by Jessica Ashe
A waitress came over and offered us another glass of wine, but Sophia and I both needed caffeine after a few too many last night. For me, that meant a cup of tea. For Sophia, it was coffee.
“It’ll be me serving the coffee again on Monday,” Sophia said, once she had her hands around a hot mug.
“You don’t have to go back to work.”
“I want to. Besides, we need the money. No more playboy lifestyle for you either.”
“I don’t want to be a playboy anymore. However—”
“However?” Sophia asked with raised eyebrows. “You’d better not be going back to sleeping around my college again.”
“I’m not sure there are many left,” I replied with a grin. “But that’s not what I meant. Remember I said our financial situation has changed?”
“Yeah. What did you mean by that?”
“I’m collecting the inheritance.”
“What? How?”
“I got that palace solicitor to look into the trust. Turns the trust has very specific language about me marrying a woman.”
“We knew that already.”
“The solicitor—being a typical smartarse—pointed out that if I were gay, the clause requiring me to marry a woman would be unconscionable.”
“Please God don’t tell me you're planning to fake a marriage to a guy this time?”
“I was a little worried that’s where the solicitor was going, but he said we could challenge the clause without me actually proving I’m gay. The trustee backed down instantly. No one wants to be the guy upholding a discriminatory clause, so he declared it invalid. The money’s mine.”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah. Still want to go back to serving coffee?”
“Maybe not.”
We sat there holding hands in silence, until Sophia finally decided she wanted to get out from behind the glass and watch the game with the fans.
“They’ll spot us in the crowd,” I warned. “It might take five minutes, but I guarantee you they will spot us.”
“So what if they do? My boobs are already on the internet for all to see. A bit of banter from the crowd shouldn’t be a huge problem.”
It didn’t take five minutes. The second we stepped outside, the fans nearby turned around to look at us and that reaction spread throughout the ground like a Mexican wave.
Then came the chanting.
“What are they singing?” Sophia asked.
I looked over at Ellie and Dani, who were both trying hard not to laugh. “They are imploring you to show your chest,” I replied tactfully.
“Get your tits out for the lads,” the crowd chanted. “Get your tits out, get your tits out, get your tits out for the lads.”
“Oh,” Sophia said. “I hear them now.”
“We can go back inside if you like?” I offered.
We both knew Sophia was going to be the subject of gossip and rude gestures for a while yet, but this was definitely a baptism of fire.
“No, it’s okay,” Sophia replied. “Could be worse.”
Ellie and Dani leaned over to offer their support and the girls all started laughing and joking. Perhaps it had been a good idea to bring them along. The three of them stood up in unison, in the way women did when they all planned to go to the toilet together.
I turned my legs to the side to let them past, but they didn’t move.
“On three,” Ellie said loudly. “One. Two. Three.”
The three of them—perfectly in sync—all lifted up their jumpers and bras, flashing their breasts to the crowd. I quickly looked away before I got accused of looking at more than just Sophia’s, but I was the only one in the ground who did.
Tens of thousands of men all wolf-whistled in unison as the girls waved their tits around for five seconds that seemed to last an eternity.
Eventually, they all sat down and carried on watching the game as if nothing had happened. I stared at Sophia, my eyebrows having taken up permanent residency at the top of my head.
“What?” she asked innocently. “It’s not like they haven’t seen mine before. And fuck it, they’re only boobs.”
“They’re not only boobs. They’re the best boobs I’ve ever had my hands on. Speaking of which, I know we promised to have dinner with the girls but do you think we could—”
“Take a detour via the hotel? Yeah, I think we could swing that. I like to work up an appetite before eating.”
Epilogue
Sophia - Six months later
“What are you going to do with your last week in England?” Ellie asked.
“We don’t have any plans,” I replied.
“Gotcha,” Ellie replied with a smile. She’d correctly deciphered the code for ‘we plan to stay in bed all day and screw.’
I’d been excitedly counting down the days to my final day at work, but now that it had arrived, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. Serving coffee wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, but working with Ellie had been fun, and I’d met so many cool people here, including George.
