‘Okay, I need to cut you off. I’m not an author, for starters.’ I pointed out, putting my glass down as Rosie hadn’t let go of my arm yet, and I was in real danger of hurling the entire thing on the floor.
‘So? You’ve been copywriting for years, you’re perfectlycapable of writing something for yourself.You need to propose a book so good that a publishing house will be forced to offer you a shitload of money for it. That would show dickwad who he was messing with.’
A variation of dickwad, dickbag and my personal favourite, douchenozzle, were all Rosie’s less than affectionate nicknames for my ex-boyfriend. The same ex who was responsible for me losing my dream job in the first place.
‘You’re once again missing something out. I don’t have a good idea, and I was a copywriter. Not an author.’
Rosie waved away my last comment. ‘Still, I think it’s a great plan.’ She went to pick up her glass for another sip but found it empty. Her lower lip protruded.
‘I need more wine,’ she sang, scooting out of the booth. ‘Come on, let’s see if that bartender is really married. Watch if he checks out my tits,’ she whispered so loud the couple next to us looked over with disapproving scowls.
I sighed, rising from my chair to follow Rosie, swinging her hips with such enthusiasm that it was less sexy strut and more pregnant waddle.
The two men at the end of the bar glanced up briefly when she slid her glass across the bar, getting the bartender’s attention. I was used to men never looking twice at me when I was next to Rosie. It didn’t bother me. I saw it as a gift rather than a setback. The men that took the time to talk to me, I knew,actuallywanted to get to know me rather than get into my pants. However, that came with a big downside; no one ever looked at me and thoughtcan’t wait to fuck her brains out.Instead, it’s more… hey, can we discuss our mutual life goals? Sometimes I didn’t want a relationship. I wanted someone who would supply me with mind-blowing orgasms and then leave my flat the following day with a high five and anoff-you-fuck.
Before I met Charlie, my disastrous ex, Rosie convincedme to sign up for a dating app. I’d matched with a hot guy who appeared to be after an actual relationship, not a weekend-long fuckfest. But when he arrived at the restaurant, he took one look at me and said I’d catfished him. He sneered and walked out. Leaving me standing awkwardly in the middle of a restaurant as several people gawked at me.
It wasn’t my fault that I carried most of my weight in my stomach and thighs. I’d only uploaded a picture of my top half on the dating app. Why did how much you weigh matter so much to people?Ididn’t care, and I was the one living in my body.
As Rosie frequently told me,‘If you can’t suffocate them with your pussy, then you’re not eating enough.’
One more reason we were friends.
‘Another round, ladies?’ The bartender wandered over, throwing a bar towel over his shoulder and flashing a smile. He was outrageously good-looking and obviously knew it. Much to the disappointment of my friend, he didn’t check out her tits, though.
‘Are you really married?’ Rosie blurted out, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Although I was used to her lack of filter, I couldn’t help the faint hue of embarrassment staining my cheeks.
Thankfully the sexy, hot bartender seemed to find Rosie funny.
He threw his head back with a laugh, ‘I am, indeed.’
She pouted. ‘Lucky girl.’
He tilted his head to the side, still smiling. ‘More like, luckyguy.’
Rosie’s forehead hit the counter. ‘Fuck my hetero brain.’
The guy laughed harder. ‘It’s alright. You’re not the first and won’t be the last. Let me get you guys a refill.’ He turned away, and Rosie lifted her head slowly.
‘Do you have no shame?’ I asked, leaning my elbow on the bar and waving a hand toward the bartender.
Rosie dragged a hand through her hair smirking. ‘Not usually, no.’
Her gaze caught on something behind me, and her eyes widened, lips squeezing shut. Excitement bubbled out of her at an alarming rate. She stepped closer than I’d usually be comfortable with and squeezed my arm in a death grip.
‘Um… ow?’ I eyed her fingers digging into my flesh.
Our faces only inches apart, Rosie bounced up and down on the soles of her feet.
‘Are you going to tell me why you’ve suddenly been possessed?’ I asked, utterly confused.
‘Oliver Blake. Oliver-motherfucking-Blake is behind you.’ She hissed.
I frowned. ‘Who?’
Rosie rolled her eyes. ‘The football player? The ridiculously hot and scandalous football player,’ she said in a whisper.
‘Since when do you follow football?’ I gaped at her.
