by Tillie Cole
My hand stilled on the door knob and Tudor tripped in shock, righting himself on the doorframe. I grimaced and shrugged. It was typical Tink behaviour.
“Wow!” was Tudors only response to the peep show and inappropriate verbal diarrhoea. He looked at me and we both burst out laughing. I shut the door and locked up. Tudor handed me a Tim Horton’s caramel latte, and off we went to teach me how to skate.
After the millionth time of landing on my arse, I decided to throw a tantrum and retire from the sport of skating before I broke a bone. Tudor had spent the better half of two hours helping me back up off the ice and then showing off his hockey skills by speed-skating around me, manoeuvring in a hundred different directions with ease. It was slightly pissing me off that a six-foot three mountain of a man could look so graceful, while I looked like the uncoordinated mammoth version of Bambi.
We were a pond in the back of an old ranch that spread about one hundred acres. It was weird, in the few weeks that Tudor and I had been friends we had barely stepped out in public. I knew he was a private person, but I was actually beginning to believe he was a hermit or some kind of agoraphobe.
Watching him contently glide around the ice showed that he cherished being out in the open, but he kept himself so withdrawn and hidden. It was so sad. I couldn’t help but think he had completely chosen the wrong profession for himself if his days consisted of dodging people’s recognition of him and keeping all information about himself locked up tight.
Whilst I silently contemplated Tudor’s career choices, the man in question saw that I had slumped down on the verge of the rink – well, pond – again, and came gunning in my direction, spraying ice all over me when he skidded to a stop.
“You bastard!” I shrieked, brushing the ice-cold flecks from my face before they melted and left track marks in my bronzer.
Tudor sat down next to me and put on a ‘who me?’ expression.
“What you doing, Tash?” he trilled out in a sing-song voice.
“Giving up! I can’t bloody do this, in case it had escaped your notice. I have no co-ordination and suck on an epic scale!”
Tudor ignored my outburst and grabbed my hand. “Come on, you clumsy Geordie. I’ll hold on to you, there's no giving up on my watch.”
I sighed and let him pull me up. Tudor grabbed my hips from behind and pushed off, forcing us to glide along. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, and then got all giggly at the fact that we had made it an entire lap without me falling arse-over-tit.
I felt his breath at my ear. “See, I told you you could do it.”
We were whipping around the ice with ease, and I felt a moment of pure elation. Overwhelmed, I decided to spread my arms and shout. "Jack, we’re flying, we're really flying!’"
I heard Tudor chuckle behind me and say, "You’re so weird, Tash."
I nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. North."
He squeezed his hands on my hips and whispered in my ear. "You definitely should."
I shivered from top to toe. He then pushed away from me, forcing me to try on my own while he skated in front, turned backwards and instructed me from about two feet away.
“Keep straight and push through the ice, one foot at a time, okay?”
“I’m doing it! Argh! I’m actually skating! Go me!”
Tudor was beaming with pride. “Okay, now try to follow me.”
He turned, and I was trailing behind when he must have seen a branch or something blocking my path and bent down to pick it up.
Like a Fem-bot lusting after a gyrating Austin Powers, I short-circuited at the peach of an arse displayed proudly in his Diesel jeans, and lost all semblance of control. My feet slipped, my arms flailed like a windmill and I began to scream.
Tudor stood up on hearing my yelp, looked back and for the second time in our short friendship, I smacked into him, taking us both to the ice at an ungodly speed. Tudor’s arms gripped me around the waist and he twisted, taking the brunt of the fall, leaving me directly on top and straddling him.
He looked up at me, my gloved palms resting on either side of his head. We said nothing for a long time.
I tried to wriggle off him and he sucked in a pained breath and stopped me with a tightening of his fingers on my hips. “Don’t. Move,” he said through gritted teeth.
Then I felt it, a hardening, and I blushed. Tudor’s eyes squeezed shut and his chest was rising and falling in an erratic motion.
Say something, break the tension. Erm, what the heck do I do?
“My, my, Mr. North. Is that a puck in your pants or are you just pleased to see me?” I quipped in a breathless voice.
Tudor instantly opened his eyes and just stared at me. I couldn’t break away from the tractor beams pulling me in.
Shit, wrong time to joke?
He sighed heavily, lifted my hips up with his hands and proceeded to shake his head and laugh.
“Come on, smart mouth. Time to call it a day.”
We got up carefully, trying not to press on any forbidden body parts, and he adjusted the crotch of his jeans discreetly, but not so discreetly that I couldn’t sneak a peek at the extra-large hockey stick he was trying to tuck into the waistband of his jeans.
We reached land, changed into our shoes and sat for a few silent minutes on the verge, just taking in the stunning winter wonderland in front of us. I didn’t know what to say. Talk about an awkward situation.
“You did well today, Tash,” he said, finally breaking me out of my embarrassed trance.
“Ha! Yeah, I reckon I could go to the next Olympics,” I answered sarcastically.
He grunted in amusement once under his breath.
I grimaced. “Sorry about practically dry-humping you.”
He stared at me and slowly lifted one side of his mouth in amusement. “You certainly have a way with words, Tash, eh?”
“For sure!” I replied, mimicking his Canadian accent.
He patted my leg. “Come on let’s go get a coffee, I think we could use one.”
He helped me up, and tied my skate laces together to put them over his shoulder along with his own to carry back to his Jeep.
We were about to head back to the car when I heard my favourite song, ‘Beneath Your Beautiful’, playing quietly. I began looking around for the source when Tudor unzipped his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. It was his ring tone.
He answered the call, staring piercingly at my gaping expression, his body as stiff as a board. “Hello…Yeah… I’m out at the minute…When? I’ll come immediately… No problem… I’ll speak to you soon.”
He shut off his phone without even saying a goodbye to the caller and dropped his head, shuffling his feet. My mouth opened and closed. I tried to say something. Anything. But nothing came out.
Why did he have that song as his ringtone? Does it remind him of me? Of that night? The night we have never addressed? Come on, Tash, embrace it. Now’s a good time to tell him how you feel. Man up! You like him, so tell him.
I edged towards Tudor and said in a hushed tone, "Tudor? Why do you have that song? I'm probably totally off the mark, but... but... do you like me? Because, I... I like you, and–"
He snapped his head up, his eyes penetrating mine with an unforgiving and icy stare. “I really like that song, don’t read anything into it, okay? It means nothing. We are nothing. I don't like you like that. You’re not my type and you’re my sister’s teacher for God’s sake!” he barked out harshly.
I swallowed and flinched, moving my head away from the sharp edge of his cutting words.
He took a step in the same direction, refusing to move from my direct line of sight. “Understood?” he growled.
I couldn’t say anything. How could I, when a hole the size of the Grand Canyon had just been punched into my heart?
“Tell me, damn it!” he snapped.
I nodded my head once in comprehension. Don’t worry Tudor, I’ve got it. Message received.
"Completely understood." I wh
ispered in mortification.
And that was that, he turned and began striding away, silencing any further conversation on the subject.
I stood for a minute on my own, controlling my breathing and rubbing my chest, soothing the pain piercing my heart. Eventually, I forced my feet to move and set off, leaving the pond and my dignity behind.
When I got to the car, Tudor was already inside with the engine running, his fists clenched around the steering wheel, causing his knuckles to turn white. I climbed in the back, as far away from him as possible, and he drove off, turning the radio on loud and taking me straight home without any form of communication.
He pulled to a stop outside of my complex and kept his gaze straight ahead, grinding his teeth so hard it was audible. “I have to go back home, my agent needs to speak to me. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. I have a lot on at the moment,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
As I started to reply, he cut in adding, “Actually maybe it’s best if we don’t see each other again. I'm not so sure our friendship was such a good idea after all. You have feelings for me that I don’t return.”
He sounded distant and cold, not the Tudor I’d come to know.
I let out an exhausted, humiliated sigh, willing myself not to cry. “Fine, Tudor, have it your way. See you around… maybe. Just, do me a favour and forget what I said back at the pond. I don't know what I was thinking, it was silly of me... obviously, and probably the most embarrassing moment of my life, not that you’d care, but...”
He groaned painfully, trying to reach back towards me. “Tash... wait… I–”
I swung open the door, not even acknowledging him, and shut it with force. As soon as the door was closed, he sped away in his stupid friggin’ Jeep and I heard him roar a loud, “Fuck my life!” as he pulled away from the curb where I stood like a lemon. But I ignored it, turned and stormed up the steps to the condo.
I slammed the front door and walked towards Tink’s room, in desperate need of my best friend. I could hear him through the walls giggling and moaning, obviously enjoying his time with Tate. Not wanting to interrupt, I fixed myself a large amaretto and Coke from the liquor cabinet, and went to my room to drown my sorrows. It may have only been early in the day, but hell, I figured it was evening somewhere in the world!
I walked straight to my iDock and turned it up to the highest volume, playing Taylor Swift’s ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ on repeat, and sang at the top of my lungs, venting my anger and taking large gulps of my drink at every chorus, loving the burning sensation that was numbing my shattered emotions. I could totally relate to Ms. Swift – now there is a girl who knows about man trouble!
Feeling more-than-slightly buzzed, I sprawled out on my bed and smothered my mouth with my pillow which, to my vexation, smelled like the über-muscled wanker.
Fucking great!
I finally let myself remember every stabbing word he had said, and cracked from the impact of Tudor’s rejection. I let out a strangled, defeated moan and sobbed uncontrollably until sleep claimed me.
How was I so off the mark and, more importantly, how do I stop wanting him so bloody much?
CHAPTER 14
Drunk as a skunk
Tink was beyond livid.
After hearing a certain girly teen-angst song play for most of the afternoon through my supposedly well-insulated bedroom wall, he came to the correct conclusion that I was upset.
It was about eight in the evening when he retired from his all-day nookie session with Pookie – he’d exhausted himself, Tater-Tot and pretty much the entire workings of the Kama Sutra over the last twelve hours – and decided he should pop in to say hi while his thoroughly sexed lover recuperated in the comfort of his whopping waterbed.
Tink opened the bedroom door for a girly chat, but instead found me absolutely paralytic on the bed under a sea of papers. In my inebriated state I had decided to seek revenge on everybody’s favourite schizophrenic movie star, and had printed off several Google images of him in various paparazzi shots and movie promotional posters and scribbled over them in my thickest, brightest red pen.
Yep, you now know that I’m a psycho drunk, and, needless to say, this little episode scared Tink half to death.
“Wil! What the hell?” he shrieked as he picked up an A4 sheet of paper showcasing a half-dressed Tudor on the cover of ‘Men’s Health’ advertising his workout regime for the release of The Blade Reaper, his eyes gouged out and the words ‘We Are Nothing’ scrawled across his protruding chest.
I lifted my head from my current art project – drawing devil horns and blackened teeth on a head shot of Mr. North – and smiled drunkenly at Tink. “My fabulous fairy is here, finally, after screwing his boyfriend’s brains out all day! How nice of you to take a break from your back-door pummelling to witness the head-fuck that is my life!”
Tink opened his mouth in shock and began sifting through the mass of desecrated posters, his face expressing every freaked-out thought he was feeling.
“I’m going to let that bitchy comment go seeing as though you have clearly lost your marbles. So I’ll ask again: What. The. Heck. Happened?”
I fell back, and giggled at the room spinning. “What happened? Well, where do I begin? He who shalt be nameless took me ice-skating whilst you were bumping uglies, and once again I massively cocked up and fell on top of him. Yep, and I, Natasha Munro, gave him, Mr. Unemotional, a huge, stonking hard-on!” Hiccup. “… then he played that song on his phone and I couldn’t speak at first, but then I asked if he fancied me and I stupidly told him that I liked him. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I hit myself in the head repeatedly.
