by Dee Palmer
“He’s asked me to marry him.” I think that counts as meaty, and I try for a casual delivery with my level tone, though I don’t think it matters.
“What the fuck, Finn?” she hollers, causing my shoulders to shoot up to protect my ears because my hands are occupied. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’ve ‘known’ ”—she exaggerates her air quotes and lays the sarcasm on thick with her condescending tone—“him for what, three months? And now, you’re going to marry the dude?”
“I didn’t say I was going to marry him. That’s what this month is about. It’s a trial.” My words are stark in the silence of the car. They sound ridiculous when spoken out loud. Who does this? What sane, normal woman would? She’s right; it’s nuts. I’m out of my fucking mind. Which is why none of that matters.
I’m a crazy woman, and three months ago, I said, “Fuck it.” I made this decision, and I’m not backing out.
“Oh, well, that’s all right, then.” The sarcasm is like treacle now, and her tone is tinged with bitter disbelief and disappointment.
This is not how I wanted today to go. I fix my mouth tight shut for fear of saying something I can’t take back. The tension is palpable, and I cringe when Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” crackles through the retro radio hanging from a makeshift hammock under the dashboard. Perfect.
We reach the airport and Hope helps me load my cases onto the trolley. She still hasn’t said a word. I hand her the keys to Dolly and go to walk away. She’s double parked, so I know she has to get going. She grabs the sleeve of my denim jacket and pulls me into her tiny, surprisingly strong hold.
“Wow, the gym’s been paying off for you, too. You hug like a heavyweight.” I groan under her hold.
“Or like I might never see my best friend again.” Her soft words hit me hard.
“Hope…” I sigh and return her embrace with a gentle heartfelt squeeze around her shoulders, her head resting against my neck. I feel her body shudder with the first gasp of a sob. It’s enough to make my nose tingle, and a slew of big fat tears fall onto my cheek.
“But it’s true. That might be the case.” She sniffs, sloppy wet sounds she doesn’t try to hide.
“No, it’s not true.” I pull back and hold her gaze with mine, her dark green eyes fill with tears, matching my own. I blink to try and keep focus.
“Stay, Finn…please,” she mutters, her fat lip wobbling.
She’s killing me. “I can’t, Hope.” I shake my head, and the heaviness in my heart, the sadness I feel is a fraction of the sorrow I have endured, and she knows this. “I wasted ten years of my life with a man who had no intention of marrying me, H, and he even took delight in humiliating me about the fact in front of all my friends. He made me feel utterly worthless, and now…” I stutter and draw in a fortifying breath. “I have these men, and one of them promised to marry me. I get to choose…me, I—” I clamp my mouth shut at my apocalyptic fuck-up.
“Men?” she snaps.
“Man, I meant man.” I wave my hand to dismiss my seemingly silly mistake,
“You said men,” Hope corrects and then gasps. “Finn you didn’t answer that advert?” Her hands fly to her mouth, eyes like saucers, and we both suck in a shocked breath.
“I…I…” I can’t construct a sentence. She steps up to me and interrupts so I don’t have to. I wish she didn’t.
“That’s who you’ve been talking to so secretively these last three months every spare minute. That’s what all this gym shit you’ve been dragging me to morning, noon, and night for the last three months has been all about. It’s because you need to be fit enough to take on four guys?” She stares at me, and her mouth is open so wide it’s comical, but I’m not laughing. I’m waiting for the scream, the howl of judgment to rain down on my slutty arse. I draw in a breath and brace.
“Yes.” I tip my chin, and time comes to a halt…and remains still as I frown at my friend, the statue. Her wide emerald eyes are fixed and focused, though I’m not sure on what. I wave my hand in front of her face, but she doesn’t flinch. Is it possible to be catatonic standing up?
“Hope? Are you okay? You’re kind of freaking me out.” I look around to see if anyone else is observing my friend’s weird behavior, but no one is paying us any attention. Well, other than the parking officer who is scowling between Dolly and the No Waiting sign. “Hope!” I hiss a little loud, and she blinks and gives a full body shudder, regaining her senses.
“Four guys?” she asks with a degree of awe in her tone.
I hesitate before answering.
“Yes.”
“At one time?” She arches a brow, and her lips begin to curl into a wicked smirk.
