parminder 01
It is around the third course that Parminder starts to look concerned.
You met her at a concert. The Dead South happened to be touring nearby, and how often do they come to the UK? She was dressed like she thought it was an Evanescence concert, with spiked lower lip, pleated black-on-black corset, feather earrings and startling dark eye makeup over her natural gorgeous coffee-coloured skin. Your eye trailed to her often enough, and hers to you, that it quickly became clear you both were interested.
You found her at the bar during the break. Despite her look she was having trouble getting served, as tipsy concert-goers overwhelmed the few bartenders.
“What’re you having?” you said easily, like you were both already friends. Her eyes widened with surprise and delight, astonishingly white against black eyeliner and shadow. You stepped past her in the crush and angled your slender body to keep her in view while widening a chink in the wall of bodies.
“… Guinness for me, love.”
“You on your own?” By chance or by your presence, a natural spot opened at the bar. You reached for her forearm and pulled her after you as you stepped into it. She looked at your hand where it lingered a moment before releasing her.
“Trying something new. I’m new in town. Sorry, do I know you?”
As she spoke you glimpsed a silver tongue stud. “Not yet, pet.” A bartender made eye contact. Perhaps another time you would have been fairer and passed him on to someone who had been waiting longer, but you were impatient to get to know Parminder. Besides, something told you she would bend to a firm hand. You raised your credit card and he stepped over. You ordered, then turned back to her with a broad smile. You saw her clock the hint of a sharpened canine on your burgundy lip. “But I think we’re going to be great friends.”
The show was a banger. They played a new track that the crowd went mental for. While you had enjoyed the first half well enough, gigs are always best with friends. With Parm you egged one another on, till you were both screaming with laughter at the gothette forcing the couple next door into a mockery of a line dance.
Your ears were ringing as you filed out of the venue. On the street she suddenly cursed and looked back.
“Oh fuck like, I was gonna get a T-shirt, wasn’t I?”
“Wanna go back?”
The chattering, singing, shouting crowd would have made the effort feel like swimming upriver.
“… Nah.”
“Did I distract you?” You gave her a deep smirk.
“You got me tipsy, innit. Wouldn’t let me pay for any drinks. How come?”
Fifty yards from the bar the pressure of departing bodies dissipated and you could both stop and face one another.
“Call me generous.”
“Well, Raven, I’d like to pay you back. Maybe take you out sometime?”
A step brought you closer to her. Your asymmetric dress wrapped a body tall and lithe, showing off your graceful curves and compact but magnificent backside. Plausible deniability: was the step because of the pressure of the crowd, or was it as deliberate as your close eye contact suggests?
“I’m hungry now, Parminder.”
She flustered, mouth failing to form words while she failed to look away from you. “I… um… Know anywhere open?”
“I do. But I warn you, I eat a lot. It takes a lot to satisfy me.”
Strangely, your words only seemed to increase her inability to speak. Her coffee skin gained a touch of cinnamon.
“… You’re only skinny. How much could you eat?”
It is around the third course that Parminder starts to look concerned.