He’s called me exotic three times already and I’ve only been sat here twenty minutes. I’m a person not an item on the menu for God’s sake.

He’s talked nonstop about his life. I know he’s an accountant with two french bulldogs and his own two bedroomed home, whose favourite colour is blue (typical) and who doesn’t agree with vegans. I don’t know what he knows about me because he only stops talking about himself to say things like -

“Your skin is beautiful, such a rich chocolate.”

There’s the jackpot! Was this why I stopped dating white guys? It’s a definite contender. I sigh.

“I’m going to the toilet,” I mutter, the scraping of the chair like nails on chalkboard, distressing. I hope the sound makes him uncomfortable, so he can feel like I have the whole date.

*

The woman sat opposite me is pretty, I can’t deny that. She’s got auburn hair and pale skin and wide, doe-like eyes. But that’s about it. Her personality thus far is a stale slice of plain white bread. No, bread has too much to it. A stale, dry, unsalted, broken-up rice cracker...

“Luke?” She looks at me as though I was supposed to have replied. I’ve been zoned out, twirling the same strands of spaghetti round my fork over and over again.

“Sorry, what was it?” I say, reminding myself of how I should behave. My mother taught me to be a gentleman, after all.

“What music are you into?” Even her voice is monotone.

At least I can sink my teeth into this one, give her something to work with.

“I love everything but particularly indie music, it’s defined the big guys like Arctic Monkeys, The Strokes, and before them the The Beatles, but I’m not really fussed on them. I’m more into the less well known stuff, Broken Social Scene, Reverie Sound Revue, The Belle Game - all Canadian. Any band with a horn section is great too. Then there’s old school rap and hip hop, 80s music and 90s grunge, and shoegaze ...’ I trail off, stopping myself from speaking before I go off on one. “What about you?”

Her eyes are looking at me but glazed over. “I don’t really listen to music.”

Dear god. That is the final straw.

“I have to pop to the toilet sorry. Won’t be long!”

*

Having sent a text to my best friend requesting an “emergency phone call” in about twenty minutes, I leave the bathroom and turn the corner back down the dimly lit corridor leading the way to the tables. The music is loud in here; they’re playing First Love by The Maccabees, it’s a good tune.

I glance around, there’s nobody else here, I start to sing along, taking my time down the long corridor, in no rush to return to Mr. Egocentric. I run my hands over the papered walls, the rips and tears only add to the rustic vibe of the place.

“Oh nothing’s perfect,

I’m hoping I’ll doooo.”

Singing spills from somewhere other than the speakers as the door to the men’s swings open. It’s a nice voice, happy and melodic.

I stop singing quickly as a lanky guy of about my age, early twenties, with curly brown hair strolls out the door, still singing.

“Hey, don’t stop, you have a nice voice,” he says with a smile as he walks towards me, pausing just before he passes.

“Oh no, you heard me?”

“Thought I’d join in for a duet. It’s a great song.”

“Epic,” I agree.

“Ada,” someone calls, dragging my name out. “Where have you gone? Did you want me to follow you here? We could go back to mine if that’s what you were thinking.”

Oh dear, he’s back to follow me round telling me how exotic I am as if I’m some kind of endangered species on a David fucking Attenborough documentary. I cringe and search for somewhere to hide.

The singing guy looks at me, bewildered. He points and mouths. “Are you Ada?”

I nod.

His brows furrow. “Are you ok?” He mouths again, moving closer.

“Yeah,” I whisper, but roll my eyes. I spot what looks like a maintenance cupboard and find it’s unlocked. “Follow me,” I mouth and drag him in with me.

I close the door behind me as quietly as I can, consuming us in darkness. If the other weirdo was in here, he’d probably say something about how my skin is so dark he can’t see me. News flash, I can’t see you either dickhead, it’s dark.

I don’t dare turn the light on, incase the light seeps from the crack at the bottom of the door. Also, I don’t know where the light switch is.

When I hear his irritating, articulate posh-boy voice disappear a bit further down the corridor, I turn to the guy I’ve trapped in the cupboard with me.

“Sorry about this,” I mutter, still taking care to be quiet and not to draw attention to the cupboard.

I can’t see his face, but I think he grins, or maybe smirks, I can’t distinguish from mouth sounds alone.

“No problem. You’ve rescued me from the most boring night of my life. I should be thanking you.”

I giggle quietly. “At least I’m not the only one who’s having a bad night.”

“So tell me Ada - I’m Luke by the way - what exactly is going on here?”

I explain the whole night to him, starting from the seemingly innocent comments about how my hair was “refreshing” to his total obsession with my ethnicity, and all the self-obsession in between.

Luke grimaced. “God, that’s rank, I think I’d have knocked him out if I were you, and I’m not a violent man.”

“Trust me, I imagined doing it the whole time I was sat there.”

“It’s just so weird and creepy to be that fixated on it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t buy into the whole colour-blind shit, but there’s more to you than that. I mean, cracking music taste for one, and humour and something to say. But even in terms of how you look, yeah your skin is beautiful but so is the rest of you. Your teeth.”

My hand instinctively jumps to cover my mouth before I remember we are in complete darkness and there’s no need to hide them. “They’re disgusting,” I say. “They’re huge and so gappy.”

“Noooo,” Luke protests. “The gaps are cute. It’s what I noticed about you. Not in a bad way, just, like if I had to characterise you, you’d would be the girl with the cute teeth.

I smile and am glad of the darkness as I fidget. I’m not the best at taking compliments.

“Sorry, bit of a tangent, but you know what I mean. You’re a person, not someone’s fetish. Your guy sounds like a complete...”

“Wanker,” we say together and laugh.

I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re stood in this cupboard. My hands are down by my sides, but I can feel Luke fidgeting with his. They catch mine every time he moves, sending a shockwave of warmth up my arms. Action potentials shooting up my neurons to release happiness into my brain at his touch.

I tiptoe and I can feel his breath on my face.

He’s closer now. And closer again.

And then there’s a bang on the door and we both jump backwards, biting our lips to keep quiet.

“Fuck sake,” comes my date’s voice through the heavy wooden door. “I suppose that’s what I get for going on a date with someone like her.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I’m frozen in shock but my mind continues to race and fuel a flame that is growing inside of me. Luke is tense beside me and his hand moves to my arm in support of whatever I do.

Finally, the friction of my racing thoughts turns the flame into a wild fire which spurs my body to move. I swing the door open with all the force of my small frame, knocking my date further into the corridor.

“There you are!” He shouts.

“What the fuck are you trying to say?” I demand. “Someone like me? You’ve been a racist, fetishising prick all night and I’m putting my foot down now.”

“Stupid bitch,” he mutters, rubbing his head where the door must have smacked him.

Luke and I both move towards him, but Luke steps back and let’s me have my moment.

I grab my date’s collar and throw him against the wall with force I didn’t know I had. He hurls abuse at me and I take a step back and headbutt him right in his nose. He swears and grabs his nose.

“Don’t you ever say anything like that ever again.” I turn and walk away.

Luke smiles and excitedly runs over and drops to the floor on one knee.

“Marry me?” He says.

I raise my eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, got carried away with all the adrenaline.” He gets to his feet and dusts off the knees of his denim jeans. “Want to go on a date though?”

“Certainly.” I smile. “Shall we be off?”

Luke stands tall beside me and positions his arm so I can slip my own through the gap and around it, as though he is a prince escorting me to a dance.

“M’lady,” he says, as though to prove my point. And we make our way away from the scene together.