“Not necessarily. We haven’t actually gone over the logistics,” I reply, a little straight-laced given the topic, after all, we’re hardly in a secret-sharing environment.
“But they wanted a twenty-year-old?”
Her incredulous face pisses me off, and I place my hands on my hips and tip my chin, my tone a little on the defensive side. “Well, they got a mid-to-late twenty-year-old, who has worked her arse off to knock the last several years off her clock…literally.” I straighten my back and subtly tighten my tummy in lieu of drawing in an obvious slimming breath.
“Oh babe, you do. You look smoking hot; don’t worry about that.” She pats my arms and flashes her best friend a reassuring smile. “No. You need to worry more about the fact you don’t have enough holes, because, babe, that’s something you can’t fix at the gym.” She bites her lip to hold in her trademark filthy laugh, but I crack first and she’s quick to follow. She throws her head back, full-on belly aching, dirty laughter falling from her lips, eyes streaming, shaking her head. “Oh my God, you’re going to be kept busy around the cock.” She doubles over at her own joke and waves me down because I think she has another gem. “They’re in the Forces right? They’re going to want everything to run like clockwork.”
“Okaaaay, then, are we finished?” I pat her back as she attempts to regain her composure.
“Sorry. So sorry…too tempting. You’re right, you have a flight to catch. The cock is ticking. No time to be dicking around now.” She snorts with another laugh.
“Hope.” I sigh.
“Look, Finn. I still think you’re batshit insane, but if you have to go crazy, at least you’ll have lots of nuts to keep you company.” She pulls me in for a final hug, and I can see she’s genuinely smiling. Her face is a little wet from her tears, but her expression doesn’t hold any anxiousness or tension. There’s a little worry, which is understandable. Maybe I should’ve told her sooner. “I want you to promise to do one thing for me.” She clears her throat; her tone is soft but serious.
“What’s that?” I wait with bated breath for her to tell me what she’ll need from me to ease her mind, and will it be anything within my power. She hesitates a moment before her shoulders start to shake.
“Pictures…I want lots of pictures.” She snickers some more.
“I’m gone. I’ll call you when I land.” I turn on my heel and start to push the half-ton trolley away from my best—annoying—friend.
“With pictures!” she calls after me.
“Sure, with pictures.” I turn my back to the trolley so I’m facing her while pushing the beast up the ramp.
“You go, girl. Take one for the team! Oh wait, no. Take four with the team!” She shouts with the volume of a crowd control foghorn over the entire departures drop-off area. I cringe, but raise my hand to wave her off. Her own hands are flapping at me like a crazy person before she sinks into the car. The parking officer has finally lost his patience and points for her to leave or get towed. Dolly wouldn’t survive a tow with all that manhandling. I watch the cream and raspberry car filter into the traffic and disappear. Shit, I hope I’m in better shape than Dolly when it comes to being manhandled.
Four Months Ago
“YOU CAN’T BE HERE WHEN he gets home, Hope. It will kind of ruin the surprise.” I slam the oven door
shut, having checked the chicken is doing whatever it’s supposed to do in the oven, when I’m not allowed to drench it in a decadent cream sauce or rich wine gravy. The best I can manage within my boyfriend’s tight ‘health freak’ guidelines is a light pan fry to give it some color, and then steam the little fella in the oven to try and keep it tender and juicy. Dave owns an elite gym in the West End of London with a superstar clientele, and appearance has become a bit of a focus for him. I guess it always has been, but I’m more conscious of it now, perhaps, since it’s become less important to me.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she says, with enough horror in her tone to convince me she isn’t joking. “I don’t want to be here when you start dry humping your man as soon as he gets in the door.”
“That wasn’t the surprise I was going for.” I narrow my eyes and stick my tongue out at her disturbed expression.
“But sex is…I mean it’s why, under that coat you look like you’re auditioning for the Rocky Horror Picture Show.” She leans over and pulls the lapels of my Mac wide open. I squeal and re-tighten the loose material, cinching it firmly at the waist. I take a quick peek myself, because now I’m filled with panic.
“What? You’re kidding right?” I laugh nervously, searching her implacable face for any signs she’s joking. “I was hoping for agent provocateur seductress, not transvestite.”
