Chapter 4 Pt2: Pizza Girl

Chapter 4 continued: Part 2…

After a quick and necessarily cold shower in the gym, I hop on the tube and travel underground through the stuffy tunnels of London. I stand on a slightly less crowded train, having missed the Friday rush hour, and try to shake the images that crowd my head. Not the girls, but the guys. What is it with older guys in the gym locker room? It’s like the only time they get to be naked. One guy dropped his towel and bent over less than a foot from my face while I knelt down to tie my shoes. I’ve never been mooned and black-holed at the same time before. The other stood with his foot on the bench and let it all hang out like a rejected marble statue, smooth like one too. It must have been as cold as marble, too, based on the size of it. Not that he cared. Oh, to have that much confidence. I can’t begin to imagine all the rejections I wouldn’t remember. My life could have been so different had I had just thirty per cent more confidence. I’m thirty, and my longest relationship was only a month long. To be honest, I don’t know whether that’s long enough to count in months or if ‘dates’ would be the correct measurement. Technically, we only went on six dates. Six. I roll my head back and let out a groan. I freeze when I remember where I’m standing. I can’t believe I’m thirty and I’ve never had a relationship.

That’s when the train stops and a girl gets on. She’s cute, I think. I didn’t get a good look. I glance back, and she’s definitely pretty. She faces me, and I look away. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but it feels like she’s looking at me, too. I look back, and she turns away, a hint of a smile on her lips. Does she like me? She brushes a few strands of her curly brown hair over her shoulder, exposing her silver moon earrings and the supple skin of her neck. I follow a bead of sweat that trails along her collarbone to the white cotton fabric of her sundress, and then I have to look away. I didn’t mean to stare. I always feel bad when it happens, like I’ve done something wrong. I chew on my lip in thought until I feel the heat of her gaze on me. I quickly check out of the corner of my eye. I swear she’s looking at me. I turn my face slowly and deliberately. We lock eyes for three full seconds before I look away again. I can’t help it. I hate it, but I find it so hard to maintain eye contact, especially with eyes as big and round as hers. It’s like staring at unbottled sweetness. She’s giving my heart a sugar rush.

I look again to confirm, and she smiles coyly, and I think I smile back, I can’t be sure. I think maybe she likes me, I hope she likes me. I’m not making this up, am I? But what do I do now? We’re on the underground. I can’t speak to her here; that would be weird. It’s so quiet, everybody would look. They’d see the look of shock and disgust on her face when I introduced myself. She was probably smiling at a thought, a dream, a text from another guy. How can I be sure she likes me, and what’s the protocol for this situation? Ugh, my head is spinning. I rub my sweaty palms on my shorts as discreetly as I can, and then I realise, I’m off the hook. My stop is approaching, so I ready myself to leave. I step toward the door as it opens, and she steps out in front of me. Now I’m following her with the flow of passengers leaving the station. I deliberately pause at the escalator so not to stand directly behind her because I think that would be creepy. Still, I can’t help but peek over the heads of the people in front of me to see if she looks back.

As I exit the escalator and head through the electronic gates, I hope she’s not taking the same exit as me, but she is. Now it’s beginning to feel like I might be following her, which I’m not. As we walk away from the station, we turn down the same street, but it’s the main street, so it’s not weird, but it feels weird. We’re close to each other, she must know it’s me who’s only a step behind her. I start to panic because at this pace, I’m going to overtake her, and even that feels strange. I decide to take the long route and peel off down a side street where I can’t accidentally stalk her. I’m going to head to the convenience store to get something for dinner because I don’t feel like cooking. As I cross over another street, I check to make sure I haven’t accidentally re-followed Tube Girl. The coast is clear, and I head to the shop to find something to eat.

I browse the chilled aisle and stop by the pizzas. Cheap and cheerful, that’ll do. I grab a pepperoni and decide I want some fruit juice as a change from water. Normally, I only drink water at home because it’s healthy and free (kind of). As I crouch down to the lower shelf to pick up a carton of tropical fruits, I look up and who do I see? It’s Tube Girl, and she’s also picking up a pizza. She grabs a four-cheese and then sees me crouching. I smile, turning my pizza slightly as if to say, “Hey, me, too,” but I don’t actually say it because that would be better, and I’m not that smooth. She walks away, and I roll my eyes. That was the perfect opportunity to say something.

As I go to pay, she joins the back of the queue ahead of me. I wonder if I should say something now, and then she speaks. Tube Girl asks the guy in front of her if he’s part of the queue, and he doesn’t appreciate the question. Not like I would. He’s civil. I’d melt like the cheese on her four-cheese pizza. I stand behind her and wait in line, thinking of what to say. Pizza night for one? Me too. No, that’s too presumptuous. Great minds think alike. Too cliché. I guess we both had the same idea. That could work. I look up, she’s already paying, I’m too late. She picks up her bag of groceries and then looks directly at me. She smiles a consolatory smile of sorts and then leaves. That was my last chance!

