‘So if you decided to get to know a guy and start a relationship, you could do it.’
No.The mere idea of getting into any kind of relationship made my skin itch like a million ants were skittering all over my exposed flesh. ‘I could… if I wanted to.’
Fallon snickered, ‘Bullshit. You wouldn’t make it through one date with a guy without giving up.’
The note of challenge in her voice tugged at something deep inside of me and before my brain had properly thought through the consequences of my answer, I blurted out, ‘Wanna bet?’
The silence on the other end of the line told me I’d caught her off guard. Her throat cleared. ‘Okay, but it has to be more than one date.’ The amount of time she took to mull it over made me instantly regret this. ‘Alright, if you’re serious about making this a bet, then I propose you meet someone and go on five dates with them.’ After a beat she added, ‘And no sex, just talking.’
Dear God, someone up there really hated me. They had to. No one would have inflicted this kind of torture upon someone they liked.
‘What are we classifying as sex?’ I narrowed my eyes. Already thinking of ways around it.
‘Of course, that’s the first question you ask.’ I could practically hear her eye-roll from down the phone. ‘No PIV.’Penis in Vagina.I ground my back teeth together. I wasn’t a sex addict; I didn’t require it to function; I merely used it as a healthy way to let off some steam. Some people went to the gym and did cardio on the treadmill after a rough week. I preferred my cardio to include more moaning and a lot more dirty talk.
But I didn’t date. Ever.
Men, in my experience, were only really good for one thing. And sometimes, they even failed at that. I could overcome my aversion to them to win this. To prove a point that not being attached to a man was down to my personal desire,and not because I was incapable of commitment. I could do it.
‘What do you want if you win? Which you won’t.’ Based on the soft laughter that echoed down the phone, my bravado didn’t sound convincing.
Once again, the length of time she took to consider her spoils gave me pause. And my worry shot to a new level when a delighted gasp escaped her.
‘Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like you very much after this?’ I moaned.
She cackled.Nevera good sign. ‘IfIwin, you get a small tattoo with a design of my choice.’
‘You little shit.’ My completely rational fear of needles had followed me since I was a kid, right into adulthood. Even when I gave vaccines at the clinic, I had to actively stop myself from shuddering. Every time I went to get a booster, Fallon came with me, and whilst her mocking was merciless, she let me grip her hand as tightly as I needed.
She wanted to play that game? I could do that.
‘Fine, you want to go there?WhenI win, you have to sing karaoke at that pub on the corner, with a song ofmychoosing.’
Fallon’s own fear of public speaking or doing anything that remotely involved her being the centre of attention went as far back as my fear of needles. She also couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Whilst my forfeit was admittedly more permanent, it was equally traumatising.
Her huff of frustration made me smile. ‘Fine.And I’m only confident because there is no way in hell you are going out on five dates with the same man and not killing him.’
‘As long as he’s not talking about sport, he should survive. Seriously, how do you cope with all the football talk?’
‘It helps that he usually talks about it with his shirt off. I just zone out on the abs.’
I laughed. ‘How’s everything going? Still crazy?’
Last year, Fallon, through several random, serendipitous occasions, ended up writing a memoir about the infamous footballer Oliver Blake. After getting fired from her old job, it gave her a chance to try something new and get her feet back into the publishing world. She hadn’t counted on falling hopelessly in love with Oliver. It had thrust my extremely introverted friend into the limelight. During the height of the book’s release, the two couldn’t walk down the street without getting mobbed by paparazzi or football fans desperate to get close to the grumpy footballer. The fame wasn’t easy, but I saw the love-sick expression on my friend’s face every time Oliver was around, and I knew she’d put up with anything as long as they were together. To his credit, Oliver did his level best to keep her out of the papers. He would go so far as to wrap her up in his jacket if paps caught them and keep her tucked tightly against his chest so they couldn’t get any pictures of her. It was the end of the season, and to celebrate, Fallon had travelled to Wales with him and they were spending a romantic week together.Ugh, coupledom had robbed me of my best friend.
‘It’s okay, the team’s still getting more press than usual. But I’m handling it.’ I heard the strength in her voice and had to swallow a ball of emotion.
‘I’m so fucking proud of you, babe.’
She muttered her thanks, and we talked a little longer before hanging up. I let my body take a few moments before I decided to move.
It was Sunday, my day off. I flicked a quick text to Mum, letting her know when I’d be picking up Roxy, my rescue German Shepherd, and made a mental plan for the day.
There was one thing I needed to do. Talking to Fallon and reassuring her I was fine had alleviated part of my guilt—even if it resulted in a dumb bet, which I had every intentionof winning—but an uncomfortable gnawing in my gut remained.
Flashes of firm hands and a rough beard holding me,taking care of me,danced through my head. Fallon wasn’t the only person I needed to apologise to.
But if I was going to put myself through another bout of potential humiliation, I needed coffee and pastries.
