There must be something in the air tonight – or something in the drinks at Thin Aire, because everyone is pairing up.
I’ve been sitting, chatting and drinking with Greg for a while now, and I have to admit, he’s pretty awesome for a Matcher bloke. We’re all capable of being fun, witty and interesting when we are conversing via carefully constructed messages, where we are paying extra attention to how we’re coming across. In person, people aren’t always as cool as they seem, but not Greg, Greg is a blast.
We’ve been talking a lot and drinking even more, but I couldn’t help noticing that Millsy and my brother acquired the company of two twenty-something females at some point in the evening. I’m not worried about that, I know that my brother would never cheat on his wife, no matter how horrible or boring she might be, so even if they do all go back to Millsy’s place, I’ll bet both birds end up with Millsy while my brother takes his chances on the sofa. Still, he’s missed his last train now, so he’s made his sofa bed, he’s got to lie on it.
Yes, there must be something in the air, because I have done something majorly out of character – I’ve just jumped into a taxi with Greg to go back to his. I never do this – I know, that’s what they all say, but I really don’t. So why the sudden change of character? Well, I hate to admit it, but maybe Millsy is right, I’m having sex dreams about Nick because I’ve been single for so long and because he’s the male I spend the most time around who isn’t like a brother to me. It’s been that long since I had sex, I’m pretty sure I’m required to sit through a biology lesson before I’ll be allowed to safely do it again, just in case I’ve forgotten all about the birds and the bees.
Millsy, who has sex at least once a week, is horrified by my dry spell and says I’m now officially masturdating myself.
Whatever, I’m drunk, I’m having fun, I’m going to be safe – why shouldn’t I let my hair down?
‘Here we are,’ Greg says as the Uber pulls up outside the block of flats where he lives. I don’t think we’re too far from the centre – far enough to need a taxi though. I’ll have to get a taxi home in the morning because I’m notoriously bad with directions and getting from A to B without help is always a struggle.
Greg takes my hand and leads me through his building silently – well, it is 2am – until we’re in the privacy of his flat. As soon as the door closes it’s like a switch is flicked in Greg’s head, like he’s been waiting all this time to finally go wild.
‘Bedroom,’ he mutters through our kisses, leading me towards the door. I follow his lead, as instructed, ready to let my hair/guard/mother down for the first time in a long time (no, wait, I let my mother down all the time, scrap that last one) but as he releases me from his grip for a moment to whip off his shirt, I am suddenly able to properly take in my surroundings. Holy shit, his bedroom is like a Doctor Who museum, from pictures to gadgets to his bed sheets – Greg must be a hardcore fan. This isn’t fair at all, this is the kind of thing that you should have to disclose on your dating profile. I feel more violated than I did when I was catfished, when Matt the sexy pilot turned out to be a butch, forty-something woman who spent the first fifteen minutes of our date trying to convince me that she was a he. Yes, I stayed, we had a nice chat about how a quick visit to a brow bar would do her the world of good.
Now, I don’t know much about Doctor Who, but what I do know is that I can’t have sex in this room with all these monsters’ eyes on me.
‘Hit play on the stereo,’ Greg insists. I eyeball the machine, fully convinced the Doctor Who theme music will start playing if I hit the play button.
‘Can I use your lav, please?’ I ask, stalling.
Greg nods, reluctantly. He gives me a look that tells me to hurry. It’s just that I’m not into it any more suddenly, and for some reason I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Nick today, the way he jumped in to save that woman’s life. He really is making a huge difference in the world, and I’m just serving coffee. Wait, why am I thinking about Nick when I’m about to have sex, or not have sex as the case may be this evening?
I look at myself in Greg’s bathroom mirror and laugh.
‘Ruby Wood,’ I say to myself, in my head. ‘How do you get yourself into these nightmare dates?’
There’s only one thing for it. There’s no way I can go through with it, and I’m a grown woman after all. I know what I need to do.
I walk back into Greg’s room where he’s waiting for me on the bed, already stripped down to his (unsurprisingly) Doctor Who boxer shorts.
‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ I ask, hovering around in the doorway sheepishly.
Greg’s face falls.
‘Erm, the bad news,’ he replies, reluctantly.
