Orla
The restaurant was already buzzing when I pushed through the cloud of people smoking outside.
The sound of Italian music hummed through old speakers as waiters weaved between tables with plates of carbonara and chianti.
Soho always seemed to smell faintly of garlic and wet pavement, and tonight was no different.
I spotted them both as Gwen gestured wildly with her hands as she spoke, nearly taking out the passing waiter and Kate leant back in her chair, laughing so hard she had to cover her mouth, her enormous engagement ring catching the light.
It was nice to be out and away from the smell of medicated oils and racket-slinging egos.
“Please tell me one of you already ordered a bottle?” I asked, sliding into the velvet seat, not even bothering to open the wine list.
“Are we celebrating something or drowning our sorrows?” Kate laughed, already reaching for her menu.
“Numbing the day,” I muttered rolling my eyes.
Gwen raised her empty glass. “Cheers to that.”
We all tried to meet up for dinner whenever Kate was around, so we’d booked a last-minute dinner at a cosy Italian tucked between a trendy bar and a nail salon.
Dim lights, candles on the tables and a sprawling marble floor that looked like a death trap after one too many glasses of bubbles.My stomach growled as the smell of herbs and toasted focaccia hit me; I hadn’t eaten since inhaling a protein bar at eleven-thirty.
It was Kate’s first night out with us since baby Noah’s dramatic Rome debut, and she looked annoyingly flawless for someone who’d literally just pushed out a whole human being.
These two had become solid fixtures in my life over the last few years.
Gwen through work, Kate through extension and honestly, they were a lifeline.
They were both hilarious, non-judgemental and the kind of women who knew when to take the piss out of you and when to hold your hand.
“Rough day?” Gwen asked, catching Kate’s eye with a smirk.
“Something like that,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Would that have anything to do with a certain Californian, Hemsworth-lookalike tennis stud?” Gwen said.
Kate’s head snapped toward me so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d given herself whiplash. “Wait…what? Why don’t I know about this?”
“Oh my God,” I muttered. “Gwen, shut up. It’s nothing. She’s just being annoying.”
Gwen grinned. “Orla’s been landed with Tyler Reed on her caseload. He keeps asking her out.”
Kate nearly spat out her water. “No way. He’s gorgeous, Orl. A bit of a hothead, though. Jordan reckons if the draw holds, it’ll be him and Reed in the semis.”
I sighed leaning back into my chair. “Yes, he’s hot. But also a walking HR violation. He’s got a string of girls on every continent. No thanks. I’ve already been warned.”
Gwen giggled. “All I’m saying is, if you’re ever in the mood for some no-strings fun…I think he could be your guy.”
“For fuck’s sake, Gwen. I don’t sleep with flirty racket boys.”
“That’s what I said,” Kate chimed in, raising her eyebrows in a perfect imitation of her old self, and they both burst out laughing.
“Yeah, but you found a good one,” I countered, grinning despite myself. “This one’s probably shagged his way through the entire ATP ranking.”
“Half the qualifiers and a lineswoman in Luxembourg,” Gwen said, perfectly straight-faced.
Kate snorted. “Christ.”
Then Gwen’s tone softened. “Jokes aside, I did hear he had kind of a shitty upbringing.”
I paused, reluctantly intrigued. “Really?”
Kate nodded, her psychologist brain whirring.
“Yeah. Jordan mentioned something about it. He gets so riled up when he plays. I don’t know the full story, but I think one of his parents was an alcoholic?
Said it made sense he’s got a bit of a temper.
Could be some childhood stuff,” she continued in her psychologist tone.
“Oh Jesus, have a day off, Dr Kate,” Gwen said, elbowing her.
Kate rolled her eyes. “I just mean…the persona, the flirting, the fines—it’s all probably covering something deeper.
” She was in the zone now. “Look, every behaviour has a reason. I saw it constantly in my old job. The loudest, most chaotic ones were always the ones screaming for connection.” She smiled softly.
“It would take the right person to dig under all that bravado and figure out what’s actually going on. ”
I met her gaze, thoughtful now.
I mean, it made sense. Way more sense than I wanted it to.
Maybe the cocky American act was just a mask.
But I didn’t have the bandwidth for complicated.
Not again. Not after Josh. I’d done my time trying to fix someone who didn’t want saving, so Tyler Reed could flirt until he was blue in the face, but I wasn’t signing up to be anyone’s redemption arc.
“There you go,” Gwen said brightly. “Give him a blowjob and ask him about his childhood.”
They howled with laughter.
“Fuck off, both of you,” I muttered, hiding my grin. “And pass the prosecco.”
I poured the bubbles into a glass each whilst Gwen was still laughing, Kate wiping tears from her eyes, her face flushed and happy in that post baby glow way that pulled at something awkwardly in my chest. These were my girls but I felt that old pinch of envy.
Not for the rings or the men who’d chosen them, but the ease.
The security. The feeling of being chosen and staying chosen.
I smiled, sipped, and let the sound of their laughter drown out the noise in my head.
For the first time in a long time, it felt good to belong to some company again.