“It’s okay to be unsure about what you want to do long term,” Marlee offered. “And I think it’s better to know before you throw a huge deposit down on a location.”
“Sooooo, we’ll just pop a pin in that conversation for now while I continue to think it through,” she said, gesturing the action on the table. “Maybe I’ll come back to Urban Pulse, interview some of those hotties playing with Andy. God knows I could use some action. Especially for that dreaded week each month when my ovaries are clapping like I’m at a concert.”
“I feel this to my core,” Arns agreed. “Mine always seems to align with Andy’s away games and I’m practically wandering the apartment ignoring the way my body screams at me to dry hump anything within arm’s reach,” she complained and we all laughed in solidarity.
“At least you have someone, I’d flirt with a houseplant if it made eye contact,” Flick scoffed, only making us crack up louder.
“Jay was asking about you yesterday actually,” Winter casually mentioned as if we weren’t all waiting for an opportunity to drop his name. While Felicity maintained her hatred for him, for reasons none of us seemed to understand, we could all see how perfect they would be together.
“He asks me about her every time I see him,” Arna added, reaching for a slice of the pizza that had just been placed on the table in front of us.
“He does not,” Flick argued. “And I’dnevergo near someone whose name started with ‘J’.”
“Hey!” Winter threw up her hands lightly, playfully feigning offence.
“Jack doesn’t count,” Felicity clarified.
Grabbing one of the share plates, I asked, “What’s wrong with people whose names start with J?”
“Oh, God, don’t start her,” Marlee drawled. “It’s total bullshit.”
“Proven fact is what she means,” Felicity reprimanded before delving into an explanation which had the rest of us howling in laughter. “Abby Jimemez - a literary goddess - has a rule that all men whose names start with ‘J’ are douchebags. And, other than Jack,” Flick looked at Winter with a wink, “I agree.” She grinned while we all lost it at her absurdity. “Jay especially.”
“Back to the work thing, depending on the outcome of a psychological evaluation,” Arna joked, “I was going to ask if you wanted some freelance work. Andy is due for his annual interview and with all the interest in the coaching dramas, I have no one I trust enough to send over to the clubhouse.” She complained.
“What coaching dramas?” I asked.
“Apparently, they are going to sack the head coach and one of the others will have to step up. Andy has been stressed for weeks.” Arna replied and Winter chimed in agreeing Jack was also feeling it all.
“Ummm, hello, why can’t you interview him? You wrote his last one, right?” Marlee asked incredulously.
“I did, but it’s a conflict of interest now we’re engaged or some other garbage. Also, anytime I try to ask Andy anything he thinks is for Urban, he finds excuses to take off his shirt and then the only question I’m asking is, ‘where's the lube?’”
“You’d think now he’s engaged to an editor, his hatred towards the media would have softened.” Marlee stated and I nodded in agreement.
“You’d think,” Arna repeated with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, please say yes.” She said to Felicity. “Because our new hires are great at editing words, just not at saying them to actual people.”
Flick grimaced while the rest of us laughed. “I’m happy to interview Andy, but I absolutely refuse to go to that clubhouse if Jay arsehole Growlson will be there.”
“That sounds like you’re harbouring some sexual tension there, babes,” Marlee commented sarcastically.
“Ewww.” The horror on Felicity’s face was enough to send Winter and I into another fit of giggles. “I could be fourteen years into a dry spell and I still wouldn’t consider letting him anywhere near me.” She said adamantly.
“I can’t wait for the day you two finally put your shit aside and bang these feelings out. It’s going to be the absolute hottest story,” Arna said, “And I can’t wait for allllll the sordid details.”
“Same,” I added, instantly regretting it when Flick turned to me in mock horror.
“Okay, Miss I’m engaged to my brother’s best-friend who owns an entire whiskey distillery, rides a motorbike and has that ruthless sexy alter ego. How about we go back to your stories?” Her deflection was targeted, and I’d brought it on myself, dammit.
“A lady never tells,” I replied with added innocence, trying not to remember the way it felt to have his body shielding me against the wall while he devoured me with his mouth.
“Win, how’s the marketing coming along?” Marls’ quick-thinking question allowed me to relax while the conversation took a turn into the difficulties of self-publishing. She spoke about the pros and cons of being an independent author while my thoughts drifted to the conversation I’d overheard Cooper having with his parents. I’d intentionally put my stealthy detective ears to use, desperate to confirm if they believed our ruse, but it was a risky game and one that didn’t go my way today. I’d already been nervous about meeting them, but nothing prepared me for the sting of hearing them say I wasn’t good enough for their son. Not because of who I was, but because of where I came from. That part? That hurt more than I expected.
Moorway was nothing like its adjoining suburb, Moorcrest Ridge. One was thriving while the other was surviving – no points for guessing which was which. I knew this growing up. We all did. The gold-plated fence between prosperity and poverty was apparent in the amount of money in those glittering mansions in the Ridge. Everyone in school knew who a Ridgey was and who was aWaylay, but the segregation luckily stopped there. Luxury and struggle mingled and for the most part, ignored the differences as only kids can. But apparently that didn’t transfer to everyone and while the kids didn’t care, many of the older generations certainly did. Those penthouses were still casting their prejudicial shadows over theWaylaysno matter how hard you worked.
It had been years since I’d felt the sting of postcode judgement. And at thirty-two no one had ever made me feel as small as Portia Dane did today. The acidic judgement in her voice when she asked her son if I’d grown up there was enough to remind me that money can’t buy kindness, and it most certainly can’t buy compassion. The saving grace was the vehemence in Cooper’s voice as he’d defended me as if he truly did care for me as his fiancée. That had been as shocking as it was humbling, and it was the reason I was able to maintain my composure. Especially when I heard his response,I will never be done with her.Even if it was anact, it was fun to pretend he meant it, if only in the confines of my own mind.
I also genuinely enjoyed his company, especially when it gave me reason to take liberties I would never have had otherwise - including touching him and being touched. But their comments were still in the back of my mind. I heard loud and clear – Evangeline Micallef was not good enough to be with a Dane no matter what he said back to them, which infuriated me to no end. It wasmymother who helped raisetheirson because they weretoo busy, yet they judged me. The audacity!