She rolls her eyes, tutting and shaking her head with a light admonishing smile.
“I’m kidding, Finn. Jeez, you’re easy to tease when you’re strung out or frustrated.” She snickers, a deep, filthy, wicked laugh, and reaches for my hand to offer some genuine comfort. I’m all over the place with uncertainty and zero confidence. “You look fucking hot under the Mac. Is that part of the get up? He’s into the whole flashing-in-public thing?” She takes another sip of my wine despite having declined her own glass, and has proceeded to drink nearly all of mine.
“Hardly. No, I was hoping we could go for a quick drink, and this might turn him on. I mean I’m practically naked under here.” I hate sounding tentative about this, but I’m more than a little out of my comfort zone.
“Shit, Finn. You could wear a used bin liner, and you’d turn most men on. What makes Dave so special you’re worried it won’t? Does he have a golden dick or something?”
“No. I just…” I hesitate as I struggle to articulate feelings I don’t really understand myself. “He’s my best friend, Hope, apart from you, obviously.”
“That’s a given. Continue.” She beams a smile which crinkles her bright green eyes and widens her even brighter painted red lips. Her wild, glorious red hair is slicked back in a severe bun, practical for work but a little harsh for her soft pixie features.
“Sometimes I feel that’s all I am. I don’t know when it happened but I worry we’ve slipped from lovers to mates, and I miss feeling…wanted…desired, you know?”
“Um… Only ever one-night stands over here, so not really.” She gives an unapologetic shrug. I didn’t really expect her to understand. Her longest relationship is with me. She was with me when, underage and out looking for fun, we snuck into club. We ran straight into Dave and his mates. In borrowed heels and the tightest dress this side of indecent, I literally fell on my arse at his feet. He owned me from that night on. I never stood a chance. I fell for him and didn’t look back. I do have my doubts about Hope, on the other hand. I don’t think she’d fall if she was hit with a fucking freight train.
“We’ve been together for a long time, Hope, and I think he’s a little bored. So I thought I’d spice things up a bit.”
“And is he making the same effort?” She purses her lips in an effort to temper her underlying objections. She does this a lot when we talk about Dave, however, this time, she’s very wrong.
“I think he’s going to do more than that.” I rush out the words with a surprised blurt of excitement, which seems to pique her interest.
“Oh really? What?” She leans in closer to me, her face mirroring my smile.
“I think he’s going to propose to me on Saturday.” I drop my mouth in mock shock. Well, not mock since I am shocked.
“Why Saturday?” Her face is unchanged. No more excitement, no less either; however, she looks a little skeptical.
“It’s his birthday, and he’s been really secretive. It’s not like him. I normally organize everything we do socially, but this time, he’s called all our friends, booked a private room at the new club on the high street. He’s even sorted the caterers. Every time I offer to help he says he’s got it covered, and all he wants from me is to say, ‘Yes’.” I clap my hands together in a rapid-fire mini applause.
“Fuck!” Now that tone is utter shock.
“I know.” I giggle and bounce on my toes. “Honestly, Hope, all this time I thought he was going off me. I know he loves me, but he really hasn’t shown much interest sexually for ages.”
Hope wrinkles her nose with distaste. “Eww…Do we have to? I can’t help having a visual when you talk details.” She sticks two fingers down her throat as if her tone isn’t enough for me to get the level of her abhorrence.
“I’m serious.” I flick the end of the tea towel and catch her with an impressive snap on her arm. She yelps and scowls, and I ignore the fiery stare. “I’ve been really busy at work, and I haven’t been to the gym in like forever. This”—I grab my squidgy midriff and then shift my hands to my size D-cups—“is not the body he signed up for.”
“What? The body from when you were sixteen, you mean? Well, no fucking shit, Sherlock. Whose body is? Listen very carefully. You are fucking hot, any size you choose to be, so don’t give me that shit. Has he actually said that, because I will cut him—”
“No! No, he hasn’t.” I wave her down as she brandishes a spoon as if it was a mighty blade of body-shaming retribution. “He wouldn’t say anything like that. But, I know image is important to him, so I’m sure it’s in the back of his mind, and I can’t help thinking—”
“The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and if he isn’t eating…” She wiggles her finger in the general direction of my crotch.
