CAN'T SET RULES ABOUT LOVE (inspired by the song of the same name by Adam Ant)

Birds chirped wildly outside the window as the radio drifted into a tune I should’ve known. Instead, I had a new chapter — What Alcohol Does to Your Memory.

A gentle breeze tapped raindrops against the glass. I sank deeper under the duvet, hoping its warmth would cradle me — and, hopefully, nurse this slight hangover that definitely wasn’t Babycham-induced.

I needed a bullet list on what I had actually consumed so I could avoid it all next time.

Somewhere behind the throbbing in my head, I scrambled for the emergency protocol I’d scribbled into Chapter 18. The horror of needing to update it — again — made me shudder. Fourth amendment this month. Brilliant.

Fragments of the previous night teased me like the first trailer for a movie entitled The Perils of Abandoning Babycham.

I couldn’t wait for the sequel: What The Hell Did I Actually Do Last Night?

Wendi’s voice was the first memory to break through.

“Get dressed, Twiki!”

That damn nickname. I only tolerated it because it had convinced my mother I’d grown past those early years in nursery school staying in the dressing up corner instead of socializing with my peers.

I had long suspected my mother had somehow hired Wendi to become my friend. I almost dedicated an entire chapter to Overbearing Mothers and the Friends They Assign You, but I scrapped it after Wendi made me laugh. I wrote a chapter on how to maintain a good friendship instead.

“We’re going to Geminis!” Wendi practically levitated with excitement. I imagined a chapter on her being a magician’s assistant, followed by How to Use Humour as a Distraction.

“You know what they say about the guys in Geminis?” Wendi’s nails dug into my arm enthusiastically. “All romantics.”

“New Romantics,” I corrected. “There’s a difference. I have no intention of setting foot in that place. For the record, that’s only my second refusal.”

Wendi grinned like a feline high on catnip. “Are you referring to the How to Be a Human rulebook you started writing back in nursery? Isn’t there a whole chapter about the right thing to do if invited to a party? Clause 4C states that I get veto rights if the words New Romantics are mentioned.” She paused for effect. “Because… you know… 80s music?”

Damn it. Apart from Time Out chocolate bars and the odd Babycham, 80s music was my one true love. I had volumes written on the subject, arranged in chronological order, but nothing to get me out of attending this party.

I needed an emergency protocol in place — or at least a chapter on how to handle last-minute invitations.

I had no choice but to agree. To make matters worse, I had to wear my go-to emergency party outfit. Damn you, Subsection E, Paragraph 7.

The club was a blur of sweaty bodies and coloured lights. I reminded myself my anxiety had been covered on pages 5, 12, 23, 33, and 50, but this was something new.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for a distraction. It didn’t take me long.

There he was — the DJ with his half-open Magnum P.I. Hawaiian shirt, a furry chest, and the mandatory mask perched rebelliously on his permed hair.

All that was missing was the gold medallion and teeth sponsored by Colgate.

“Let the fun begin!” Wendi whooped before vanishing into the crowd.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the paragraph on how to mingle at nightclubs and what drinks to order at the bar. I knew I'd end up with a Babycham.

My brain screamed for the nearest fire exit, citing a headache, but my feet had other ideas. The bass hit, and just like that, I was on the dance floor.

How could I have forgotten this sensation? I was free — no rules, no clauses, just music.

Could anyone else feel it? That pure electricity when the drums hit and the guitar soared?

I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

A flash of a pastel purple suit sparked the memory — the dance-off.

And him.

Masked, but dapper. Black shirt, red tie.

He moved like a gazelle — smooth, fluid, fast, dangerous. But I knew I could match him, step for step.

Was there a paragraph somewhere on how to handle impossibly good-looking men who danced like rebels yet still owned the floor?

Did I want any?

Words. I obviously meant words.

Goddamnit.

His eyes locked onto mine, steady and unrelenting. Instantly, I felt the pull of an unspoken challenge that I had accepted.

Rhythm had always been in my bones, encoded into my DNA. I wasn’t about to let some pretty boy in a suit outshine me.

This wasn’t just about the choreography. His moves were pure sex.

I could still see the straw sticking out of the blue bottle he handed me. I tried to look like I’d spent my teenage years loitering with the other detention seekers in Smokers’ Corner instead of the library studying away from the rest of the students.

I had a whole chapter on conversation starters, so why was I staring into his green-blue eyes like I’d never spoken to a man before?

Should I have added an amendment on how to handle the dangerously hot ones?

His words came back, smooth as silk.

“I like you.”

Pause.

“I like you a lot.”

The taxi ride afterwards felt like a surreal Chris Rea music video. Streetlights stretched into long orange streaks as my inner bookworm — who always insisted on a 9:30 bedtime and a borrowed library book — had died quietly in the back seat, but not before screaming out the amendments on health, safety, and well-being.

The house was dimly lit, all grey marble walls and white light. I clung to the doorframe nervously, scrambling to mentally write a chapter for this situation.

“Are we continuing this dance-off, then?” I teased, stumbling slightly. Not the words I expected to say, but they were duly noted.

His fingers brushed against my waist before I could process the heat of his touch.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured.

“Okay.” I gulped back another swig of beer. “Faces can be masked, but the eyes? They tell the truth.”

Why was I suddenly terrified?

“It’s like that time I queued for a record signing. I had everything I wanted to say planned on page 25— then I forgot all the rules and mumbled some gibberish before fleeing.” I winced. “Oh God, you’re not a… you know.” I whistled the opening bars of You Can Leave Your Hat On.

He blinked. “You think I’m a—? Why?”

“Well… you’re ridiculously good-looking. Wendi promised revenge after the whole hen party incident. In my defence, I followed the correct etiquette required for a hen party, but nothing was said about her future mother-in-law attending. It was quite the sight and rather humorous.” I narrowed my eyes. “You were talking to Wendi before you joined me on the dance floor. You definitely fit the criteria…” I tugged playfully on his red tie. “Am I right? Is she filming us right now?”

“The criteria?” He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on! Guys like you don’t notice girls like me. Or if they do, I’m usually too scared I’ve misread the signals.” I gulped. “It all becomes a blur.”

He took the bottle from my hand. “I definitely noticed you — no Peter Pan, no Tinkerbell, no Wendi.”

The silence after that was heavy with electricity. My heart thudded as he whispered,

“Look into my eyes, Madam.”

I didn’t even realize we’d left our masks behind on the living room floor until I bolted into the bathroom.

My trembling hands gripped the sink. No amount of protocols could prepare me for this.

All those years spent studying red flags and dodging bullets meant nothing when I stared at his reflection behind me.

What chapter covered this again?

Did I even have a paragraph prepared?

A line?

A word?

A syllable?

He nuzzled my neck, and I forgot how to breathe.

“Oh Christ! I didn’t — I mean — I—”

His kiss cut off the panic and set my pages alight.

Words melted into ash.

The radio burst to life, snapping me back to the present.

I was awake, tangled in his arms.

For a moment, I doubted it was real as neither of us dared to speak.

Stalemate.

Neither of us wanted to be the one to burst this perfect bubble.

As his green-blue eyes met mine, fear gripped my heart.

Was I about to hear the dreaded Good Morning and Goodbye?

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen and I longed to remain with him in this new normality.

Could this moment last forever?

Damn.

I wish he would kiss me deadly.

For the first time in my life, I had nothing.

Was this writer’s block?

No.

This was something new.

Not one word would ever be written again.

Because everyone knows — you can’t set rules about love.