Tink grabbed both hands to stop me.
I looked into the worried eyes of my best friend. “But why that song if he doesn't want me? I didn’t know what it all meant, and then he shouted at me and told me ‘we were nothing’ and that he never wanted to see me again, said I’m not his type,” hiccup, “… and, and then I came home and got this bottle –”
I reached for the now near-empty bottle of booze and put a hand on my head, “Hey! Where did all the amaretto go?”
I began looking under my bed to see where the pesky liquid had run off to.
Oops! I fell off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. “… Anyway, I came home and Mr. Amaretto and I made friends and had a little party for two.”
Tink stroked my hair and I pushed out my bottom lip in sorrow. “I tried to get away from thinking of him but he was all over the internet. If he was a normal person I could easily forget, but his first name got three million results alone, three million! So, I decided to erase him, scribble him out,” hiccup “... now he is nothing too. Just like me.”
Tink turned away, trying to quell his fury and the vein on his forehead began to protrude. “Tate!!!!” he screamed, sounding remarkably like a strangled cat. I just laughed until my stomach began to ache.
He faced me again. “Ham roll, I don’t understand what happened, what song? You’re talking nonsense. Did you tell Tudor you liked him?”
Tate came running into the room at that moment and saw the mess on my bedspread and carpet. He picked up the pictures one by one, his face full of horror.
Tink lifted me up on the bed, and spoke to his lover. “Get him on the fucking phone now!”
Tate put his hands out. “Tink, wait, I can’t call him for you. What the hell happened? What’s wrong with, Tash?”
“He screwed her over, just like I knew he would! We all saw that he liked her, and we all knew he’d do something like this. Now I’ll ask again, get him on the bastard phone, now!” he commanded.
Tate headed back to Tink’s room, looking slightly unsteady on his feet, and returned seconds later scrolling through his phone, holding out a hand in a placating manner.
“Let me speak to him first, please. I’m not allowed to give his number out, it’s in my contract. This is way out of my job description.”
Tink turned a bright shade of red. “You have ten s
econds, Tate. I mean it. I'm so friggin' angry with him.”
I flipped on my side and put my hand over my mouth to muffle the hysterical giggles cascading out of me, causing the paper to crackle under my weight. Tate was pacing the room, running his hands through his hair and glancing up at Tink, who was still as a statue beside my bed, radiating pure rage.
Tate held the phone to his ear. “Tudor, it’s me. Listen, erm… I’m at Tink’s. Tash is in a bit of a... situation and Tink wants to speak to you… erm… she’s had a lot to drink and is not doing too good.”
Tate winced listening to Tudor’s response.
Tink, in his fury, stormed over to his boy-toy and snatched the phone out of his trembling hands. “You total arsehole! I warned you! I told you not to do this to her!” he yelled down the phone.
Wait! He did? When?
“What the hell have you said? She is a mess and keeps talking about a song, and saying you called her nothing. How could you?” he shrieked, his voice inching up an octave.
I could vaguely hear Tudor raising his voice in response on the other end of the phone. I couldn’t take the fighting. I had an idea.
As quickly as Natasha-possible, I catapulted myself off the bed and snatched the phone out of Tink’s hand, ran to the bathroom and locked myself in.
I was still laughing at my scheming when I began to look for the quiet voice saying ‘Tash’ that I could hear coming from somewhere in my en-suite. I looked under the toilet seat – maybe it was a gnome? I looked behind the shower door – maybe a leprechaun searching for his lucky charms? But nope, it was nowhere. Oh! Duh, it was the phone, silly drunken me!
“Helloooooo???” I sang into the mouth piece.
“Tash?” Tudor sounded relieved.
Tink was now hammering on the door, but I wasn’t going to open it. No, sir-ree! I made myself comfortable on the toilet seat.“Mr. North, how nice to talk to you again. How are you this fine evening? Still a cold-hearted bastard with no regard for anyone’s feelings?” I inquired.
“Tash, please don't. What have you had to drink? I don’t know what to say,” he sounded upset.
