by Tillie Cole
“Apart from me of course?” asked Tink, in all seriousness.
“Yes, apart from you,” I sighed.
“Well, he couldn’t take his eyes off you, Wil. It was so strange. He kept staring at you before you had even realised who he was. He laughed when you came in dancing and continued watching everything you did until you went over, and then he just seemed pissed off,” Tink exclaimed.
“No wonder! Have you seen the clip of me? I’m dressed up like a tart. Rule one of teaching: students and their family should not see you dressed for clubbing. Oh my God! I pulled out the slut drop too! Do you think I’ll get fired over this?” I asked, suddenly panicked. “Plus, I think he hates me. Was that not obvious?”
Tink snorted in indignation. “The slut drop is your signature move, ham slice, and he doesn’t hate you. He was drawn to you without a doubt. Then again it could have been your titties. They look unreal tonight,” he remarked as he pushed my breasts up with his hands.
“Forget it. I want to,” I gestured with a wave of my hand. “I definitely need a night out now after this. Jägerbombs ahoy! I’m up for getting completely sloshed,” I hooted.
“Right well, I need to finish my shift. Sit by the counter in the back and I’ll get you a daiquiri while you wait.”
He stopped suddenly, as he was walking away. “Do you want me to spit in his garlic bread in revenge?”
He wasn’t joking.
I laughed and shook my head. “No, but thanks for the support, chuck.”
Tink just winked in response.
I took myself to the staff bar and jumped up on a stool. I felt eyes on me and when I looked back, Tudor North was glaring menacingly my way. Our eyes met and he gave a brisk nod, his mouth clenched into a rigid tight line.
What a weirdo. What did I ever do to him? Recognise him? He shouldn't be bloody famous then, if he doesn't want the friggin’ attention!
CHAPTER 7
Celebrity close encounter
Fifteen minutes later, and I was contentedly sipping on the remains of my large daiquiri when a deep cough interrupted my thoughts.
Tudor North stood behind me with folded arms and a dangerously sexy lopsided smirk. Now he had moved away from the cover of the table I could see him in his full glory, and glo-ri-ous he was.
Wearing a fitted black T-shirt, ripped dark jeans and an oversized beanie hat tucked in at the back, he towered above me, and for once in my life I actually felt dainty next to his remarkably wide, tall and sculpted body.
“You work here as well as school or something?” he asked in a low, gruff voice.
“No. Just waiting for my friend to finish work, he gets off at ten. But hello to you too. Aren’t you the epitome of manners? So… friendly and approachable!” I jibed, feigning nonchalance.
Why is he over here?
“He?” he inquired, looking down at the floor and then back up at me, ignoring my bitchy remark.
“Yeah, Tin- er, John.”
He wouldn't get the ‘Tink’ reference and I couldn't be arsed explaining it to someone I frankly was beginning to detest. Although my body, currently covered in goose bumps, didn't exactly agree with my mind’s assessment. His good looks were making me queasier than the super-strong daiquiri I had just necked.
“Is he your boyfriend or something?” he asked in a very abrupt and direct manner.
“Not that it concerns you but, hell no! Take a look; do you think that’s my boyfriend?”
I pointed over to Tink, who was in the kitchen picking up pizzas above his head and strutting out to the main restaurant, doing his best Tyra Banks walk and screaming, “Work it, girl!”
“Ahh, guess not. He’s gay, then?”
Please don’t let him be homophobic too.
“Yep. He’s as camp as Christmas and oh, he’s a cage fighter too,” I replied dryly.
He swerved to study Tink’s slender frame. “What-? Ahh,” he nodded his head with a knowing grin. “Touché, Ms. Munro. Payback for my display of sarcasm earlier?” he commented, with the ghost of a smile.
Is he actually trying to be nice?
“Tit for tat, Mr. North. Tit. For. Tat,” I scolded, exaggerating each word with a click of my fingers.
He pierced me with those forest-green eyes for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t look away. Slowly licking his lips, he looked me up and down and said, “Well, I’ve got the tats, so…”
Redirect, reverse, and just go back to being pissed off, not turned on!
