Chapter 2
Chapter two
Roman
There is every possibility that what I’m about to do is a terrible idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ignored my gut, telling me to think very fucking carefully before my next move.
Tilting my head, I look at the makeshift jump my production crew has placed in the centre of the ice. From this angle, it doesn’t look too scary. All I have to do is pick up speed, jump onto the ramp and yeet myself over the end and land gracefully on my feet.
Simple.
We won’t mention the fact that I haven’t ice skated a day in my life prior to this, or that I am notoriously clumsy on my feet. This has to be done – all in the name of enthralling content creation.
Forty-million followers, here I come.
Straightening my shoulders, I look at my best friend, cameraman and producer, Liam. He gives me a thumbs up and I blow out a nerve-laced lungful of air before edging forward.
My legs shake, as the blades cut through the ice, and I pick up speed, my heart thumping so hard, the sound of it in my ears becomes the soundtrack to my stunt.
Putting on a show for my fans, I smile at the camera as I enter the ramp and then launch myself off the end, trying to get my legs under me to make the perfect landing.
“Fuuuck,” I yell when my skates hit the ice at speed and my leg buckles beneath me, bringing me butt first onto the cold, wet ice.
I try not to curse on video. My channel – Do you dare, Supernova? – isn’t aimed at kids, but everyone in my industry knows that young children are accessing these sorts of videos online. It’s why I add a disclaimer before every clip.
Don’t try this at home. The stars of these videos have undergone extensive health and safety training.
That last part is bullshit that Liam insisted we add. I don’t think we’d know health and safety if it knocked us in our pretty faces.
Dampness soaks through the fabric of my blue leggings and I grumble when Liam skates over to me, looking like a fucking professional figure skater with all his confidence.
“And that’s not how it’s done,” he says sarcastically. “Interesting landing there, Ro.” Liam offers me a hand and I take it, fumbling to my feet and leaning against him as he turns the camera towards the two of us.
“Thank you SlowJam77 for your dare. I can safely say that I never want to take part in an ice skating obstacle course again.” I make an exaggerated pout while Liam ruffles my already unruly hair and asks the viewers to like and subscribe before shutting off the camera.
“You failed that epically,” Liam says, his hand on my arm as he guides me past the huge Christmas tree adorned with baubles, to the edge of the rink where the staff are watching on with amusement.
When we’re leaning against the safety of the wall, he twists me to face him, a hand on each of my shoulders.
“Kudos for not chickening out and despite the fail, I have big news.”
I raise an eyebrow, and he does a drum roll with his hand against the barrier.
“You hit 40 million followers!”
No.
Fucking.
Way.
I throw my arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek, hugging him tightly to me.
“You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
I squeal in the most dignified way a twenty-three-year-old social media star can and kiss my friend’s cheek again.
“Well, the ache in my ass – not the kind I like, mind you – was so worth it!”
When I was nineteen, I started making challenge videos which I posted online to my channel. They were silly little three-minute clips, like seeing how long I could stay underwater or how many chicken nuggets I could eat in twenty-four hours.
The videos weren’t popular at first, but then, when I was twenty-one, a video I made of me being dared to compliment random strangers on a busy London street went viral and my follower count skyrocketed overnight. Now, I receive over five hundred dares a week.
It’s a fucking epic way to earn a living.
“Let’s get out of here and celebrate,” Liam suggests as we sit on a bench and remove our skates. My teeth chatter when I move, cold air brushing the wet fabric of my leggings.
“It’s only lunchtime,” I reply, sliding on my trainers. “And I could really do with a hot shower.”
Liam wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me into a side hug. “One drink. How often can you celebrate having forty-million followers?”
He has a point.
Standing, I pick up my coat and wrap it around myself, holding out a hand for him in the same way he did for me earlier.
“Fuck it, lead the way.”
Liam and I thank the staff at the ice rink – after paying for using it exclusively for an hour – then exit into the leafy suburban park on the outskirts of London. We trudge along for ten minutes before passing a shopping mall with a pub right next door.
“Let’s go in here,” Liam points to the pub. There must be a sports game of some kind on because it’s heaving inside. Heaving with very buff, very raucous men, drinking and cheering at the large screens.
