Chapter 1
PUDDLE METAMORPHOSIS
SHARI
Walking into the grounds with my three besties, I'm in awe.
I've never been to a music festival before, and with this being a small-scale version, I didn't expect.
..this. The perimeter of the space is lined with fairground rides, food trucks, porta-potties, and merchandise stalls.
There are hay bales dotted around the area furthest from the stage for people to sit on facing a couple of big screens so you can still see the performers, and the entire centre of the field is a back-to-back bar with about twenty terminals on each side.
The mixed aromas of chargrilled meat, curry, and sugar wind their way around me, making my mouth water.
The Devon sunshine beats down on my already warm skin, making me glad I put some factor thirty on earlier.
I have the remarkable ability to turn a deep brown and burn simultaneously – my white and Asian sides clearly battling for dominance.
The queues everywhere are long but moving quickly, so we make a beeline for the bar first.
“I’m so glad I decided on the shorts and top combo, I didn't think it'd be this bloody hot today, it's not even May yet,” I state, relishing the light breeze that licks past my face.
“Same!” Elle exclaims. “Although this bodysuit keeps giving me a wedgie.” Her blonde hair shines almost white in the surprisingly bright April sunshine, making her blue eyes pop even more than usual.
I look down at her outfit, amused. “Your tits look great, though.”
She bursts into laughter at that as our other two friends hum their agreement.
“As long as they stay put when we go on some of those rides later!” She gestures at the flashing lights at the edge of the field. I can hear the distant echo of screams and laughter drifting on the breeze from the same direction.
Max spins around slowly, and I just know she's eyeing up all the food trucks rather than the rides, which she confirms by groaning, “Oh man! Why did we get those stupid chicken burgers earlier? There are Asian street food trucks here, guys. Asian! Food!” It doesn't matter how long she's lived in England, Max is Malaysian through and through.
Asian food will always be her first choice.
I mean, I'm the same ninety percent of the time, but sometimes a girl just fancies pizza or pasta, ya know?
“You know I love me some Asian food, but I really enjoyed that burger.
Don't diss the burger gods!” This is from Jaime, who only started eating meat again a few years ago when she was pregnant with her son.
She claims it was her baby daddy Isaiah's fault for always eating steak around her, and that her son must have developed his father's carnivorous tendencies in-utero, making her crave meat.
We get called for our turn at the bar, and as we make our way over, I look up to behold the most incredible pair of eyes I’ve ever seen.
They’re almost turquoise – not quite blue or green, but somehow both.
And set in the face of one of the hottest guys I’ve ever come across in real life.
I just stare at him mutely, because what are words?
He obviously notices my struggle because a slow smirk hikes up one corner of his sinfully beautiful mouth. I never realised mouths could be beautiful before, normally they annoy me.
My friends must have placed their orders whilst I was stuck in my gaping lust trance because all of a sudden, the full attention of his arresting face is on me. Why is there no air? How am I supposed to breathe with him taking up all the oxygen?
“And what can I get you, love?” Pregnant sounds good right about now.
I try to subtly shake away my stupor and croak out, “A double Bacardi and Diet Coke with lots of ice, please.”
He taps the bar top once, and the second he walks away I turn to my girls and very quietly squeal, “Oh my god, he’s so fucking hot I think my uterus skipped a beat!”
But clearly I’m not that quiet, and he didn’t walk very far away because I hear him bark a laugh behind me. Which, of course, sets off my so-called friends. Oh, they are not going to let me live this one down. Kill me now.
I clear my throat and spin around with as much confidence as I can muster and state, “Not gonna lie, Matty, you’re going to trigger a lot of hot flushes with all these cougars here tonight!”
His smile widens even as his cheeks slightly pinken. Is he blushing? Gaaaah, that’s even cuter!
“Matty?” he leans his elbows on the bar and I get a whiff of coconut sunscreen on his skin. Well done using SPF, Maybe Matty.
“Yeah, you look like a Matty to me.”
“It’s Brad, actually,” he states, whilst Jaime pays for the round.
“Huh. Yeah, that fits too.”
Thankfully, my friends start dragging me away before I can spew anymore inane thoughts at the poor guy. But I swear he winks as we leave. Winks! My ovaries are currently packing their bags to try and move in with him.
“Shari, he is undoubtedly gorgeous, but also a child! He’s probably only sixteen!” Max cackles.
“Definitely sixteen,” Elle agrees, nodding solemnly. The traitor.
“No way! I’d say he’s like…early twenties? Oh god, I hope he’s in his twenties, otherwise I feel like even more of a predator.”
Jaime very unhelpfully chimes in with, “Dude, he’s an actual baby! You are a predator!”
“Guys, he’s serving alcohol, so he has to be at least eighteen! So…legal,” I defend with a waggle of my eyebrows.
They all fall into a fit of laughter. I know we’re only joking about the whole situation, but he was honestly so beautiful it hurt to look at him for too long. He’s going to make some age-appropriate girl very happy someday.