“Exactly.” I sigh. “I honestly don’t remember the last time he did that.” I mouth the last word silently.
“Too many carbs?” She lets loose an unladylike snort, and I blurt out a laugh. I love that about her; she always makes me feel better. “So the big seduction thing is a preemptive thank you…a timely reminder of how fucking lucky he is?”
“I hope so.”
“You know I fucking hate this about you? No, not you. I hate how he makes you doubt yourself. I don’t get the whole marriage thing, but I know it’s important to you and he does too. So the fact he’s kept you waiting all these years chips away at your self-esteem and you’re all, ‘Maybe I’m not attractive to him anymore. Or maybe he sees me as just a friend’. It’s billy bollocks. You fucking rock, and he’s damn lucky to have you. There are hundreds of guys who would think the same as me. You happen to have fallen in love with a bit of a dick.” She holds her hands up to signal the end of her little speech and draws in one more breath. “I’m not judging, just stating fact.”
“It’s complicated.” I shrug off her tirade, because I have heard it before, and it stings because it’s true.
“No, it’s simple, although I’m jumping down from my soapbox because, he may be a dick, but he’s your dick, and you are the only one who matters in the equation. Your happiness and you’ve wanted that white dress since we used to play dress-up when we were kids.” She steps around the kitchen island to my side and wraps her arm around my waist.
“I still love to dress-up.” I snicker, looking down at my kinky ensemble.
“The outfits have become a little dirtier—a little more leather than lace.”
Hope wiggles her brow.
“And at least I fit into the heels.” I lift up my leg to showcase my most spectacular shoes.
“Killer heels, and if they don’t seal the deal, I don’t know what
will. I can guarantee it won’t be that meal you’re cooking.”
“It’s his favorite.” I try to sound offended and defend my efforts, but she’s right. Again.
“Bollocks. That’s no one’s favorite: steamed chicken, brown rice, and broccoli. Oh God, I’m going to gag.” She starts retching, and I push her away then walk over to the hob to make sure as bland as this meal is, it’s at the very least perfectly cooked. “Okay, I’m going to be off. Do you want me to meet you for lunch tomorrow? I’m working at the spa round the corner. I could pop in.” She slips her bag over her shoulder, then grabs her keys and phone from the counter.
“Depends on whether you’re coming to see me for lunch or coming to fuck my boss.” I point an accusatory wooden spoon her way, and she boldly returns my stare with no shame, a fiery spark in her eyes.
“Well, he is very fuckable.”
“Hope…” I warn.
“Fine! Lunch.” She holds her palms flat in an act of supplication. “I promise no fucking. Maybe a quick handjob, but definitely no fucking.”
So much for supplication.
She grabs her coat from the kitchen stool and makes to run from the room. Not that I could catch her with my skyscraper slingback stilettos.
“See you tomorrow. I can tell you all about it,” I call after her.
“Please don’t. I’ve only just stopped gagging from the food.” She pops her head round the door, her shoulders jerking and her cheeks puffed out holding in pretend vomit.
“Out!” I point my finger and give my dismissal in a firm and final tone.
“Love ya’, Finn.” Her reply is delivered sing-song, which always leaves me with a smile.
“HMM…SOMETHING SMELLS GOOD, RP, what’s the occasion?” Dave walks into the kitchen dropping his gym bag and briefcase. His near-black hair is still damp from the shower he would’ve taken before he left the gym. He is religious with his workouts, and I have to admit he looks damn good because of it. He’s not overly tall, five foot eleven. I’m five foot five, so he’s tall enough. He has wide shoulders, trim, narrow waist. His thighs are kind of weird now though, bulging and distorted with muscle mass, it makes finding jeans that fit a challenge. Every muscle from his tanned nose to his pedicured toes is toned to perfection, if a little bulky for my taste. I felt he reached perfection a few years ago, but apparently, that wasn’t perfect enough. His face is bright with a wide smile, and his jacket strains at the seams when he draws in a deep breath through his nose, capturing the aroma of the meal I have tried so desperately hard to make interesting. He strides straight past me to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, and peers over my shoulder at the pans simmering. He ruffles my hair that I had artfully fashioned into a messy bun. I thought at the time, It is amazing how much effort is required to look effortless. “Why have you got your coat on, if we’re eating in?”