Perfect.
I leave Liam to order drinks, then dip into the bathroom, glimpsing my reflection in the mirror.
“Bloody hell, Supernova, you look like shit.” I wink at myself. “Though still fuckable!” Chuckling at my foolishness, I use toilet paper and water to tidy the smudges of eyeliner under my eyes.
My blue hair is a mess, my fringe sticking to my forehead, and I do my best to style it into something less chaotic. My leggings are damp in that uncomfortable way that makes them stick to my skin and ride up my ass, which I try to ignore as I leave the bathroom.
When I find Liam, he hands me a shot of clear liquid and a pink cocktail.
“It’s a rugby match,” he says, tipping his head towards one of the large screens.
“Those guys over there invited us to join them.” I scan the group of people watching the game, noting the way one of the guys is eyeing up my best friend.
He’s barking up the wrong tree, given Liam’s as straight as…
. something straight and has a long-term girlfriend.
“I was gone for five minutes. How the hell did you get us an invitation to join them?”
Liam playfully bats his eyelashes, a smug grin settling on his face.
“Um…I’m me?”
“Fair.”
Liam is magnetic. There is no better word to describe the way people are drawn to him.
He’s the boy next door type – the kind you see in nineties television shows and fantasise about late at night when the house is quiet and loneliness seeps into your bones and…
fuck, my thoughts have a way of becoming mopey pretty fast.
Turning to happier things, I look down at the drinks in my hands and then back at my bestie.
“So, are we joining them?”
Liam lifts his shot.
“Fuck it?”
I lift mine in response and throw it back, wincing at the burn.
“Fuck it.” I repeat the mantra we’ve been using since earlier in the year when deciding this would be the year we did whatever the fuck we wanted. Liam and Roman’s ‘fuck it’ era. Full of great ideas and terrible choices.
Liam orders two more shots and we slot ourselves into the group, trying to follow the game while making small talk.
By the time the game is in the second half, I’m two cocktails and an undetermined amount of shots in and the pub is either located directly on a river or I’m swaying a little. I grab a seat at the table and stretch out my legs.
A guy around my age, wearing a rugby shirt to match that of one of the playing teams, slides into the seat next to me and tries to explain what’s happening on the screen.
When it’s clear I’m not getting it he gives up and changes the topic of conversation.
“I know you,” he states, his elbow resting on the table as he leans in closer.
“I’m certain we’ve never met before,” I reply, swivelling in my seat so I’m facing him, my leg brushing his with the movement.
He shakes his head. “No, not like that. I mean, I’ve seen you before. I just can’t place where.”
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing and I see the moment he figures it out, because he sits back, thumping his hands on the table.
“I’ve got it! You’re that guy. The one who makes all those videos where people dare you to do shit.”
My smile widens, and I open my hands palm up. “You got me!”
His entire face lights up, and he laughs. It’s kind of endearing. I wouldn’t say he’s hot, but there’s something charming about him. “Holy shit. How cool is this? Can I give you a dare right now?”
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been asked this when out in public and though I’m not filming, I am having fun and pleasing my fans is important to me.
“Try me,” I say, grinning at him.
Guy, whose name I still don’t know, bites his bottom lip then pushes his full pint of beer towards me.
“Down this in one go.”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes (does he think I’m an amateur?), I wrap my hand around the glass.
“Pfft, easy.” Bringing his drink to my lips, I open my mouth and gulp down the entire glass of bitter liquid. A small dribble escapes out the side of my mouth and I use my hand to wipe it away, licking my lips and watching as his eyes follow the movement.
“Impressive.”
“Not really. Want another go?” I ask, leaning closer to him, my hand now on his leg, a buzz of sexual tension growing between us.
“Make it a good one.”
“Okay.”
There’s a loud cheer and my eyes dart to the screen where the rugby players are surrounding one of their teammates and clapping him on the back. It holds my interest for a minute at most before I turn back to my companion and lift an eyebrow in question.
“I dare you,” he drops his voice, bringing his lips to my ear, “To bring your sexy ass closer and sit on my lap.”
A flash of heat travels from my cheeks and down my neck. It’s original but also not. I’ve been dared to do far more suggestive things a time or two and maybe there is content out there, behind a hefty paywall of me doing some of them. Not that I would ever tell.
