Chapter 8 Jade #2
“Please don’t make me repeat myself,” I groan, dropping my head into my hands.
Aanya grabs the pinot, taking a swig directly from the bottle before passing it to me. “Tell me every sordid detail.”
Bringing the bottle’s neck to my mouth, I tip it back and take a deep pull.
The drink coats my tongue and imbues me with courage to finally say this out loud.
I start from the beginning, when I first saw the disaster flat and how it had me seeking out the pub, then on to the creep at the bar, before I finish with blue eyes searing into mine through a mirror in a single stall bathroom, leaving out the depraved details currently running through my mind like a river.
“Wow. Only in London for a couple hours, and you got laid. Well done.” She claps, and I roll my eyes.
“I wasted no time. Had to sample the local fare,” I deadpan.
Aanya snorts. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Apparently, there’s something in the English air that’s making me do all sorts of unusual things.” I return to the hob and take the boiling noodles off the eye, draining the water into the sink.
“Mmmm,” she muses. “I think it’s good for you.”
“Ah, yes, breaking workplace ethics within hours of me being here is sure to get me Employer of the Year.”
Grabbing a sauté pan out of the cabinet, I set it on the stove and throw the seasoned shrimp in to cook.
“Which player was it?”
I ignore her, not turning around as I push the crustaceans around in the pan. “Hmmm?”
“Jade, who was it?”
I choke out his name in a hybrid mumble cough.
“What was that?”
I repeat my answer in the same fashion.
“I’m going to swat you with a spatula if you don’t fess up in a way I can understand,” she laughs.
“Tieran Stone.”
She blinks slowly before the squealing begins. “Fuck off! You bagged the captain of the Legends in a pub loo? I’m impressed, though not surprised, since you’re basically temptation on long legs. But he is—” She whistles, and I start banging my head against the cabinets on the wall.
“How was it?”
“I’m not answering that.” I spear her with a reprimanding look.
“That good, huh?” She chuckles. “At least tell me how big it was.” She grabs hold of the near empty wine bottle, holding it up.
“Tell me when to stop.” As she runs her hand along the glass horizontally, her eyes get wider the longer I remain silent.
“Seriously? Jesus, girl, how are you still walking?”
“Aanya,” I lob a dish towel at her.
She ducks out of the way, adopting a pout. “Fine. Don’t let a girl live vicariously.”
“From what I’ve seen, you don’t seem to have issues in that department,” I point out, reminding her that I live across the hall and have seen the men and women coming and going from her flat.
“Yeah, but they aren’t rugby players. From what I’ve seen, he’s got quite the reputation.
” I’ve seen those same articles, but I’m having a hard time reconciling the man I met in the pub—the man who looked so vulnerable sitting on the grass of an empty pitch—with who the tabloids say he is. “Are you still seeing him?”
I shake my head but can’t meet her eyes.
“It was a one off. I didn’t recognize him from his roster photo because he had long hair and a beard.
It won’t be happening again.” I plate up our dinner, careful to keep the presentation pristine and snapping some shots to post to my stories before handing her the Tuscan shrimp pasta I threw together.
“That feels like a crime. You said you had a connection that night at the pub, that even while you were talking the chemistry was electric. Can you really just let that go?”
“It’s non-negotiable. I’m his boss, and it’s inappropriate.” I take a bite of my pasta, nearly groaning as the flavor bursts across my tongue.
“Doesn’t that just make it hotter?”
I point my fork at her threateningly. “I’m going to kick you out and change the locks if you don’t stop pointing out the obvious flaws in my logic.”
“Fine. I’ll drop it for now.” She holds up a noodle-wrapped fork in surrender.
I guess it’s all I can really ask for. I haven’t known Aanya long, but in the short amount of time I’ve come to know her, I’ve realized she’s someone who’s fiercely loyal and who will bend over backward to make sure the people she cares for are taken care of.
If she’s pushing me in one direction—even if that direction is one I can’t go—it’s only because she cares about me.
And after a lifetime of not really knowing the feeling of friendship with another woman that wasn’t rooted in some fucked up sort of competition, it feels nice.
The nights she burst into my apartment using the key she had made for ‘emergencies’ are what I always dreamt of when I would long for the feeling of girlhood.
Aanya is the closest I’ve ever come to having a best friend, and even still, there’s a lingering fear that her friendship came too easy, that there couldn’t possibly be no strings attached, and any day now, the red bottom is bound to drop.
The fear is hard to shake, but I didn’t want these nights to ever end. It’s the only socialization I get, after all, stolen moments with a neighbor during the thirty minutes I take to eat. It’s this and visiting Dad… At twenty-seven, that fact rings a little sad.
Aanya is scarfing down the last of her pasta when she jumps up. “Alright, get dressed. We’re going out!”
“I can’t. I still have so much work to do,” I say with regret.
“Too bad. It’s Friday, you need to have a fun night out, and I’m playing a gig. Maybe you’ll meet a footballer this time, shag him in the loo too, make it a ritual.”
I choke on a laugh. “I’m sorry. I really have a million things to do.”
She settles her hands on her hips. “Alright, I’m doing it. I’m pulling the ‘I saved your arse and you owe me’ card. Now, go get changed; something sexy, because I’m not taking no for an answer, and I really want you there.”
The genuine pleading look in her rich brown eyes does me in. “Fine. But only if you dedicate a song to me.”
The smile that brightens her face warms me more than the full bottle of wine we demolished, and I think to myself that seeing her happy, this person who forced me under her wing, was worth the late night of work I’ll have to do once I’m back home.