy, content, or experienced more than fleeting joy or amusement? I honestly can’t remember.

Kara looks far too excited by my lack of response. “See?”

“So?” I huff. “If I’m not happy, it’s because I’m still looking for Mr Right.”

“I don’t think so.”

I’m about to point out that it’s quite possible my general lack of happiness is due to my dating failures when one of the bartenders finishes serving the person next to me and asks us for our order.

“So cute,” Kara whispers as soon as the guy turns around to get my cider out of the fridge.

My gaze slides over the bartender’s spiky, dark blond hair, wide shoulders, muscular back, and very nice arse. Definitely not bad. When he turns around again, Kara gives him a come-hither look. He rewards her with a smile, revealing a dimple. Cute. Very, very cute.

“I’ve always thought bartenders should wear nametags,” Kara says coyly when he puts our drinks down on the tray in front of us. “Especially the cute ones.”

Considering Kara is often compared to a red-headed Scarlett Johansson, it’s hardly a surprise the cute bartender returns her admiring look and winks. “You’re fishing for my name?”

“Do you have one?”

He leans on the bar. “Of course. Do you?”

“It’s Kara.”

“Nice to meet you, Kara.”

“Likewise, ...?”

“Sam.”

Kara puts her hand on my back and nudges me forwards while taking a step back. “Sam, this is Claire.”