“Presumptuous much?”
He laughs, his cheeks flushing to match my own.
“Sorry. Yeah. Maybe that was too much.”
I’ve got to give it to the guy, his brand of bashful is fucking sexy and I do like the direction this day is taking.
“If you think you can handle me, I’ll take your dare,” I reply, waving a hand up and down my body. “But a word of warning. I’ve been told I’m a bit of a handful.”
His hand finds my leg under the table and he rubs his palm upwards towards my thigh.
“You’re tiny. I think I can manage having you on my lap.”
I give him a once over and shrug. Compared to him, with his thick thighs and broad shoulders, I am tiny. Tiny but dynamite. I laugh to myself at the thought.
Standing, I sidle onto his lap, wriggling my butt and enjoying the way he groans under his breath. His arm wraps around my waist and I settle back against his chest.
This is nice. It’s not perfect, but I take affection where I can get it. It’s one thing being adored by millions through a screen, it’s another having a real-life human want to hold you. Outside of my fans, who don’t actually know me, I only have Liam and my aunt. And she’s never been around much.
If someone dared me to tell them how I feel when I wake up in the mornings, ‘lonely’ would be my honest answer.
The match ends and my companion orders shots. By now his friends have cottoned on to who I am and the dares and suggestions are coming through thick and fast. I bat them all away, growing tired of the whole spiel.
It’s only when someone yells, “Take a photo with Santa,” do my ears perk up.
As far as dares go, it’s rather tame but given how close we are to Christmas, it’s a great idea.
Festive content always goes down well. It’s quick and simple to make and I’m certain we could slip in a mention of one of my brand sponsors.
My eyes catch Liam’s, and his lips tip up on the sides as he lifts the phone he uses for filming, wriggling it from side to side.
“There’s a Christmas grotto at the mall next door,” my lap buddy suggests. “Maybe you can go sit on the big guy’s lap. See if he can handle you?” His hand slides between my thighs and I rest my head against his shoulder, both wanting to go and wanting to stay and see where this leads.
In the end, my desire to get another video ready to post wins out – no one can say I don’t take my job seriously. Standing, my head and stomach do a simultaneous swoop and I grip the table and wait for the sensation to pass before squaring my shoulders and marching to the door.
A crowd of people follows me, and the closer I get to the mall, the worse I feel. My legs wobble like jelly and I’m swallowing more than usual, my gut churning with every step. It takes me three large breaths to starve off the nausea.
The mall is hot and crowded, a line of kids and their parents are waiting patiently for their turn to see Santa.
I consider calling it on this dare – the queasiness in my belly growing, but then a few of the older kids in line recognise me, and the next thing I’m giving high fives and signing scraps of paper, and suddenly I’m at the front of the line.
The elf in charge gives me a once over, amusement lacing his features as he gestures me forward. My foot catches on the platform leading to the big guy in the polyester suit, but I right myself before I can tumble to my face in front of all these people.
The man dressed as Santa rubs his belly while saying something to the children and as I approach him my stomach swoops again, and to my absolute horror, the nausea that washed over me earlier hits again, and despite trying to hold it back, I retch, emptying the contents of my stomach over the cheery man.
Right there.
In broad daylight.
In the middle of a mall filled with now crying children and angry parents.
Even the elf looks pissed off.
Santa stands, disgust evident behind his fake beard, and Liam reaches for me, stopping me from falling as I take a step back.
A rather intimidating father tells me to get the hell out and because I haven’t fucked up enough, I shift my attention to a crying girl, all dressed and ready to meet the big guy. She looks so sad and it physically hurts that I put that frown on her face.
With the best of intentions, I lift my hands in the air in a placating gesture, and try to reassure her by saying, “Don’t worry, little girl, Santa isn’t real, anyway.”
Her face falls and…fuck. Jesus Christ. I meant this Santa isn’t real. The real Santa is safely in the North Pole, not covered in my vomit.
Liam slaps me hard on the chest amidst the piercing cries of children and yells of parents and I know without a doubt that someone in this crowd will have filmed the moment Supernova ruined Christmas.
Fuck my life.