Fife texted me this afternoon to ask the date of the next Conspiracy event, which was kind of weird because he lives next door to Conspiracy and could have just asked him. And, he seems to have known the dates of the last ones, so why didn’t he know the date for the next one.
I texted him back all the same. He responded by asking if I needed a ride, because he’d come get me.
Then, well from there, we got a bit flirty. I think. Well, not like sexy flirty, just innocent flirty. Or maybe he was just being nice. I don’t know.
Oh balls, I’ll just include the texts below:
Fife: When is [Conspiracy]’s next reading. I’d like to go.
Me: Tues 20th
Fife: Thanks. Do you need a ride? I can come get you.
Me: It’s a bit out of your way. I don’t mind the bus.
Fife: And I don’t mind coming to get you. There’s stuff I have to do in Dundee that day anyway.
Me: Oh is there? That’s convenient.
Fife: Not really. But maybe I’ve also come to like our car-ride talks.
Me: Is this just an excuse to talk to me?
Fife: Or maybe it’s an excuse to get you alone in the car.
Fife: Sorry. That sounded funnier in my head and not at all creepy. Sorry. Please erase that last text.
Me: Sounds like you’ve got a case of text regret.
Fife: It’s an affliction that strikes me regularly.
Me: Yeah. I’ve been struck down by it as well in the past. The only way to immunise yourself is to think before hitting send.
Fife: Me? Think before doing something? That hasn’t always worked either.
Me: I guess if you thought before acting you wouldn’t have found yourself naked in the sea.
Fife: You had to bring that up. It was cold.
Me: Sure sure.
And so on and so forth for the rest of the day. The end result of this series was this:
Fife: There’s no point in taking the bus all the way to [location of Conspiracy’s reading]. I’m going to be in town anyway, so I may as well give you a ride.
Me: I do appreciate it. I need to be there by 6.
Fife: I’ll pick you up on Tues at your flat at 5.
I’m going to tell him about Pete in the car, or maybe he’ll see Pete. I swear I’m going to tell him I have a boyfriend. It’s the only way I can thwart this ridiculous crush I’m getting on this man. It’s all a bit silly, and I’m being silly. He’s probably married, and he’s just being nice. And I started the flirtiness, so I’m sure he was just being nice. No, I’m definately going to tell him about Pete. (Who is in the other room at the moment watching repeats of Russel Howard’s Good News and laughing like a moron. I do love his laugh. It’s so innocent and sincere. And he laughs so easily.) Yeah, I’m definately going to tell Fife about Pete.
PS-I almost forgot. Loraine gave me her feedback on my suggestions for the nonfiction book. She’s not a fan of my suggestion to restructure it by theme, but she does like my idea for the author to do interviews and include a plate section. Although she’s worried that a plate section would cost much more to publish, so she’s going to feel that one out in the pitch. So, even though she didn’t give the go-ahead on all my suggestions, I’m happy that she’s taking some on board.