Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Emily
Igive up.
I huff to myself as I throw yet another top to the floor in frustration, growling for good measure as I flop my butt to my bed. This is hopeless.
Curse Leo for coaxing us all into a night out clubbing.
I know this is a cliche, but I genuinely have nothing to wear.
All my club appropriate clothes are things that Gav bought me, or made me buy, and I hate every last one.
They are all considerably more revealing than anything I would choose for myself, and he always used to take great pleasure in sneering at me and pointing out how much hotter other women at the club were while I cringed and tried to keep my jacket on for cover.
I’m going to donate the lot to charity. Which, you know, feels great and empowering and all, but doesn't help me right now.
My only other option is a dress I wore to a wedding once, and it’s way too special occasions-y for a night out with friends.
I’m seriously considering begging off with a headache when I have a lightbulb moment.
Sadie. My new friend and style crush.
I do want to go tonight. I don’t want to punk out. If anyone can find something wearable in the outlandish mish mash that is my wardrobe, it’s Sadie Stewart.
I reach for my phone and fire off a quick text, hoping I don’t sound like a hopeless case.
What are you wearing tonight? I can’t decide one of the things we have learned about each other during our many lunch breaks together that we both have dirty laughs and a filthy sense of humour.
God, it’s good to let loose with a girlfriend again.
“Well,” she smirks, “I didn’t actually mean that this time, but sure, that, too, I guess!
Tracy’s Dog, baby. Battery operated boyfriends for the win.
Much less trouble.” We high five, and everything seems lighter.
“OK,” she continues, “let’s start with your hair. I mean, sure, the kind-of Targaryen look is cool, and you’ve almost got an ombre thing going on because of the regrowth, but I get the impression you’d prefer something different?”
“Shorter,” I say instantly, indicating just below my chin, “and probably brunette.” I look at her hair, gloriously thick, gently curling, and red, and feel pure and unadulterated envy. The Demelza Poldark look would never suit me as much as it does Sadie. It’s like her trademark.
She nods in agreement. “Brown would definitely suit you,” she says. “Your eyes would just,” she makes a popping sound, “pop. And I think a little curl would look cute, too.”
“You read my mind.” That’s exactly what I’ve been envisioning. I hate my long, dull, pale blond hair. I hate the roots. I hate how washed out it makes me feel.
“So book an appointment,” she suggests. “I use Chaos Hairdressers, which is on the street just behind Wishbone's. They take online bookings, so let’s book you in for next week. Let’s just do it.
” She grabs her iPad from her bedside table and fires it up.
“I’ll try to get you in with Lindsey. She's your girl if you need a makeover.”
I nod, excited at the prospect of looking completely different. We agree on next Monday, as that’s one of our days off, and in a few quick taps, I am booked in with Lindsey for a total restyle, and I can't wait.
I look at the intricate mandala tattoo which I happen to know she inked on her own left forearm.
I’ve gotten to know each of the artists’ styles now, and can pick them out on tattoos I see on strangers in the street.
Sadie is amazing with delicate designs and fine line work.
Dean’s speciality is script, and I know I’m biased but I think his calligraphy work is second to none.
Leo loves to use as much colour as possible, and can copy pretty much any design you give him.
And Eli...his work looks like photographs, it’s so realistic.
I wish I could just get past the fear enough to have something as beautiful as Sadie’s ink on my own skin. I’d feel truly transformed then.
“Right,” she says decisively, “clothes. Let’s see what we can find in my wardrobe. We’re the same size, as far as I can tell. And can I pleeeeeeeease do your make-up?” She laughs as I punch the air. “Come on, you. I’m going to make you look like a wet dream.”
Eli
It’s been fucking forever since Leo dragged me on one of his nights out. Months and months.
My idea of a good time is not really watching my cousin throw shapes and dry hump random women on the dance floor.
Leo dances with everything he has, every time, cos to him that’s fun and he never does a damn thing by halves.
Go big or go home, that’s just the way he’s always been.
And the women flock to him, because he has the charm and they know by reputation that he’s a good lay.
And he just lets it happen because he needs the distraction from being hopelessly in love with someone else, a state that I have recently come to sympathize with.
I go now and again, because sometimes the loneliness gets to be too much, and I do the exact same thing as he does, but for different reasons.
Looking at it through new eyes, it all seems so cheap and half-assed now.
I don’t think I’ve hurt anyone’s feelings, which is good. And there’s nothing wrong with casual sex, as long as everyone gets treated respectfully and nobody gets hurt.
But now I’ve met someone who makes me want more. And for the first time in a very long while, there’s an actual possibility for this to become a reality, and with a woman I really, really like. It’s exciting, and it’s making my blood pump wildly out of control. And it’s nerve wracking as all hell.
I knock on Dean’s door. He answers in pajama trousers and an old Bray Wyatt t-shirt.
“I guess that’s a no to coming out tonight?”
He nods. He doesn’t tend to join in very often.
Parties make him uncomfortable, for obvious reasons, and on the extremely rare occasions he goes, he usually ends up drinking beer in the corner and pretending he’s somewhere else before taking the first excuse to leave.
If the wrong song plays, it can even trigger a PTSD meltdown.
But for all that, and as much as I'd never want him to be uncomfortable, I don’t ever want him to feel excluded, either, so I always ask, and sometimes, just sometimes, he tries.
I’ve got Minecraft to keep me company, he smiles. His eyes spark up with mischief. Will I need my headphones tonight, or will you be going back to Em’s?
“Come on, man,” I say sternly.
He holds his hands up. I was kidding. Kind of. His eyes narrow. Tell me you’ll make a move tonight. For fuck’s sake, how you’ve managed not to all week is beyond me.
I narrow my eyes right back. I may be wearing a brand new black shirt, and I may have spent a little more time than normal grooming my beard, but I’m not allowing myself to anticipate anything happening between me and Emily tonight.
And I’m actually fairly glad, much as I’d love to have her in my arms as quickly as possible.
I don’t want to rush things. I don’t want just a quick fuck with her, the kind I’ve picked up at the club with various other women before now.
I want...all of it. The first kiss. The second kiss.
Dates in restaurants and movie theaters and anything she wants to do.
Staying up all night talking. Holding her hand at every possible opportunity.
Buying her roses on our one month anniversary.
I’ve become a sap. But I’m feeling more optimistic about life than I have in a long time, and it’s all thanks to her.
“We’ll see,” I reply shortly.
What’s stopping you? Literally, what’s stopping you? Dean’s seeming both curious and argumentative. It’s done with love, though.
“Several things. You know she’s been through a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. And she might not be interested in me in that way.”
You must be blind, he says in obvious exasperation, shaking his head.
“I just don’t want to crowd her, or make her uncomfortable. And she is an employee.”
You are literally the only one of us that cares about that. Leo might give you a little shit, but he’ll just be happy for you. And why would you care about a little teasing? She’d be worth it.
Sometimes I forget that Dean is a year younger than me.
“I know,” I say quietly, “and you’re right, I wouldn’t give a shit about any teasing. I just feel kind of bad about giving him a hard time and then turning around and doing the same thing. I’m not a hypocrite.”
Nobody thinks you are.
I shrug. “I’ll have the chance to get to know her better tonight, maybe. But as she’s literally just gotten out of a bad relationship not even three months ago, she might not be ready, and that’s OK.”
Dean sighs with a smile. You’re a good man, bro.
I shrug again, and smile. “Thanks, man. Wish me luck.”
I’m not quite running to the club, but I’m not just walking, either.