I urge the cashier to hurry up, but only with my eyes because I don’t want to be rude. I pay, but the card machine is slow. I’m hoping I can ‘accidentally’ catch up to her and finally say something, but as I exit the store onto the street, I can’t see her. She’s gone. I blew it.

I think about Pizza Girl all the way home. I will probably think about pizza girl for months to come. I can’t believe I had so many opportunities to speak to her and meet her, and I couldn’t do it. Sure, she couldn’t have said something, but girls never do, and I know that. I only have myself to blame.

When I get home, I eat my pizza with a side of disdain. Apparently, regret is a dish served covered in cheese, melted. I’m trying to watch The Hating Game with Lucy Hale, but all I can think about is Pizza Girl. And also, how I don’t look like Austin Stowell. I’d say maybe I could pass for his slightly shorter, less handsome, but still likeable brother, but his brother in the film is just as good-looking. Typical. I let out another groan and then double-check to make sure Gary isn’t home. I wouldn’t mind if it were Clara, she’d open a bottle of wine and give me a pep talk. Although, come to think of it, I hate it when cute girls tell you you’re a catch, but refuse to acknowledge that they never wanted to date you.

I unlock my phone and open the dating app. I haven’t used it in a while. I used to have four of them. It didn’t make much of a difference. Opening the app, I feel defeated before I even start scrolling. The last time I used this, I must have swiped on a thousand girls and only had a handful of matches. I managed less than a handful of dates, and I need more than that. I’m not bad at dating, I’m just not very good at it. I forget to smile, forget to compliment her, and I almost never remember to flirt. I ask questions, I listen, but I struggle to relax and be myself. A kiss on a first date makes my back sweat, right down my crack, which makes my butt cheeks clench, and then my whole body goes stiff.

I remind myself of why I came to London, not just to advance my career and create more opportunities in life, but also to improve my love life. My career is straightforward. I have given myself twelve months to earn a promotion from Senior Executive to Insight Manager, and that is totally doable, if I learn to speak up for myself and take on more responsibilities. If only finding a partner were as easy. It’s so unpredictable, but like in my job, I can work harder, and I can start by building the best dating profile possible. Even if it only boosts my chances of finding a date a little, I’ll take it.

There’s a confidence when you’re young that you will eventually meet someone and fall in love. Like it is an inevitability. Maybe it’s arrogance, maybe it’s ignorance, whatever it is, it’s gone when you hit your thirties. Turning thirty was the biggest hit to my pride I’ve ever taken. That’s when realism sank in that I might not find love. Everyone always says, “There are plenty more fish in the sea,” which, of course, is nonsense, but I decided it was time to stop fishing in the small pond and take my chances in the ocean.

So I start setting up my profile by selecting my best pictures, but I have very few to choose from. Guys don’t take photos of other guys. I have to ask my friends to take a picture, so it’s never candid. And somehow, it’s always a bad photo. Even when we have good lighting, and I’m dressed to the nines. My friends take the worst photos, and since moving to London, my only recent pics are selfies, which feels desperate. I’ve decided to go out somewhere tomorrow, set my phone on a timer, and take some marginally better-than-a-selfie photos. For now, I focus on the bio. I want to be interesting, but witty and confident, but also myself. I write what must be a dozen versions, poor Lucy Hale has been paused mid-pout for forty minutes. She really doesn’t have a bad side, does she? I finish my bio; I can always change it later and add two half-decent photos, including one of me smiling naturally and not forced. I can’t think of the last time I smiled like that, oh no, I can. It was with Mikaela; she gave me a compliment, and then, when I smiled, she said, “You have an angelic smile,” and unlocked a new level. I will probably never smile like that again.

Dating Bio:

New to London and looking for summer café recommendations. Fully onboard with the bubble tea craze and always go crazy for cupcakes. Bonus points if you get the Brooklyn Nine-Nine reference. Shy, but honest. Unlikely to meet you in a bar unless it’s planned, and I’ve had time to rehearse what I’m going to say, and then I’ll say it wrong anyway. I’m unsure how to sign it off, so I leave it at that. I’ll probably change it tomorrow.

I max out my swipes, one hundred. That’s all I’m allowed unless I’m willing to pay more. I am also offered a ‘boost’ which will apparently increase my chances of a match by ‘up to 10x’, whatever that means. It hasn’t even been a day, and they are already telling me there is no chance I’m getting any matches. I assume it means I start at minus x10 unless I cough up some money, which feels accurate. I turn off my phone, finish the movie, and eat a whole bar of Galaxy chocolate whilst trying to pretend that the shy and self-conscious, but extremely handsome, lead male character is relatable. Then I wonder what Pizza Girl is watching and if I’ll ever bump into her again. I will probably have to take the exact same route home next Friday, just in case. I have a feeling I’m going to be eating a lot of pizza.

...

****************************************

**Please let me know in the comments if you enjoyed this chapter. I've no idea if anybody is reading this series.**

_____________________________

© Simon George 2025. All Rights Reserved.

_____________________________

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Continue reading... Chapter 5: