29. Sloane
Sloane
I wake up the morning after Salt’s birthday party with a throat like sandpaper and a dull ache behind my eyes. Emmy, Jessie, and I were doing shots before the party even started, so I was already tipsy by the time the boys arrived. The champagne might have just tipped me over the edge.
I groan as I roll over, pressing my face into the cool of the pillow as I will the pain away.
Despite the conversation that ended in the three of us deciding to give a relationship a go, I can’t help this niggling feeling that I fucked it all up with that stupid dare.
Freddie looked deeply confused, but Cole…
He looked absolutely lost. I want to kick myself for not spotting the signs before – he clearly has a history of feelings for Freddie that Freddie’s probably been oblivious to for their whole friendship.
I’m a fucking dick for not seeing it.
I blow out a breath and sit up, wincing slightly. Every new relationship has its issues, right? Still, all we have done is agree to giving this a go – no one’s saying yes to the dress just yet.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table and I lean over to scoop it up, expecting it to be one of the boys.
EMMY
You alive? Didn’t manage to see you before you left so just checking in!
I’m alive. Things got a little… messy. Got time for a coffee?
EMMY
For you? Always.
Meet me in Borough Market in an hour?
EMMY
You’re on.
I stretch for a moment before I force myself out of bed and into the kitchen, where I get the first coffee of the morning on the go.
The woman who emerges from the shower twenty minutes later looks marginally less close to death, and by the time I’ve blow-dried my hair and done my face, I look human again.
I top off my look with a huge pair of sunglasses that make me look like a praying mantis. Perfect for scaring men away. And with that, I head off to Borough Market.
The thirty-minute walk does me a world of good, and by the time Emmy emerges from the tube at London Bridge, I’ve got a big smile on my face. A little bit of Florence and the Machine on the Airpods will do that for you.
“Hello, you!” she calls cheerily, in her soft British accent. Her chestnut hair is swept up into a ponytail today and she’s got a rosy glow in her cheeks.
“Baby girl,” I say affectionately, opening my arms to her for a hug.
We might live together, but she spends less than half the week at mine now. I’ve already made peace with the fact that she’ll probably move in with Luke soon and I’ll be back to being on my own.
“How was last night?” She links her arm with mine and we walk to Monmouth Coffee, which does arguably the best flat white in this part of London.
“Oh, girl, I have so much to tell you.” My face does something between a grin and a grimace that has Em raising her eyebrows at me.
After we sit down with our coffees, I tell her everything. By the time I finish, her eyebrows are practically in her hairline.
“Blimey, that’s a lot for one evening,” she says, taking a sip and sighing happily. “I never thought I’d see the day. Sloane Reed has a boyfriend! Two boyfriends in fact!”
I glare at her.
“Shut up. But yes… they are technically my boyfriends.”
“You say that word like it tastes sour,” she laughs, shaking her head at me.
“Well, look at me. I was clearly meant to end up in a poly relationship with a man and a woman or two women. All of my pansexual energy is being wasted on two men. I’m letting the side down. They’re going to confiscate my gay card.”
“They are not going to confiscate your gay card,” she replies, rolling her eyes yet again. “Isn’t the whole point of pansexuality that you fall in love with anyone regardless of gender?”
“Well, yes, but women are just inherently better,” I huff.
She fixes me with a stern look. “Do Freddie and Cole make you happy?”
There’s a pause while I bite my lip.
“Yes… a bit.”
“And they care for you? They respect you?”
“Yes.”
“And the sex is good?”
“The sex is mind-blowing.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
I sigh. “What if I’m not a relationship person? What if they get to know the real me and they’re like… nah. Great lay, terrible personality.”
Emmy pauses for a beat, looking at me earnestly. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That they will get to know you and realise you’re not worth it?”
I swallow and say nothing.
“Oh, darling.” She scooches over and puts a hand on mine. I look up into her big blue eyes, and for one terrifying second I’m worried I’m going to cry. “I’m going to say something now, and I really, really, want you to listen, ok?”
I nod.
“You’re being a dick.”
My mouth drops open and I reel back slightly. “Pardon me?!”
“You’re being a dick. You’re smart, clever, funny, beautiful, and kind.
Those boys are lucky to walk in the wake of your brilliance.
You know who helped me realise that about myself last year?
You . So take a leaf out of your own playbook and recognise how fucking fantastic you are.
Don’t be a dick. You’re incredible. Of course they are drawn to you.
How could they not be? Have you met you? ”
She sits back on her seat and drains her latte.
“That was the cutest little speech, Em.”
“Don’t patronise me, missy,” she replies, pointing at me.
“You’ve never put up with my bullshit and I’m not going to put up with yours.
You want to give a relationship a go? Go for it.
If they make you happy, why the fuck not see if it’s a good fit?
But don’t for one second sit there and doubt how fantastic you are.
The only person you’re screwing if you do that is you. ”
“We both know I don’t need any help screwing myself.”
We both snort with laughter at that, and within moments we’re doubled over with giggles.
“Come on, you,” she says, standing up. “Let’s eat our body weight in cheese while I tell you about the investor that’s been sniffing around Salt.”
We spend the rest of the morning chatting, laughing, and eating our way around the market. And by the afternoon, I almost believe her kind words.