I am propped up against Gia's bay window, staring out onto our street. I watch four young boys playing with a soccer ball on the football. Gia rushes in,

"Hair up?" she asks, swooping it up with a movement of her hand, "Or hair down?" as she lets go of it her hair tumbles down in glossy waves over her shoulders. The tresses rest against her collarbone and I am tempted to wonder what she'd do if I walked up to her and ran my tongue along it. I shift position.

"Hair up," I reply, grimacing. She scuttles out of the room. What kind of a name is Asher, anyway? He sounds like he should be prancing around in a skirt in the highlands of Scotland. Asher, pffft. I avoid pointing this out to Gia though, because in the state she's in I don't think she'd much appreciate me denigrating her prospective husband. She's just going out a date with him. First date to be exact. Hmmm. She stumbles through her door.

"Trousers or skirt?"

"Aren't you the one who is one of Vogue's fashion assistants?"

"If I were going into a room full of women then I would know what to wear. I'm asking you because I need a male's opinion," She pauses, "Which does make me wonder why I'm asking you," she smirks,

"Do you want an answer or not?" I retort, wounded by her snide remark regarding my manliness. She shuts up and pretends to zip her lip. That isn't going to last a second, "What were the options again?"

"Trousers or skirt?"

"What do you think he wants to see?"

"I don't know!" she answers, exasperated, "Trousers state 'I'm cool, I know what I'm doing, I'm not trying to impress you with my legs,' whereas skirts suggest that I'm trying to impress him with my legs,"

"Well, are you after any action?"

"It would help. But I don't want to seem desperate." She stops and panders this thought for a second, "Trousers," she decides.

"Good choice," I agree.

Asher, what kind of a name is that?

I hate it when your train of thought becomes circular.

"I can't believe you're going out with a florist," I mutter. Asher the florist, "What's his last name?"

"Long earrings?" she asks, holding them up next to her ear,

"Yeah. What's his last name?"

"And one more question, stilettos or flats?"

"Why are you avoiding my question?"

"I'm not avoiding your question," she retorts and scoots back into her bedroom...still not answering my question. Oh...this promises to be good. I've started smirking already. I raise my ass off my seat and saunter to her bedroom; she's stationed in front of her mirror putting mascara on,

"So Gia," I lean against the door, "What's his last name?"

"Come here," she crooks her finger, "Let me put some on you," I walk up to her; she whips out the wand and starts running it along my lashes. As she's doing so I stare down at her, a smile creeping along my mouth. I'm dying to find out what his last name is. Should I feel uncomfortable that she's applying mascara on me? Maybe it's scary that I don't, although this has been occurring since I was fourteen. Besides, I look hot when I have it on. And in this scenario it's allowing me to get close to Gia. I place my forefinger underneath her chin and tilt her head up so that our eyes meet,

"What's his name?"

"Asher,"

"Last name,"

"Evergreen," she mutters. Oh this is too great.

"Asher Evergreen? Asher Evergreen the florist?" I ask incredulously,

"Yes," she answers. The doorbell rings, "Shit! Can you answer for me?" She flutters her eyelashes at me, "Please?!"

"Fine," I grumble,

"I'll be two minutes, thank you, thank you!" she calls out after me,.

Let me summarise the situation: I am answering the door to let Gia's date in whilst wearing mascara and wanting to fuck her.

Life is grand.

I swing open the door.

"Have I got the right address?" A guy, who I assume is Asher Evergreen the florist, asks.

"You're here for Gia, right?" I ask. I surreptitiously check Asher the florist out. He's holding a bunch of pink Gerberas. Ha! Gia hates pink and she hates Gerberas! Short shaved, brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, decent body. Someone, who if I were of a different sexual orientation (in other words if I were gay), would find hot. He has to be gay, he just has to be! He's a florist for crying out loud.

"Yeah," he replies, sticking his hand out, "Asher,"

"Taylor," I shake and step aside. He walks into the apartment. I lead him into the living room, "So you're a florist eh?" I ask. I can't get over this,

"Yeah," there's a pause, "And you're a musician?"

"Uh huh," I reply. There's an awkward silence. I'm sizing him up. He physically is pretty much my opposite. It's funny, as Gia's best friend and clandestine wanna-be lover, jealousy has made me start comparing myself to him. There's already an invisible competitive barrier between us,

"That MMMbop song you started with was cute," he states, nodding slightly. That was a low blow. I am ready to tear his Jugular out. At this very moment Gia appears,

"Asher!"

"Gia! Hey," he stands and walks over to her kissing her cheek, "These are for you," He hands her the flowers,

"They're beautiful, thank you. I love Gerberas," she gushes. I steal a glance at her. Since when? She goes into the kitchen where I can here her rustling about, finding a vase I assume, "Did you find it okay?"

"Yeah," Asher replies, "It wasn't too bad, you give good directions,"

"Thank you," she smiles coming out of the kitchen, "I thought I was going to send you in the opposite direction," Asher smiles,

"Shall we leave?"

"Sure," she grabs her jacket and they head towards the door, "So are we going to Reginaldos?" She asks and he replies. Neither of them acknowledges my existence as they leave. I move towards the window, discreetly watching them and I hear Asher's voice softly ask "Is he gay?" Gia pauses for a moment

"No, he most definitely likes girls,"

"Oh," comes the reply. That does it. I go to Gia's bedroom to get the make up remover. I think of Asher Evergreen the florist and decide that it's either piercing his jugular with a javelin or hacking his limbs of with a chainsaw.

Asher Evergreen the florist. Pffft.