‘Jobs.’
‘You know you could move in with me. That offer will always be on the table, babe.’ Rosie’s lips turned down, theface of someone who knew I was headed for a car crash and couldn’t avoid it.
I gave her a soft smile. ‘I know, and thank you, but I need to fix this myself. Plus, as much as I love Roxy, her fur does not return the favour.’ Whenever I went to Rosie’s house, I came out with puffy eyes and itchy skin. I didn’t fancy dealing with that on a daily basis.
Anxiety crept up my spine, circled my lungs and squeezed tight. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I repeated the mantra I’d devised last week.
‘I’m capable and can solve the problems in my life on my own.’
Rosie smirked over the lip of the mug. ‘How’s that going for you?’
I opened one eye and scowled. ‘Last night didn’t help.’
At the mention of the night before, this seemed to spark a memory for Rosie, whose eyes widened, and the mug nearly slipped from her hands. Luckily she caught it before the contents landed on my couch.
‘That wasn’t a dream?’ She placed a hand on her forehead.
I chuckled. ‘Your scale of intoxication is bizarre. You’re entirely sober one minute and then shit-faced the next. There’s no in between.’
Rosie put her mug down on the coffee table with a thud and stretched her body over my legs, so she was hugging my lower half.
‘Never mind that, did we spend the evening with Oliver Blake? Did that really happen?’
I nodded. Fighting the urge to scoff at the adulation in her tone. ‘Not only that, you necked with his brother.’
Rosie’s eyes darted around the room as if that would give her some kind of recollection. I could tell the moment that errant memory returned to her because her eyes widenedeven further, and a self-satisfied smile took over her face. ‘George.’
‘That’s the one.’ I turned my attention back to the laptop, changing tabs and going back to a rather salacious article about the infamous night. More gossip rag than journalism, but I couldn’t deny it made for a juicy read.
‘Turns out Oliver Blake isn’t the nicest guy after all.’ I murmured.
Rosie crawled up the couch and wedged herself next to me so her head rested on my shoulder. Her legs tangled with mine under the mound of blankets. As she glanced at the screen, I budged up to make room for her. ‘Yeah, the news has gone crazy recently. He didn’t seem that bad last night, though.’
I made an indignant noise in the back of my throat. Oliver Blake flopped from being overly in love with himself to downright rude. I supposed that’s what money got you. When a football club bought you in a fifteen million pound contract, you could be as impolite as you wanted.
But if being in the publishing industry for the last few years had taught me anything, it was that most things could be a story if you gave them the right spin.
Before I could stop her, Rosie reached over and clicked on one of several tabs I had open. All had something to do with Oliver.
This headline read:
Oliver Blake…misunderstood? Or too rich to be relatable?
‘Someone got under your skin last night.’ Her voice held far too much insinuation for my liking.
I yanked back my laptop and slammed the lid closed.
‘No. My curiosity got the better of me. Completely different things.’
She smirked. ‘So you’re saying the sexy disgraced footballer with a ten-pack didn’t lure you in with his-‘
‘Arrogant and self-important ways?’ I cut in. ‘No. He did not.’ I threw off the blankets, wriggled out of Rosie’s hold and stood up. Readjusting my dressing gown. Rosie took the space I’d just vacated, not losing the shit-eating grin plastered on her face.
My brow furrowed as I folded my arms across my chest. ‘Need I remind you that the first time we met, I nearly wet myself?’
Rosie laughed. ‘Fair point.’ Her eyes then sparked with light—an idea written on her face. Like most things with my best friend, her ideas could fall into two categories: Ingeniously brilliant… or potentially illegal.
I took a deep breath whilst I waited to see which one this idea would fall into.
