The Annex, September 28th

Lyla leans back in her chair and crosses her arms across her chest, taking in the boy who has just walked past her table. He walks with a familiar smoothness, his eyes focused beyond the heads of the people sat around the tables that fill the room: a man on a mission. His slim, muscled shoulders are visible through his tight-fitting T-shirt and Lyla lets her gaze drop to his waist, the band of his underwear visible above his jeans.

His hair is slightly disheveled, a style that probably took him 15 minutes and a whole lot of that molding mud he used to use. His eyes do not pass over Lyla, although she’s sure he’s seen her, scoped her location the minute he passed through the door.

He greets another guy at the bar, shakes his hand and smiles his coy, closed-lip smirk he employs to keep any overt emotions in check. He casts a glance over his shoulder, mid-sentence, his eyes not quite meeting Lyla’s.

He is still the irresistible, unattainable bad boy that Lyla met 5 years ago. It was his aloofness that first attracted her. Well, that’s not true. It was his brown eyes that first attracted her. It was his detached demeanour that intrigued her. There’s nothing like a boy who doesn’t want you...

Throughout their brief courtship, which consisted of long spaces of time between phonecalls and run-ins at the bar where it seemed that he was only then reminded of her existence, Lyla fantasized him into a good boy. He became a boyfriend who would watch movies with her on a Friday night, someone who would cook her dinner and drive her to yoga class. Someone who would fall in love with her.

Funny, how we do that, she thinks, arms still crossed warily across her chest; how we rise to unachievable challenges in love.

Her pint arrives, delivered by a short blond waitress, someone who, she has found out through the grapevine, has been his latest conquest. Lyla thanks the unknowing blonde girl and uncrosses her arms to reach for the glass.

Lyla has her eyes on him as she brings the beer to her lips. Just then, he turns his head and locks eyes with Lyla. A rush of adrenaline surges through her, starting in her chest. She can actually see him consider whether or not to acknowledge her. And just as his face warms into a smile, the bartender taps him on the arm and his attention is pulled away.

Lyla swallows the bitter-tasting beer, places the pint glass on the table, and leans back in the chair.