‘The bad news is that my “time of the month” has just kicked in,’ I lie.
If Greg’s face had fallen before, it’s so low it’s in the flat below us now.
‘What’s the good news?’ he asks hopefully.
‘I’m not pregnant,’ I announce brightly, complete with jazz hands.
Greg’s look shifts from disappointment to horror but if the first excuse doesn’t put him off, the second will for sure.
‘Oh,’ he replies. ‘Well, never mind. Maybe next time.’
‘Maybe,’ I reply, and yes, that does seem to be the catchphrase I end all my Matcher dates with, and yes, it is code for “I never want to see you again”.
‘Well, I’ll make my way home I think,’ I tell him, grabbing my things.
‘Don’t be daft,’ he insists. ‘It’s too late for you to be trailing out, and I would really like to see you again. Stay the night.’
It’s at this point that I remember that Greg is not a bad person, just a huge, huge nerd.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask. That’s very sweet of him, although with all these creepy eyes on me, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get to sleep at all.
‘I’m sure,’ he says with a smile, patting the space on the bed next to him.
‘OK, thank you,’ I reply, hopping in beside him.
Greg leans over and kisses me on the forehead before flicking off the lamp next to his bed. Unlucky for me, the Doctor Who Tardis nightlight in the corner of his room illuminates the place pretty well, so I can still see all the nerdy stuff around me. How does a grown man get so much passion for one thing? I mean, I know I’m passionate about things: prosecco, eyebrows, Tom Hardy – but not to the point where I’d have a room dedicated to all things one thing.
Why does time move so slowly when you don’t want it to? When you’re on a good date or having the best sex of your life or sunbathing on the beach – time goes so quickly then, doesn’t it? But when you’re in the doctor’s surgery, waiting for your shift to end at work or spending a night trying to sleep in a Doctor Who shrine, time drags.
I look at my phone – 4am. Three more hours and maybe I can leave without seeming rude or weird.
I wonder if Millsy is still awake, so I text him.
Ruby: Hey, you awake, mate?
I don’t have to wait long for a reply.
Millsy: Sure am. I take it you’re not home?
Ruby: Nope. I take it you’re having a threesome…
Millsy: Nope. If I wanted to disappoint two people at the same time, I’d visit my parents.
I laugh quietly to myself, careful not to wake Greg who is fast asleep.
Ruby: Wow, you met girls in a bar and didn’t shag one of them, you must be growing up
Millsy: Oh, no, I did shag one of them. I left the other with Woody playing Mario Kart in the living room. So I guess we both got lucky tonight.
Ruby: Erm, not quite. I got very unlucky. The guy is like the world’s biggest Doctor Who fan, his bedroom is just wall-to-wall with nerdy merchandise.
Millsy: Fuck off, you’re making that up.
Ruby: I wish I were. He’s got a life-sized Dalek next to his bed.
Millsy: Pics or it didn’t happen.
Ah, the age-old internet rule of ‘pics or it didn’t happen’ – standard protocol for situations where only seeing is believing.
As I sit up slowly to try and take a snap of the Dalek that stands next to Greg’s bed, watching over him as he sleeps, I feel another message come through on my phone.
Millsy: Selfie!
I should’ve known he wouldn’t make this easy for me, but I’ve never been one to chicken out of a dare.
The Dalek is on Greg’s side of the bed, so If I angle it right, I can get myself and the Dalek in the frame whilst Greg sleeps between us, blissfully unaware of the nightmare Matcher date he’s given me.
I switch to the front-facing camera and line up my shot before posing with a meaningful pout and pointing a finger towards the Dalek behind me. Just as I press the shutter button, I notice something in the digital reflection on my phone screen: Greg’s eyes are open!
It’s too late. As the picture takes I realise that it has captured the moment.
‘What the fuck?’ Greg shouts, jumping to his feet.
‘I can explain,’ I start. I mean, I can explain, but I’m not sure how well he’ll take it…
‘Just get out,’ he yells.
I grab my things and head for the door, booking my Uber as I go.
‘Weirdo,’ he calls out as I close the door behind me.
Once in the safety of the quiet corridor of his building, I slip my shoes on and make my way downstairs.
And just like that I’ve turned my Matcher date from hell into Greg’s nightmare date instead.