I shuffled on the suddenly-hot seat, and pulled my libido back from sneaking up his trouser leg. “He jokes! An actor with a sense of humour, who knew? Not the fuck-nut I thought, then?” I said, finally finding my poker face.
“Not always, whatever the hell that is,” he murmured, seemingly slightly amused.
Phew! That voice.
“My name’s Tash by the way, I feel like an S&M madam you calling me ‘Ms.’ all the time.”
“Tash… I like it,” he leaned down, his arms trapping me against the bar. He put his mouth to my ear and whispered huskily, “But I like the idea of calling you Ms. as well.” He met my now-stunned gaze, and stepped back as if that little conversation had never happened.
He’s done that to wind me up, unnerve me but... but – man, he’s so hot! Oh my God, he has dimples… write me off now or let me take up residence in those little caves of cuteness!
Shuffling uncomfortably on the spot like he was nervous, he peered down at me. “So, do you want to join our table? Boleyn keeps raving about you and quite honestly I’m intrigued to hear all about the ‘famous Ms. Munro’ in person. Plus, it may shut her up for the remainder of the night if you sit with us. She’s been craning her neck all over ever since you came back here. Claims I was a bad brother and an even worse human being to speak to ‘the best teacher ever’ like that,” he declared, putting on a teenage-girl whiny voice.
“Ahh, so this little conversation is not altruistic, then? You want back in your sister’s good books,” I shook my head in mock disappointment. “And just when I thought you might have a heart, a conscience for offending little old me,” I lilted, acting upset and fluttering my eyelids.
Looking at me like he was aware of my sarcasm but playing along anyway, he replied, “I admit I may have been a bit of a 'fuck-nut' as you so eloquently put it. Sorry, I really shouldn't have spoken to you like that,” he apologised, one side of his mouth curving up in a devastatingly sexy way.
Trying to ignore the fact that the temperature in the room seemed to have gone up a hundred degrees, I jumped down from my stool.
“Well, lead the way, oh dutiful brother, we can't have your little sister pissed at you, can we?” I directed with a swing of my arm, earning a shake of the head from a begrudgingly entertained Tudor North.
Seated at the table next to Tudor, I fell into easy conversation with the rest of the family.
“So where are you from, Ms. Munro? I can’t place your accent,” asked Henry.
“You can all call me Tash. Well except you, missy. I’m still Ms. Munro to you,” I said, pointing to Boleyn. “I’m from England. A place called Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. You probably don’t know it. We are pretty much as far north a city as you can get to before you hit Scotland,” I informed.
“Newcastle? Right. So, what brings you to Calgary?”
“Well Ti-, err John, my roommate and best friend, and I, decided we needed a change, you know, a chance to travel. We kind of randomly just picked somewhere to live, and Calgary it was,” I explained, purposely leaving out the cheating ex, Jane Austen quote, drunken decision-making and the role Cool Runnings played in the story.
“Wow, just like that?” remarked Samantha. “I could never do anything so drastic. I am from Winnipeg, and Calgary is about as far as I’m willing to go. My mom would kill me if I went too far from home.”
“Yeah the ‘rents were a bit upset, but in the end they supported it. I just have to Skype, email and text pretty much every day,” I joked.
&
nbsp; “So, no-one special here or back home?” she enquired.
“Not any more. Ex-boyfriend in England is now involved with someone else, so I’m free and single and ready to mingle with the best Calgary has to offer,” I winked.
“What do you think of the Canadians, then?” asked Henry.
“Amazing. You lot are so nice. Well, nearly all of you,” I tipped my head sideways and pointed my thumb at Tudor, who winced and looked down at the table. Henry, on the other hand, seemed tickled by my dig.
“Well, most of us are. Tudor's the exception – all broody and tortured. Just ignore him, we do,” he waggled his eyebrows whilst Tudor scowled at him moodily.
Henry continued, “What about the accent though, no trouble there?”
“Nope. I love the way you say ‘oot’ and ‘aboot’. You sound kind of Scottish, it’s funny.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Well, we are all very happy you have moved here. Newcastle’s loss is Calgary’s gain,” exclaimed Pamela, smiling alongside a very cheery Boleyn.
“Thanks,” I answered bashfully.
“So, Pamela, what’s up with the Tudor Royal names? I love it, but I have never come across it before,”
“I studied History at University and that was my favourite period, everything about it really. So when I had Henry I knew what I would call him. Tudor was a little more difficult. I didn’t like Edward, and my friend came up with the idea of using Tudor as a forename and it just stuck. Anne Boleyn was my favourite of the wives. It probably seems silly to you being from England, eh?” she asked, seemingly embarrassed.
“Not at all! It’s my favourite part of our history too, so I’m in love with the names, it’s super inventive! Plus, Tudor here didn’t have to create a show name, he was already equipped with one!” I teased and nudged his arm.
He looked up and sort of smiled at me... I think, it was either that or wind.
Wow, the icy exterior is melting.
After telling the table about my family and the ins and outs of teaching and why I chose that vocation, I decided to turn the tables on a certain socially-challenged superstar. Let’s just say that I was more than a little intrigued by the guy.
“So, acting?” I declared in Tudor’s direction.
“Yeah. Acting,” was the enlightening response.
Undeterred, I pushed further. “How did all that happen?”
Tudor shrugged dismissively. “I kinda fell into it, but I love what I do and seem to be doing alright.”
You definitely got the vibe that he didn’t like to talk about his stardom too much. A modest actor too? He was full of surprises.
"Alright? You must be doing better than that for me to know your name. I'm not into action films but even I recognised you."
He just shrugged and blushed.
Henry put his elbows on the table and tilted his head, studying me. "You mean you haven't seen one of his films? You must be the only person left on the planet who hasn’t."
I shook my head. "Nope, action’s not my thing." I turned to Tudor. "I only hear good things though."
He nodded once, embarrassed as his mother gushed, "Oh he is, he's so talented. His film has broken lots of records. We’re all so proud."
Tudor was now beaming red. I felt I should relieve him from the torture.
“So if you have just moved here, where do you all come from?” I noticed Boleyn flinch, which seemed a bit peculiar.
“Originally Victoria, BC, then Vancouver but we like here better. This is home now,” declared Pamela, hugging Boleyn close. "Tate is from LA, though."
Feeling a little awkward at the reaction to what I deemed an innocent question, I carried on quizzing Tudor.
“Do you live in La-La land then too? Are you just visiting? You can't live in Calgary and be an actor surely? Are you just taking a break from escorting Victoria’s Secret models to dine on lettuce leaves and strutting their angel-winged stuff at the glitzy premieres as your token arm candy?”
I gathered I had asked the wrong question by the total silence and the heads bowed down to the table.
Whoops! Foot in mouth once again. I just couldn’t figure out why.
After a few moments, Tudor fixed his gaze on me. “No, I live near the family, just under the radar from the fame gig. No-one really knows I'm here. I wanted to live somewhere where people didn’t really care about celebrity. No annoying photographers, you know?”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine how you cope with being followed around all the time. I’d hate it. I bet by the size of you, you hardly go unnoticed very often.” Tudor seemed slightly deflated by what I’d said and just nodded. I was honestly digging my own grave. I couldn’t say anything right.
“It’s bad when they write untrue things about you, but it comes with the job, I guess. In Calgary though, I can go pretty unnoticed, and these lot have an alias so people don’t click on,” he explained.
“Ah. Jones. I wondered what that was about.”
“It’s just easier, especially for Boleyn at school, you know?” professed Pamela. She shifted on her seat nervously, “I don’t mean to sound out of line when I say this, but can I ask that you keep all of this to yourself? Boleyn finds it difficult dealing with Tudor’s fame at school. And we have a confidentiality agreement with the principal about anonymity,” she informed me, clearly embarrassed.
“It’s a given. I promise,” I assured them all.
There was a bit of awkward tension around the table, and so the best option seemed to navigate the conversation to Tate.
