21. TIAGO #2
‘No.’ She sounds defensive. ‘It was fun for a while but… I found I really loved having a platform. The world’s quick to point out what’s wrong with women, but if you can be the best you – feel confident in your shoes; make yourself heard; market yourself properly; heal your wounds; romanticise the little things – that toxic narrative can’t hurt you. I believe, at least.’
It’s obvious how she lights up when she talks about empowering women, I can hear it ringing through her voice. She’s hella good at it too; I read one of her Substacks and found myself doing an attachment style quiz at 2am.
‘Do you practice what you preach?’ I ask.
A pause. ‘I try to.’
Interesting.
‘Why don’t you focus on that stuff and cut out the dating part? I mean, you hate flying.’ I throw a meaningful look to the top of her head that says if you disagree, you’re a bald-faced liar.
‘I hate flying,’ she submits.
‘If you’re a total introvert, there’s no way you like schmoozy events.’
‘I like dressing up, but that’s about it.’
‘So be a…’ What would you call it? ‘Personal… er… growth… influencer?’
‘It’s not that simple. In my line of work you have to consistently stay relevant – and, in this economy, shock – or you fall off a cliff.
“Soft life” content doesn’t trend. The algorithm wants visibility; sponsors want relevance as well as reach; audiences want the next big spectacle.
How do I get all that? By demanding attention. ’
‘Basically you’re saying you fuck athletes so you can give my little sister eyeliner tips.’
A chuckle swells in her chest as she shoves me. ‘Didn’t work out so badly for you.’
No it did not. ‘So why rebrand your men?’
Her shoulders lift. ‘It’s my USP, I guess. It started with Brennan. His fade was messy and he drove a drug-dealer car.’
I was so not expecting that. A snort breaks free.
‘Also he dressed like… well, like you,’ she adds.
‘Hey!’
‘He had the stature, the success, the raw looks, the physique, plus he was single and a bit of a fuckwit. Easy prey, too. Anything in a skirt would’ve done.
Like someone else I know.’ She flutters her eyelashes up at me and I poke her arm.
‘If people were going to invest in us, to think I’m a prize, to care what we do, to believe he’s even capable of being in a committed relationship, he needed a relaunch. ’
Poor Brennan, he didn’t see Hurricane Jules coming.
‘Is that your criteria for picking guys? Top of their game and rough around the edges? Is that why you didn’t pick me, because I’m so perfect?’ I’m half joking. A quarter. Ok, not really. I want her to prove Isa wrong.
She looks at me levelly. ‘There’s a lot of reasons I didn’t pick you. The most pressing of which being no one would believe you willingly entered into a monogamous relationship.’
I blink once. Then again, slower. ‘What? That’s your biggest reason?’
‘It’d look like a shabby PR stunt.’
I can’t believe she said that. ‘You think I’m incapable of monogamy? And you thought Brennan Okorafor was?’ I’m so far past offended, it’s a little dot on the horizon.
‘Brennan had at least been in a long-term relationship before; you haven’t,’ she points out. ‘And I think your actions last season make it look that way. It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth or not. I work with optics, not facts. You have to admit it would’ve been quite the leap.’
I’m capable of monogamy, I just haven’t met the right girl yet.
I’m not purposefully shying away from it – Lord knows my abuela tries to set me up with every girl at her church.
No one’s given me a big enough reason to commit.
I’m not a man built for movie nights and repetitive sex and baby talk. Guys like Jack Bowden are, but not me.
‘Also, they need to be a dickhead,’ Jules adds. ‘They’re my main three measures. You tick that box, at least.’ She’s grinning and I smack her ass under the sheets. She starts with a breathy laugh.
‘What’s the deal with Logan Rogers? Isa said he’s moved on to telling everyone you cheated on him. I guess he’s not looking to get you back anymore.’
She visibly sags, all amusement evaporated.
‘There’s a reason why I choose a specific brand of arsehole.
They see me as arm candy. They’re self-obsessed, they’re misogynistic, they’re prone to publicly cheating – that’s what happened with Brennan.
It was coincidental that his infidelity went public with the end of the season.
It set a precedent; people expected it of me.
‘But Logan…’ She says his name like a death knell. ‘He’s different. He’s hurting, and even though I never set out to hurt anyone and feel awful about it, I know first-hand what that emotion can make you do. How far you’ll go to reconcile it. And it worries me.’
‘You think he’ll, like, shack up with a bunch of influencers and force mullets on them?’
Her anxiety breaks with a soft laugh. ‘It really was awful, wasn’t it?’
‘Like a bleached ferret.’
She recoils, laughing hard. ‘I can’t unsee it.’
I take in the suite around us. Muted, French, quietly luxurious, and not at all designed for the onslaught of Jules’ stuff.
Her podcast kit, her skincare products, her shoes, her bags, all hyper-methodically arranged.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the housekeeping here’s on another level.
But this is in line with everything I’ve learned about Jules.
She has a system for everything, almost to the point of compulsiveness.
‘Oh, and before you go, I forgot to tell you something,’ she adds, with no idea I have zero intention of going anywhere. This bed’s comfy as hell. It’s not like my family would even know I’m gone – we’re in a hotel across town this year; there wasn’t time to bring over the boat.
‘Hm?’
‘Tom asked me on a date.’
Her admission clangs through me more than it should. I wasn’t expecting… it to happen so soon.
‘He’s cooking me dinner tomorrow night.’ She rests her chin on my chest. ‘Don’t worry, I still need talking points and paddock passes. I’m not cancelling our contract. There are still two race weekends left until it expires.’
I force a smile. ‘Th-that’s great.’ Yeah, the alliance. Sure.
She drums her fingers on my pec. ‘We make a pretty good team, Cabrera.’
‘We do.’
Her faces straightens. ‘But my hatred still resets in the morning.’
‘Oh for sure. You’re the worst.’
She smiles, and it tugs at something inside me. I don’t want to read into what exactly. Too much seriousness isn’t good for a man, so I flip her over.
‘Wha—!’
I look down at her innocently, caging her head between my hands. ‘Round five.’
She blinks rapidly. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you said round five.’
‘Strap in, Butler, it ain’t morning yet.’