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Do you have that one friend that is funny, charming, well dressed and good-looking and (despite his stunning personality and incredibly great appearance) always single? That one that had dates with almost every guy in the city, but will probably die alone surrounded only by twenty cats or ugly poodles or flamingos or whatever trendy bachelors buy these days. Well, that’s me.
And yes, I lied about that funny-charming-stunning part. But the rest is me, more or less. Dean O’Gorman, nice to meet you. (I don’t normally talk about poodles and flamingos when I introduce myself, though. You shouldn’t either. People will give you weird stares. Unless you like weird stares, then go for it by all means, I won’t judge you. I’m not fit to judge anybody, I’m talking about flamingos, for fuck’s sake!)
And do you have that one caring friend that is always polite and kind and gives you great advice? I don’t. I have only that moron of a friend called Aidan Turner. His favourite pastime is setting me dates with every single one of his gay friends. And he has many of them. He used to work in a gay bar. I think the only straight people he knows are his parents.
Another hobby of his is fucking his boyfriend Richard and then talking about it. In details. (Once you’ve heard it, you can’t forget it. God, and the mental images it gives you... One time he told me about Richard’s...no. Let’s forget this. I never said anything. Really. Forget it.)
So that’s where the story begins, with me being single (What a surprise!) and my annoying friend having a bit too much of free time.
It’s 7:49 am and I’m in the middle of my daily twenty minutes of midlife crisis. That is, I lay in my bad and think about how much my life sucks. And sometimes, twenty minutes becomes an hour and by the end I’m so depressed that only a bunch of pancakes or a bottle of Jack can cheer me up. Or one of those Joy of Painting video cassettes I hide under my bed. (Don’t laugh, okay?) Preferably the three of them at the same time. You can’t be depressed with food, whiskey and happy little trees. It’s like a session with your therapist. Only cheaper.
But today I don’t even get those twenty minutes. Because of Aidan, of course. Aidan’s like a little puppy – he jumps around begging for attention and it’s really cute, but then it gets annoying and you want to kick him, but he has those puppy eyes and you feel like aww, how sweet. And then the puppy drools and pisses all over you. (No, Aidan actually doesn’t do that. It’s a metaphor. Even though that one time...but that would be another story. And I swore not to tell anyone.) So that’s Aidan, in short.
And now he’s calling me to casually announce me he will be here in two minutes. Yeah, sure. It’s not like I have a choice either. Because Aidan is a puppy – a pretty stubborn one.
"You were watching this crappy painting thing again, weren’t you?" is the first thing he says to me when I open the door. I wasn’t, but anyways, that’s not the point.
"Good morning, Dean! I’m really sorry to wake you up. It won’t happen again," I say, but Aidan is ignoring me enthusiastically. He’s not doing it on purpose – he sees nothing wrong with suddenly appearing in people’s houses at any given time. I suspect no one ever explained him the concept of being invited. Aidan just invites himself.
And it looks like he’s just invited himself to my kitchen. And I’m standing here, only in my sweatpants, thinking about...well. He’s cooking. Aidan is cooking.
"What do you want?" I ask suspiciously, because Aidan is cooking. He never cooks. Unless he wants something. And he is cooking now. You get my point.
"Why, nothing!" Aidan gives me a shiny smile, a one that looks quite innocent. (Or too innocent – I’ve seen this smile often enough. It usually has something to do with another nice guy I should definitely meet. And it usually ends up with he seemed nice, I had no idea he was married/seventeen/a pickpocket. Or anything else, really. Talk to me about bad luck.)
Aidan hums as he cooks, clearly refusing to explain anything. Instead he talks about the Star Wars marathon he’s been to last night. That being said, I try to use all of my wannabe Jedi powers to keep my patience. Ha-ha, Dean, so funny. Do I really need to say that patience is not one of my virtues? That’s probably the reason I never became a Jedi. I’m still a bit sad about that, though.
But then Aidan brings me a huge plate of watery scrambled eggs ("I didn’t think you liked them too dry!") and a few slightly burned toasts ("I don’t know how your toaster works!") and even a glass of orange juice (which is, thankfully, alright).
"So..." Aidan starts and I really don’t like that tone, but I let him continue. I focus on eating instead.
"Richard organises a little dinner with his colleagues tonight. And you’re coming," he says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yeah and remind me again, why would I want to go there?"
Aidan smiles even more brightly. "Because I’m going to introduce you to someone!"
And yes, there it goes again. Aidan’s matchmaking. Do I really look that desperate? I make an annoyed face and hope that it’s enough for Aidan to understand how I feel about this idea.
"Oh, but he’s great, you’ll see! You will like him. He’s really nice and tall and he’s a bit older than you..."
"A bit older?" I ask and I hope there is not too much panic in my voice. The last time a bit older actually meant somewhere around seventy. That guy was really nice, though. Just, you know, fucking old. So I definitely have reasons to fear Aidan’s judgment.
"Just a few years older than Richard! And he likes him too. He also thinks you two would make a cute couple," says Aidan and the grin on his face grows wider with every second.
I doubt Richard ever mentioned anything similar to that last sentence. But at least, he knows the guy, so the chances of him being a stalker or a murderer may be a bit smaller. I hope. Because then Aidan looks at me with those damn puppy eyes and I know I’ve lost the battle.
"Okay, I’ll go. But this is the last time," I sigh.
At least Aidan seems happy about it.
---
And here I am, standing next to Aidan and Richard, wearing clothes that Aidan chose me, holding a cocktail Aidan brought me and waiting for a guy Aidan set me a date with. I don’t even know why I’m here, this is all about Aidan. I haven’t done anything. I’m a victim in all this.
But the company is nice and the drink is not too bad, so I suppose it could be worse. I just hope that meeting the guy won’t ruin the whole thing.
"Here he is," Richard says and waves at somebody at the other side of the room. As the guy approaches, I have enough time to consider his appearance. He is tall, much taller than myself (But that is hardly a challenge, to be honest.) and he seems to hide quite a lot of muscles underneath his well-tailored suit. And he’s bald. (I wonder, when did Aidan decide I had a thing for bald men...) And what’s with his ears? I mean...I’m not complaining. I’ve seen worse. But still...he’s not exactly my type.
And then he’s here and he introduces himself.
"I’m Graham McTavish," he says and I just...uh. I think I’ve changed my opinion. This guy is my type. Because his voice is exactly my type. I swear every syllable he spokes sends a set of shivers down my spine. Sweet Jesus, I can feel butterflies in my stomach. I hope he doesn’t see the effects he has on me. I really don’t need to make a weirdo of myself just after I’ve met him.
And then, instead of introducing myself like a normal human being, I just giggle. I fucking giggle.
Aidan bursts out with laughter and I would hit him – if I weren’t too busy growing a rather spectacular shade of red. At least, it feels quite spectacular, judging from the embarrassing heat I feel on my cheeks.
Great, Dean, you’re the best. You just did the best impersonation of a silly teenage girl ever. Bravo. Well done. Why don’t you just throw yourself out of that nice large window?
Richard pulls Aidan (who is still laughing) away and I’m really grateful that he does. I would even kiss him for that, but that wouldn’t add to the first impression, would it? It’s not like I already ruined the whole thing with my inability to handle a simple introduction...
"Dean O’Gorman," I mutter when I finally remember my name.
And then there’s his voice again and I am this close to fainting. "Pleased to meet you, Dean," he says and he really looks like he means it.
Graham smiles and it’s perfect.
I need to thank Aidan later. (Right after I kill him for laughing at me.) I think he found the right guy this time.