Under the table, Jason put a hand on my knee. I could see that he was drunk, his eyes less focused as they rested on mine for a moment too long. Eye contact is such a powerful thing. This time I didn’t look away. I wished I’d worn my new Michael Kors dress, the one I was saving for an exciting date – the kind that hadn’t been on the table for quite a while. The dress had been hanging in my wardrobe unworn for weeks. If only I had known about this evening. I couldn’t take my mind off his hand; I ached to feel his soft fingers on my warm bare skin. I was sure I didn’t imagine his hand move slightly higher, to rest on my thigh. I didn’t dare move my leg for fear he might take it off. I longed to lace my fingers with his. I think I said something about my job, how I got passed over for a promotion recently, so perhaps his gesture was meant sympathetically, perhaps it was totally innocent. But it didn’t feel innocent. Every touch felt electrifying. I wanted his fingers to gently ride up the inside of my leg, and stop around my crotch. I wondered what it would feel like if he was to part my legs a little and just hover there a moment, pushing his index finger into my jeans. All I wanted to do was lose myself in him. I felt my eyes glaze.

Jason broke my thoughts by coughing, then he got up and excused himself for the Gents’.

I can’t have been imagining the sexual tension between us. Perhaps Jason needed to splash cold water over his face. I metaphorically did the same, running my fingers through my hair, sitting up straighter and moving my head from side to side in an effort to sober up. I tried to focus on the food menu that lay untouched on the table. Perhaps something to eat would help.

I pulled out my phone and checked the time: 10 p.m. We had been drinking for over five hours, it was no wonder I felt drunk.

There was a message from Mum:

Are you watching Channel 4? There’s a programme about PR. X

Mum would be irked by the lack of response, so I quickly replied, telling her I’d find it on catch up and would call her tomorrow.

There was another message, from Katie:

Loads of luck for tomorrow. Hope it all goes well. Call me after. Much love x

I wondered what they’d say if either of them could have seen me now. On the way to being plastered with an ex-boyfriend. This ex-boyfriend in particular.

I felt a little disappointed that Oscar hadn’t messaged me. Not that he knew why tomorrow was so important, or because there was any reason for him to contact me, but hearing from him still had the power to brighten up my day. I missed him a lot.