His 'n' Hers Read Online Free

two days ago and which are already rubbing my heels so badly that one is bleeding.
    Jane, my new best friend of the last eight hours, and I have been keeping an eye on a boy standing at the other end of the bar with a group of cool-looking guys. Each and every one of them has a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as though they’re auditioning for the lead role in East of Eden . The one I like, however, looks the coolest of the bunch and I immediately fancy him. I like his wavy dark brown hair, his worn leather jacket, his slightly grimy-looking jeans and his barely hanging together Converse All-stars – everything. We’ve been exchanging long glances across the room all evening. It’s as if we can’t take our eyes off each other. And the longer we look at each other without speaking, the more I want to run across the room, throw my arms around him and kiss him until he surrenders.
    ‘Is he looking now?’ I ask, as I stare purposefully in the opposite direction.
    ‘I don’t know,’ says Jane, dolefully. ‘Do you want me to look?’
    ‘Okay.’
    Jane turns her head but I lose my nerve. ‘No!’ I scream. ‘Don’t look.’
    ‘Fine, I won’t.’
    There’s a long pause.
    ‘Is he looking now?’ I ask.
    Jane sighs. ‘You know, as much as I’d like to have built-in radar I can’t actually give you that information without, you know, using my eyes.’
    I take a deep breath. ‘Okay, don’t look.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Yes . . . I think so.’
    ‘Are you absolutely sure?’
    ‘No – not at all.’
    Jane grabs me by the hand and leads me in the direction of the bar. ‘If we’re going to spend the whole evening pretending not to look at men, can I suggest that we get a drink in first?’
    11 p.m.
    ‘So, do you think you’re going to try and get off with him?’ asks Jane, as we proudly sip our pints of cider at the bar.
    ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘Do you think I should?’
    ‘You like him, don’t you?’
    ‘He’s gorgeous.’
    ‘Then just do it.’
    ‘I can’t just do it. I’m not a just-do-it kind of person. I need a plan of action.’
    ‘The plan of action I always find works involves cider and blackcurrant and a lot of babbling like an idiot.’
    Between us, Jane and I come up with the following additions to her usual plan:

    1) I should walk over to him.
    2) I should ask him for a light.
    3) And then I should ask him for a cigarette.
    I’m convinced it’s perfect.
    It’s a little bit cheeky.
    It’s a little bit flirty.
    It’s a guaranteed winner.
    ‘There’s only one problem with your plan,’ says Jane.
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘You don’t smoke, do you?’
    I shrug. ‘No, but now is as good a time as any to start.’ I knock back the last of my drink. ‘Wish me luck,’ I say, as I fix my eyes on my target.
    ‘You don’t need luck,’ says Jane. ‘He’s lucky to have you fancy him at all.’
    Emboldened by my friend’s words, I take a deep breath and begin the walk to the other side of the bar. Half-way to my destination, however, I’m brought to an abrupt halt. A bloke I’ve never seen before is standing in my path. He’s wearing burgundy brogues, long Argyle-patterned socks, knee-length tailored shorts, a white shirt, a green tie and a grey waistcoat. I’ve never seen anything quite like him in my life.
    ‘Hi,’ says the bloke, holding out his hand, ‘I’m Jim.’
    I’m too bewildered to be impolite, so I shake his hand. ‘Er . . . I’m Alison.’
    ‘It’s great here, isn’t it?’ he asks, in a broad northern accent.
    ‘It’s okay.’
    There’s a long pause.
    ‘Where are you from?’ he asks.
    ‘Norwich,’ I reply curtly.
    ‘I’m from Oldham,’ he adds, without prompting. ‘It’s near Manchester, if that’s any help to you.’
    ‘Do they all dress like that in Oldham?’ I ask, taking in his ensemble again.
    ‘No,’ he says proudly. ‘I’m a one-off . . . What are you studying?’
    ‘English,’ I reply, and