Chapter 7 #2
Tanner pauses thoughtfully, as if he likes the idea. After a second, he shakes his head with a scoff. “Bollocks, Gareth. I think you like her. I think you maybe even looove her.” Belle smacks Tanner upside his ridiculous man-bunned head, and he scowls with indignation.
Vi looks at me with wide, hopeful eyes. “Is there any truth to what he’s saying, Gareth? Do you fancy your personal shopper?”
“She’s a fashion stylist, and she does a lot bloody more than just fucking shop.” I huff out a laugh, completely uncomfortable with their line of questioning and how my entire family seems to be pressing in closer to me for answers.
My head snaps when I feel Camden’s hot breath on my neck. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you with a woman, bro.”
I shove him away. “So what? I’m too busy to manage a woman anyway. I have Kid Kickers, team captain responsibilities, all of your bloody dramas that are a bloody full-time job. It’s enough. Just because you lot are all off getting married and starting families doesn’t mean I have to.”
“Of course it doesn’t!” Vi responds, resting her hands on her hips in that motherly way she has about her. “But none of that means you can’t fancy her. So, do you?”
Shrugging and really hating the fact that it’s impossible to keep a secret in this family, I reply woodenly, “I might have…thought something could…happen between us, but it won’t. End of.” I need to get them off my arse before they fucking show up in Manchester and try to help.
“Not end of,” Camden interjects, still standing way too fucking close to me. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”
I look up at the ceiling, trying to recall what we said when we parted last week. “It had been months before I ran into her by accident last week.”
“Months?” Tanner bellows. “She still shops for you, right?”
“Yes, but she sends her assistant now.”
“She’s fucking avoiding you!” He hoots with laughter, like her rejection brings him great joy.
“But he’s gorgeous,” Indie utters, her voice meek amongst the boisterous sounds of the Harris family.
Tanner and Booker burst out laughing as Camden’s jaw drops with horror.
He swerves accusing eyes at Indie, who’s standing behind us, nervously adjusting her cheetah-print glasses.
Her eyes go wide as she snaps to attention like she didn’t realise she said that out loud.
Even Vi and Belle are failing to hide their snickers.
Indie begins jabbering out an excuse. “In that rougher, masculine sort of way. I much prefer the pretty boy features of my husband, of course.” She reaches up to stroke her palm over Camden’s coiffed blonde hair, and he swats her wrist away in mock disgust.
“Pretty boy?” His face is deathly serious. “I’ll show you fucking pretty.” He bends over, throws Indie over his shoulder, and marches toward the back door that leads to the garden. “Specs and I will be back in fifteen to twenty minutes!”
“Way to go, broseph!” Tanner cheers. “You’re my fucking hero!”
“Language!” Vi shouts, rubbing her temples in small circles.
Tanner’s face turns red. “Rocky’s upstairs with Dad!”
“Well, you should be making it a habit!” she snaps back.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Our family is beyond dysfunctional. What’s worse than dysfunctional?”
“Mmm,” Belle says, raising a finger and finishing a bite of cake at the opposite end of the counter. “I think the word you’re looking for is psychotic.” She licks her lips, her face completely pleasant.
“That’s the one,” I reply with a finger wag. “You guys are all psychotic.”
“Well, we’re related, so you’re part of this bloody nuthouse.” Tanner tosses a peanut into his mouth and strokes his beard with a proud smirk on his face.
“But seriously,” Vi states, bringing us back to the task at hand. “That is so weird she hasn’t been speaking to you. Why would she do that?”
“She’s ghosting him.” Poppy sing-songs her statement from her seat next to Booker at the counter. All heads turn toward her. She looks surprised to have all of our attention.
“What the fuck is ghosting?” I ask, only mildly curious.
“Erm,” she starts, nervously toying with her short blonde hair. “It’s when someone stops all communication with a person in hopes that person will get the hint and give up.”
“We’re Harrises!” Tanners barks, straightening his posture. “We don’t get ghosted because we don’t give up. Right, Gareth?”
I roll my eyes. “I guess after a while I pretty much did give up.”
“So you ghosted her,” Poppy adds knowingly.
Shoving my cake plate away, I reply, “I tried to talk to her at first, but she wanted nothing to do with me. I just…Fuck me, I don’t know. I just didn’t do anything more.”
“But you guys had a connection?” she asks.
I nod reluctantly. God, this is bizarre. It’s usually me giving advice to everyone else. I hate being the focus, but I’m mortifyingly curious about Poppy’s thoughts.
“It sounds more like jitter ghosting to me then.”
I inwardly deflate. I’m almost scared to ask. “What the hell is jitter ghosting?”
Poppy leans forward, her green eyes alight with excitement.
“It’s when you feel strongly for the other person, but you’re paralysed with the fear of rejection, so you say nothing at all.
It usually applies to people who are too much of a coward to say what they’re really thinking.
” Her eyes glance around the room nervously as we all stare, hanging on her every word.
“At least that’s what I hear the kids say at school. ”
“Bloody hell, my baby mama is brilliant!” Booker states, planting a sloppy kiss on Poppy’s cheek. Then he leans in and whispers, “Sunshine, did I jitter ghost you?”
“A bit,” she replies with a tiny shrug, then places her hands on her stomach. “But it’s all right now, Lamb Chop. We’re all the better for it.”
Their disgusting pet names for each other are enough to divert all of our attention away. In the background, I hear Tanner concocting a game plan for me to see Sloan. I think I even hear him mention a Harris Shakedown, but my mind is elsewhere.
When I saw Sloan last week, she was worried about a commitment, which wasn’t close to where my mind was going.
I don’t have time for a girlfriend. I’m far too busy with the team and my family drama that’s an everyday occurrence.
I also have no interest in sharing my deepest, darkest secrets with someone.
In fact, the latter usually has women storming away from me in a huff.
But my reaction after we fucked was extremely traditional. Flowers, texts, phone calls. That’s a lot to blast at a newly divorced woman. She’d just gotten out of a bad marriage. The last thing she needed was traditional bullshit. What was I thinking?
Perhaps if I approach her with something decidedly untraditional, she’ll be more keen to agree. And the thought of untraditional and Sloan sounds better than Vi’s delicious cake.