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skin. I had found the perfect person to deflower me.
    I fluffed up my hair, wiped away any smudged mascara from beneath my eyes and gave him my best smile. He smiled back, and I clutched the edge of the table to support myself. I turned to Lara to share my excitement with her, and then slowly, my smile dropped off my face as I realized she was smiling at him too, and—oh look, he was smiling back at
her
, not me.
    My stomach sank in disappointment and rejection, and I turned back to the balding men and my vodka-lem. By the time I had downed the entire thing, Lara and the amazing guy were sipping out of piña colada pineapples and leaning against each other. I caught her eye and she mouthed
sorry
at me, even though she still had a huge grin on her face.
    Andy or Mike nudged me and made a seedy joke about our foursome becoming a threesome. I realized I had to get out of there. I turned away from them, mumbling something about needing to go to the loo, and slipped outside.
    I leaned against a cold brick wall, too miserable and drunk to feel the cold. This whole idea had been stupid. Deep down, I’d known that from the start. But I had secretly hoped I would find a cute guy who would take me home, buy me breakfast in the morning and fall in love with me. Obviously, though, it was pretty, blond, clever Lara who had found the ideal guy—and she didn’t even need one.
    Everyone around me was laughing and chatting happily as they smoked their way to lung cancer. I felt so alone. That was the worst thing about my unwanted virginity—it made me feel so lonely. Lara hadn’t been a virgin for years and I was the only one out of our school friends who still hadn’t had sex. When we met up for people’s twenty-first birthdays, everyone shared stories about their boyfriends or regrettable one-night stands. It was standard uni experience stuff but I could never join in. They all gave me pitying looks—
Aw, still a virgin, Ellie?
—and I used self-deprecating jokes to hide how much I cared. Secretly I wanted to be just like them.
    “You all right there?”
    I turned around in surprise. There was a boy standing there, grinning at me. As my alcoholic daze cleared up a bit and my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw him properly. He was wearing a gray hoody and he had a flippy, emo fringe and a lip piercing. He was the only person at the club who didn’t look like he’d walked off a yacht, and even the barmen were better dressed than him. He was also the only person who had come over to talk to me willingly.
    “Just a bit cold,” I said, trying to force my face into an attractive pout.
    “Do you want a cigarette?” he asked.
    “Sure,” I said, and took the one he offered me.
    I lit the third cigarette I had ever smoked in my twenty-one years, breathed in sharply and coughed. A lot. He looked over at me with raised eyebrows, so I rasped, “Sore throat.”
    “Yeah, must be the cold.” He grinned. “Happens to me all the time.”
    I took another drag, swallowed the cough rising up my throat and nonchalantly flicked the ash from the tip of the cigarette onto the ground.
    He looked amused.
    “So, have you . . . been here before?” I asked.
    “Are you asking me if I come here often? Original chat-up line,” he said with a smirk.
    “You’re the one who came up to me,” I reminded him.
    “Fair point. No, I have never been here before, if you can’t tell by my general appearance. What about you?”
    “Me neither,” I said, wondering what it would be like to kiss someone with a lip piercing. Would it get in the way?
    “So, do you want to go back inside?” he asked.
    I shrugged and threw the cigarette onto the ground, following him back down the stairs. We got to the bar and I waited for him to ask me if I wanted a drink. He said nothing so I bought myself a ten-quid vodka and lemonade, trying not to wince as I handed over my debit card. He bought himself a beer, and we leaned against a fish tank in the middle of the