“So Tate, what’s your deal?” I smiled at him, eager to find out more about the incredibly reserved cutie. He was almost a mute.
“I’m Tudor’s assistant. Where he goes, I go. It’s my blessing and my curse,” he playfully nudged Tudor, earning a wink.
“He’s a godsend. I am not organised at all, and Tate takes care of everything. I wouldn't function without him,” Tudor responded, jabbing Tate on the arm.
Tate blushed. I couldn't imagine being that shy.
It was at that precise moment that everyone’s favourite fairy flew in. “Here you are! I wondered where you’d disappeared to. You ready to go par-tay, pork chops?”
I could see the confusion on the faces of the North clan at the ‘pork chops’ comment, but thankfully they let it slide.
Getting up and standing next to Tink, I started the introductions. “John this is-”
“John? Psht, it's Tink and you know it. What’s come over you?” he hissed glaring at me as though I had lost my mind.
Through gritted teeth I started again. “Fine! Tink this is Pamela, Boleyn, Samantha, Henry, Tate and Tudor. Everybody this is Tink, my best friend, roommate and fellow Geordie,” I gestured in his direction.
Henry began laughing, and Samantha hit his shoulder to shut him up.
I raised a questioning eyebrow. “What?”
Henry pointed along the table. “Tash, Tink, Tate and Tudor. All T’s – thank God you don’t all hang out, it’d be a total nightmare remembering all your names.”
I giggled. “Good job your hulk of a brother can’t stand me then, eh?” I lightly flicked Tudor on his arm, but he instantly grabbed my hand and stared at me, squeezing my hand gently in his.
“I don’t hate you,” he mumbled, all seductively.
I couldn’t look away, and felt frisky little shivers creeping up my arm from where his hand touched mine and that familiar warm sensation heading south.
Henry cleared his throat and broke the tension, “Tink? That’s a strange name. Where’s that from?” he asked with a curious side-look at me and his brother.
“Well, it’s a funny story. Wil and I–”
“Wil?” interrupted Tudor, looking mightily confused and breaking our weird little exchange.
“Yeah, Wilbur,” replied Tink, naturally assuming people would make the connection with me and the famous literary pig.
“You mean, Tash?” he clarified.
“Well, yeah but s
he’s been Wil to me since we were twelve. You know, she was named after the pig –”
“Well, I think we’ll leave it there, hey, Tink? Are you ready to go?” I interrupted, practically shouting while nipping his back and Chinese-burning his arm.
“Ow, Wil!”
I glared at him with daggers in my eyes, daring him to continue his delightful storytelling.
With a defeated huff, he spat out in a prissy tone. “Fine, yes.”
I noticed Tudor silently laughing, and I rolled my eyes at him in reference to Tink. I also noticed Tate. He was staring at the self-named ‘Friggin’fantastic fairy’ and was practically salivating.
Tudor, having seen me studying Tate, covertly glimpsed his way too and raised an eyebrow knowingly. Tink, on the other hand, was oblivious to Tate’s attention. He was too busy trying to embarrass me to notice anything else going on around him. I decided it was time to make an exit.
“Thank you for inviting me to meet you all properly, and for not holding my earlier performance against me. It was really nice to meet you. Tudor, good luck with the acting. Not that you need it but– ah, you know what I mean,” I flustered. “Boleyn, have a nice break, and I’ll see you next week. Samantha, Henry, Tate, Pamela, I hope you have a good night.”
With that, Tink and I headed towards the door, arms linked and giggling when I heard. “Nice to meet you too... Wil.”
I whipped my head around, stopping dead in my tracks.
Tudor had twisted in his seat, an amused expression on his face, obviously tickled at my swine-themed nickname.
Tink started laughing his head off at his dig, and I proceeded to stick my tongue out at Tudor, earning a loud, bellowing laugh from the Blade Reaper himself as I dragged a giddy fairy through the exit.
One-nil to him.
Tudor Bloody North!
CHAPTER 8
Smack-Bam into fate
The morning after…