We wander around the field so we can all buy merch in the form of Jenna Hendricks t-shirts, eye up the food stalls for when we get hungry again later, and so Elle can shortlist which rides she'll force the other two on.
Finding a vacant hay bale long enough for all four of us to sit on, we perch to people watch and finish our drinks in the sun.
The first opening act is on stage and we watch them on the big screen, amusing ourselves by noting their dance routine is now very much catered for the fact they're in their fifties, as opposed to the choreography in their music videos when these songs were originally released twenty-five years ago.
The hay digs into the backs of my thighs and is uncomfortable as fuck, but it's the only place available to sit. The ground itself is completely carpeted in a thick layer of powdery earth, and our sandal-covered feet are already filthy.
“What do you think her opening song will be?” Elle muses as she sips her wine.
“It'll have to be one of her biggest hits. Maybe Daydreamer or A Bump In The Road?”
“Ooh, what about Best Laid Plans?” Max bounces in her seat.
“I think Daydreamer. It's got to be her biggest hit, right? And then she'll close with another big one. Like, Idea Of Love,” Jaime chimes in.
“Oh, I forgot about that one! Man, she's got so many big songs. Remember that time we made Shari get up on stage in Planet Hollywood back home and sing Sweet Fantasia with the live band?”
I smile at the memory, shaking my head. They used to force me into situations like that all the time when we were growing up. Living in Malaysia, there was always karaoke or a band wherever we hung out.
“I’m so excited!” Max claps.
“Speaking of excited, shall we get another round? So Shari can eye-fuck the child bartender?”
“Legal, guys! Definitely legal!”
I’m surprised when we end up at Brad's terminal at the bar again, considering there are so many of them and it's pure luck of the draw which one we'll be ushered over to.
“Welcome back, ladies. Having fun?” he says around a blinding grin.
The girls order their wines and then Brad turns to me and asks, “Double Bacardi and Diet Coke, right?”
Well, that shouldn’t warm my insides, but it does. I know it’s not exactly a complicated order to remember, but he must have served hundreds of people already today. So the fact that he remembers me in any way? I might swoon a little.
As he hands over our drinks, I notice that mine is in a much smaller cup than before. “Brad! Being a lil stingy on the old Diet Coke there, aren’t we?” I take a sip of the drink and immediately wince with the burn of the alcohol in my throat.
He smirks at me and winks. Again! He really needs to stop doing that or I might end the night as a puddle. “I take it you don’t actually enjoy the taste of rum?”
This. Guy.
“It’s not that, I want this drink to last, Brad. At this rate, I’ll have finished it before we even get near the stage!”
With a casual shrug of one muscular shoulder, he says, “Maybe I want you to come back again sooner, Blaze.”
Puddle metamorphosis, here I come.
Max picks our path to drag us as close to the stage as we can get without having Platinum Passes.
The vibe is chilled as we bop along to the final opening act, surprised that we know as many of their songs as we do.
It's a squeeze to get through the crowd of dancing bodies, but everyone is in good spirits.
“I wonder if there are any celebs in the VIP or Platinum areas,” Elle mutters as she cranes her neck to try and see into the cordoned-off section.
“There could be. There's a helipad at the back of the estate, isn't there? They could chopper in and out and never really have to deal with us mere middle-aged mortals,” Jaime replies.
Looking around, most of the crowd is indeed around our age, which makes sense. Jenna Hendricks, the headliner, has had an incredible career that started in the late eighties, and she was a huge staple in our karaoke nights growing up.
Quite a few people have brought picnic blankets and camping chairs, which sounds like a great idea until you're tripping over them all trying to get to and from the bar or toilets. But I'm also slightly envious; standing and dancing all day hurts now. Yay, aging!
The band starts their last song, which means there's just over an hour until Jenna will be on stage.
“Right, ladies. This is our cue to head back to the tent, put some glitter on our faces, use the loos, and get another drink before Jenna!” Max shouts the last part, reminding me of the little girl in Despicable Me with all her rage excitement.
Glittered up and back in the queue for a third time, I’m sad that we don't end up in Brad's terminal. I can't even see him from where we are and the alcohol clearly isn't helping my inappropriate crush because the disappointment is real.
As we start giving Not Brad our order, a tanned hand clamps down on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly.
“Swap with me, Dave.” That faint scent of coconut sunscreen drifts over as Brad steps forward.
Dave, I'm assuming, looks at Brad in confusion, before flicking his gaze back to us. His eyes quickly roam over each of us until he spots my dutch braids, and with a sly smile he turns to walk away, whispering something in Brad's ear as he goes.
“Did he just say something about your braids?” Elle murmurs quietly.
“I don't know, but I didn't imagine it, right? He definitely made a point to look at my hair?”
“Yeah, maybe he has a fetish,” Jaime says a bit too loudly.
Brad coughs a laugh before pouring our drinks.