‘Don’t start. Now talk.’
I stopped hiding things from Rosie a long time ago. Our friendship was built on each other sharing every part of our lives, often in far too much detail—but for some reason, the words kept getting caught in my throat. I skirted around the intimate details, mainly because I wasn’t sureIhad fully comprehended everything he’d done to me. Whenever I thought about that purple vibrator, my cheeks flushed, and the space between my thighs felt ready to burst into flames.
I didn’t need to catalogue my previous sexual encounters to immediately know that one night with Oliver was the best sex of my goddamn life. I struggled coming more than once with a man, and this man had pulled three from me.Three.
Despite all that, what was fucking my head up more than anything was how he’d looked at me. From the moment the light went out in my flat, and my panic attack had railroaded the conversation, he’d comforted me. Every day, it feels like I uncover different versions of Oliver. When he tucked me into his chest to calm my anxiety, there had been no hint of the cocky footballer. He hadn’t told me to calm down or that my panic was silly—which was the reaction I got from previous partners when they found out I still slept with a nightlight—he’d held me.
And then fucked me into oblivion.
Rosie’s jaw dangled on the floor when I finished relaying the night events.
I leaned forward in the chair, resting my elbows on my thighs and burying my head in my hands.
‘I think I’ve royally fucked up. Oh,God.’
Clearing her throat, Rosie responded, rather unhelpfully, ‘Actually, from the sounds of it, you’ve just been royally fucked.’
My head snapped up. ‘Rosie!’
She held up her hands. ’Sorry. But why have you fucked up?’
Unable to sit still any longer, I got up and started pacing. Anxiety building over the last few days bubbled to the surface. I ran a hand through my hair as I exhaled a rough breath. ‘I’ve slept with the guy I’m writing a biography about. A guy who is in every newspaper and magazine in the world right now. A guy who played for England and is so fucking far out of my league it’s ridiculous. But more importantly, he’s supposed to be my leg up to get back into publishing, and I’ve just jeopardised both of our futures. Of all the unprofessional, half-witted, dumb-fucking-‘
‘Okay, okay, chill out.’
The lid of my composure was well and truly undone, ‘How can I chill out! I slept with him! My family is right, I’m incapable of functioning as an adult. I keep making stupid mistakes.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose and screwed my eyes shut.
‘Your family are nothing more than a bunch of sanctimonious arseholes. So, respectfully,fuckwhat they think. Now, go back a few pages; what did he say when he left?’
My shoulders sagged, ‘I was half asleep. He kissed me on the forehead and said he’d call me.’
Rosie’s eyes lit up as she bit back a full-blown grin. ‘You got a forehead kiss?’
’Shut up,’ I said softly, already feeling my cheeks heat. I fought the urge to touch my fingers to my forehead,remembering how his lips softly brushed it. The feel of his breath tickling my skin…
I was in deep shit.
’Never,’ she declared. ‘Did he call?’
Another truckload of guilt piled on. I nodded.
‘What did he say?’ My silence told her everything she needed to know. She sighed. ‘You’ve been ignoring his calls, haven’t you?’
I threw my hands up. ‘I don’t know what to say. Thanks for giving me the best orgasms of my life; by the way, I know you’re a famous footballer, but want to hang out sometime?’
Her mouth opened to say something, but she closed it, thought for a moment and then frowned. ‘What does his job have to do with it?’
I scoffed. ‘You saw the last girl he dated.’
The heat from Rosie’s glare could have scorched my skin. ‘You best be careful how you continue that sentence; I’m this close to getting Felix out of his crate.’ She held her fingers close together.
Rosie had always been my fiercest defender. The one who poured a carton of milk over a boy’s head at school when she heard him making pig noises as I walked past. She got into a heated argument with our PE teacher when I wore an oversized t-shirt to cover the tight shorts they made us wear, and he told me to take it off because it wasn’t part of theuniform.She’d got a week’s detention for calling him an ‘inconsiderate fitness freak’.
From High school to now, she was my protector. But she couldn’t save me from myself… as much as she tried.
Some pain goes too deep. It’s carved into your bones and etched there by years of hurtful words disguised ascare.
‘My point is… I messed up.Wemessed up. This whole thing needs to get back on track. Both of our careers are onthe line; I need to focus. And I can’t do that if I keep slipping and falling on his dick.’