No one gossiped about me any more—at least not in here. In the first few weeks after George’s big announcement, the coffee shop had been noticeably more full than usual, and there had been plenty of gawking. That died down quickly, and now people didn’t even look up when I served them their drinks. Just how I liked it.
“Soy latte for Chris,” I yelled out, as I placed the coffee down on the counter. I’d finally gotten the hang of doing some very basic shapes in the foam, so at least I could say I’d learned something from this experience.
“I still can’t believe you’re working here,” Ellie said after serving another customer. “You don’t need the money.”
“It keeps me grounded,” I replied. “And I get to hang out with you of course.”
“That’s sweet, but if I were in your shoes, the only thing you’d see of me is Facebook pictures from the beach of whatever Caribbean island I happen to be on that week.”
“We have plenty of time for all that. I came here to get a master’s degree, and not end up in a tonne of debt. I don’t want to go back to America without that.”
“Why?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. A sense of accomplishment? A feeling that I’m not a total failure?”
“You just want to say ‘I told you so’ to your mother.”
“Yep, that’s about the gist of it.”
“You’re going to come back to England though, right?”
“Definitely,” I replied.
George and I had discussed living in America for a bit, but I struggled to find the enthusiasm to move back home. Old friends had crawled out of the woodwork during my time in the spotlight, but their two-dimensional attempts to reconnect just made me realize how little I need them. These were the same people who’d known about Stan sleeping with my best friend, and they may have even slept with Stan as well for all I knew.
My real friends were here, and I didn’t intend to leave them behind for very long. I’d have to figure out the visa situation, but I’d find a way. We’d find a way.
“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed in California for a while,” Ellie said.
“You wouldn’t?”
“No. I’ve always wanted to visit, but I can barely afford the flights, let alone the accommodation.”
“Glad to know I can come in use,” I replied.
“I know American women like British accents on men, but do you think American men will like a woman with an English accent?”
“They won’t know what your accent is. The first time we spoke, I only understood about fifty percent of the words you used.”
“Oh. Guess I’d better start learning the Queen’s English.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine as you are. All men understand the language of big, bouncy boobs, and a beautiful smile.”
“Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t mind spending a few weeks screwing all those hot surfers I see on television.”
“I
’m from Northern California. We don’t have hot surfers, we have pretentious hipsters.”
“Well… you should move.”
“You’re probably right,” I said with a smile.
I knew where I wanted to live, and it wasn’t California. It was right here in Yorkshire. It might not be the most metropolitan part of the country, but I’d already decided that London wasn't for me.
George and I stayed in London for a month after the announcement and we were treated like royalty the entire time. We could go where we wanted, when we wanted. Sports stadiums and concert venues opened their doors to us, and we drank at so many exclusive clubs and bars that I eventually got bored of meeting celebrities. Ellie would never forgive me if she knew I’d turned down the chance to meet Lady Gaga because I’d wanted an early night. George was just as bad. I’d wanted to go to a club to meet Jennifer Lawrence, but George had insisted we go back to the hotel instead.
The special treatment quickly grew tiresome. We didn’t deserve it. We were just two people who had fallen in love. That was more than enough for me.
I’d told George that I wanted to finish my degree, so we’d come back to Yorkshire, and immediately I felt at home again. We got our fair share of curious glances, but if we wanted to get into a club we had to stand in line like everyone else. I loved it.
Even the accent had grown on me, and you couldn’t beat being referred to as “pet.” It was like being welcomed into the family. Not that I could use the word myself. I’d said it once to a customer, but he just looked at me with a bemused expression on his face.
“I hope we’re still on for drinks tonight?” Ellie asked.
“Sure. I’m not the one who has to work tomorrow. How about going back to Viva? Seems an appropriate place given how eventful our last visit was.”
Ellie laughed. “Yeah, I’m up for that. Today is all about the déjà vu it seems.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Can George make it?”
“He goes where I tell him,” I joked. “Speak of the devil.”
George walked through the doors of the café looking surprisingly overdressed for a hot spring day. Not that I was complaining. No one could pull off the suit look quite like George. He’d forsaken the tie, and had a few shirt buttons undone, which probably went some way to explaining why I liked the look so much.
“Hi, George the Ninth,” Ellie said loudly.
The nickname had stuck, and no one took more pleasure in using it in public than Ellie. She even wrote “George IX” on this cup whenever he came in for a drink. George had tried referring to Ellie as “Ellie 34D” but it didn’t have quite the same ring to it. Not to mention, he got her size completely wrong.
“Hi, Ellie,” George replied quietly.
“Everything okay?” I asked. George didn’t have his usual confidence or swagger about him today, and he’d been cryptic about what he’d been up to the last few days. I hadn’t been worried about it—until now.
“I’m not sure yet,” George replied.
“How did your meeting go?”
“I got what I needed.”
George looked behind me to Ellie, and then back to me. He had bad news. We were set for money, so it wasn’t that. Could he not come to America with me anymore?
“Sophia, would you go collect those cups from that empty table?” Ellie asked.
“You’re going to miss bossing me around when I’m gone.”
“Stop complaining and go get the cups, love.”
“She’s only this annoying when you’re here,” I said to George, as I went around the counter towards the empty table.
“That’s my fault,” George said. “She’s doing me a favor.”
I walked towards the table, but George blocked my way. Ellie mentioned déjà vu earlier, and suddenly I knew what she meant.
George dropped to one knee in front of me and took hold of my left hand. “We didn’t do it properly last time and that was my fault. This time I want it to be perfect. You’re my princess and always will be. You deserve to get married like one.”
He pulled out a small box from the inside of his jacket pocket and opened it in front of me.
“Sophia Simpkins, will you marry me?”
I didn’t look down at the ring. I didn’t need to. The size of the rock didn’t matter. All that I cared about was the love and affection I saw in his eyes. I knew I wanted to wake up to that look every day for the rest of my life.
My mouth couldn’t even form the one-syllable word response, so I just nodded my head frantically until George stood and lifted me up in his arms. I was vaguely aware of some clapping and cheering in the background, but all I could see through tear-filled eyes was Ellie wiping her own tears from her cheeks.
My last maid of honor had betrayed me. This time, I knew I’d be in safe hands. I had the perfect man and the perfect friends.
Life couldn’t get any better.
“We’re going to do it right this time,” George whispered in my ear.
“I don’t care how we do it,” I replied. “I just want to be with you.”
“I’ve already booked the honeymoon.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’d love to spend two weeks looking at you in a bikini,” George replied. “But I made a promise to you and I’m a man of my word. We’re going skiing.”
* * *
THE END
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* * *
WITNESS
There’s something special about Laura. Something mind-blowing. Something… familiar.
Alex
Laura Chapman made it up to my hotel room, got naked, and then bailed, leaving me with a serious case of blue balls.
There is more to Laura than just a nervous virgin, and I soon find myself coming face to face with an emotional blast from the past.
I can’t let Laura go, but the minute I’m back in her life everything goes to shit. I’m going to protect her, but who am I protecting her from?
* * *
Laura
Alex Garland was the boy next door, and we played together as kids. Then my mom was nearly killed by a stalker, and we had to move away. New name, new address, new school, new everything. No more Alex.
That is, until I met him in a club and went back to his hotel room.
Alex is back in my life, but so is my mom’s stalker. The stalker wants to pick up where he left off and destroy everything we’ve built in the last ten years.
What is Alex’s connection to my mom’s stalker? Have I ruined everything by hooking up with the boy next door?
About the Author
Jessica Ashe is a twenty-seven year old British woman currently enjoying the much nicer weather found in Northern California. She enjoys writing about sophisticated and intelligent women and the hot alpha males that lust after them.
* * *
You can contact Jessica at [email protected], follow her on Twitter at @AsheRomance, and on Facebook.
