Storming the story through my head doesn’t seem to get me anywhere. What has become fairly obvious is that I have a serious crush on Zent. The kind of crush that leaves you clueless, truly disoriented. That’s quite an accurate description of the state I am in right now. I am standing here at a loss with what to do next, overwhelmed by feelings I never suspected I had. The traitors were hiding in a pop-up box, waiting for their time to spring out. Aaaaargh, how I wish I could silence my heart, even just for a few hours.

 Apparently, I was not the only one who made this mental note about the receptionist being attractive. Ironically enough, Zent sent me on a mission to get this guy’s phone number for him. Oh, I believe I forgot to mention that the reason why I am so ridiculously hopeless about the whole deal is that my crush is gay. Desperately so. I could very well chicken out and tell him some lie (I can think of at least four convincing ones), weren’t it for this stupid sense of loyalty I have. I am perfectly aware that it’s a fool’s errand. I just can’t bring myself to walk away from the reception desk.

 Now that I’m here, I might as well have a bit of fun. I am not in the least drunk but I can easily put on the cute drunken girl act. That normally works pretty well to subdue men, especially in the middle of the night in a deserted hotel lobby. Not that I’ve ever tried, mind you. The thought makes me shine bright inside. That’s a good start, I suppose. On to the game.

 By the time I have gathered my forces for the battle, all but one have disappeared. Needless to say that he’s not the cutie. So much for my drop-dead pick-up line. Ok, stay bubbly, spontaneous, light and seducing. I thus approach the survivor, who has a fascinating row of uneven teeth. Focus, focus. I start chatting to him in the most conventional fashion, generously giving away smiles and winks. To be honest with you, I am itching to go check on those people upstairs but I’ve reached the point of no return. As irony would have it, the three other guys show up to find us awkwardly stretching the conversation. At this point, I can’t hold it anymore. As soon as I catch the eye of the cutie, I am on it, alert and ready to attack.

-          Hey! Can you speak English?

-          Of course! (He has such a delicate smile. I should not let this silence become daunting: he’s naturally wondering what I’m after. Not any English lessons, I’m afraid)

-          Great. Have you seen my friend, the tall blond guy who just walked out of the door a few moments ago?

-          Er, I am not sure. You mean the foreigner?

-          Yes, the handsome foreigner. He’s hot isn’t he?

-          Well…

-          I’m telling you, he’s damn hot. Now, that’s no business of mine, if you will forgive me the expression. See, if he was straight, I would already be all over him but, you know, life’s unfair sometimes. (I sigh, sincerely) Anyway, you’re evidently more to his taste than me so if you want to try your luck, he’d be glad to have your phone number.

-          What…what is this all about?

This doesn’t look good at all. Am I being too blunt? I am so used to all attractive men in this country being either gay or married that I might have forgotten all about decency. Back to the front.

-          Look. Let me put it to you this way. My friend – the handsome guy who was with me – thinks you’re really cute but he’s too shy so he sent me to ask for your phone number.

He gives me one of those incredulous looks, assorted with a grin. Wait a minute…

-          This is for real, I didn’t even make it up! God knows that I would never go around asking a guy’s phone number at 4 am in a hotel unless someone has entrusted me with …

Please, someone rescue me. I sound so awfully drunk and pathetic.

-          Ah. Eh. I…I haven’t got a phone and er…

My Goodness. The guy is blatantly straight. He’s trying to avoid my eyes now. Let’s put an end to his ordeal and mine.

-          Oh, so you’re not gay! It’s ok, these things happen. Well, never mind. I’ll tell my friend that you’re not interested. I’m sure he’ll understand.

I turn to the rest of the group who were overhearing the scene, trying to look busy in a corner. They were spying on us, little scoundrels. By now, they must be convinced that I am either insane or plain pissed so that I can let my hair down a bit. In a tone of confidence, I drop: “Guys, you don’t know what you’re missing. Well, neither do I, but I am dying to”. I was going to add a few spicy comments when the lift saved my long lost face.

 I’m on my way up again, pondering the latest events. My partying mood is declining like a crashing plane.

Next: Superfriends can cook eggs and bacon. I can’t.