I can’t help but laugh as Mary reaches across to adjust the collar of my shirt, her fingers brushing against my neck. For a second I think that she is going to kiss me, and then she says “Your girlfriend should really help you get dressed in the morning,”
“I’ll remind her next time,” I scribble the end of the message on the photo before me, and pass it back to the teenage fan. By the time that I turn back to Mary, having summoned up the courage to ask her what she really thinks about me, she is already across the room. Her hands rest lightly on the biceps of a man who looks like he could compete in a World’s Strongest Man contest.