Blindsided

by Amy Daws

  “Well,” Mac states, stepping back and eyeing me in the mirror. “What do you think?”

  I shrug. “It’s a beautiful dress.”

  “Aye, sure…” Mac says, silently encouraging me to continue.

  “The fabric is very luxurious.”

  He nods in agreement.

  “The bodice seams pull me in perfectly. The shoes are a nice touch.”

  He harrumphs under his breath, and I swivel to face him. “What? What am I saying that’s so wrong? I’m telling you I like the dress and shoes. What more do you want?”

  “I want you to remark about how you look in them,” he snaps and shoves his hair back off his forehead. “Remark on your own body. Your own features. If you want to be able to form complete sentences with your coffee shop lad, you need to be able to form a complete sentence about yourself first.”

  Mac rushes into my space, grabs me by my shoulders, and turns me to face the mirror again. “See how nice your hair looks draped over your bare shoulders. Your skin, freckles included, is striking, aye?” His hands slide down my arms. “The creamy colour of your skin is attractive and lush. Sensual when exposed.”

  His hands slip around to cup my waist, and my ears burst into flames.

  “Now, see how this dress shows off your shape? It doesn’t hide your tits, which is good because you have some damn nice tits on you, Cookie. You’d do well to see them as a virtue rather than a fault.”

  “And your legs,” he says, and my insides clench when his hands slide from my waist to my hips and then down the outsides of my thighs, causing a riot of goosebumps to erupt over my skin. “They’re fucking bonnie, and any lad would be right lucky to have them wrapped around him.”

  His gaze lifts from my legs to my flabbergasted eyes, and his heated look makes my nipples tighten. “Your size and your shape are bonnie, and you don’t need to trip over your words in front of a guy you fancy because you should never doubt how beautiful you are.” He swallows a seemingly uncomfortable lump in his throat, and adds, “But even if I can’t cure you of this warped view you have about your body, you need to remember you’re funny, and smart, and talented, with loads of other qualities that make the fact that you’re drop-dead gorgeous a really nice perk. Any man would be lucky to talk to you.”

  Mac finishes his rant and stares fiercely into my eyes without an ounce of humour in his expression. Both of our chests rise and fall with the intensity of this exchange, and I feel all the oxygen being sucked out of the small space. My eyes flick to Mac’s lips for only a moment, but that one shift in attention breaks the spell we’re both under, and he steps back, pulling the curtain open.

  “Ring it all up,” Mac says to the sales lady who’s walking into the dressing area with a pile of clothes over her arm. “I’m buying.”

  Mac exits quickly, and I find myself gasping for air as everything he said sinks in. I then realise with great surprise that my best friend just took my breath away.

  Going into work on Monday is nerve-wracking because I didn’t see Mac again this weekend after our little shopping excursion. It’s kind of strange because he usually comes over to watch Netflix on Sunday nights. But his texts seemed like he was busy with something, so I let it go.

  I’m doing my best to stop thinking about our dressing room encounter when his voice nearly sends me through the ceiling.

  “Hey, Cookie, it’s field trip time.”

  “Saints preserve us!” I exclaim, lifting my hands from my sewing machine and placing them over my terrified ears. “I didn’t even hear you come up the stairs!”

  “You must have been too focused on your work,” Mac says, glancing down at the mess I have in front of me. “Come on, it’s time for a break.”

  I push back from my desk and stand up. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” he replies and then glances down at my legs. “Trousers again? Did my lesson mean nothing to you?”

  “It did. I’m…working,” I reply stiffly. “That dress you bought for me isn’t exactly work attire. In fact, I still don’t know why you bought that dress for me, anyway.”

  “Every lass should have a sexy date-night dress,” he says with a cheery lift of his brows as we make our way down the stairs.

  “Where are you two off to?” Allie asks as she strides into the shop from whatever marketing meeting she was attending.

  “I wish I knew,” I reply as Mac grabs my hand and pulls me out the door, barely glancing at Allie.

  When we step outside, I yank my hand out of his and stop in my tracks. “Seriously, Mac, where are we going?”

  “To get coffee, of course.” He shoots me a lopsided smile.

  I shake my head. “No, Mac.”

  “Come on, Cookie,” he says, grabbing my hand again to drag me along.

  “No, no, no,” I beg and pull backwards against his pressure, but it’s no use. He’s way stronger than me.

  Mac laughs at my resistance. “I need to meet this coffee snob and make sure he’s good enough for you.”

  “No, you don’t,” I plead, and my ears begin to boil. “You really don’t. I’m not ready for this. We’ve only had one lesson!”

  “You’re ready,” his voice is firm. “I’m going to help you, so no worries.”

  “Yes, worries. Lots and lots of worries!”

  Mac practically shoves me through the coffee shop door, and I stumble to a halt before running into a patron who’s holding a piping hot cup of coffee. I turn on my heels and glare at Mac accusingly. He rubs the back of his neck and offers me a rueful smile. I quickly glance over my shoulder and breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see Javier.

  “He’s not here, so we can go now,” I state and make my way towards the exit.

  Suddenly, a Spanish voice booms, “Freya!”

  I freeze in my tracks, my eyes wide on Mac as my ears burst into flames. Mac has the cheek to look amused, and it takes all of my strength not to punch him right in that smug face of his.

  I plaster a smile on my face and turn to face Javier. “Hiyaaa,” I manage to croak out without screwing up the pronunciation too bad.

  “Happy Monday. You look lovely today,” Javier says and gestures to my yellow top.

  “Greatest, thanks,” I reply and then cringe while balling my hands up into fists.

  I feel Mac’s warm hand on my back as he slowly pushes me towards the counter. His breath is hot on my ear as he whispers, “You’re smart, funny, and fucking bonnie. Imagine he’s a Canadian cowboy from Heartland and go get him.”

  A small laugh bubbles up my throat at that last part.

  When I finally reach the coffee counter, Javier eyes Mac curiously. “Who is your friend here, my Freya?”

  Did he just say, ‘my Freya’?

  “Brother,” Mac says crisply, reaching out to shake Javier’s hand. “I’m her brother.”

  You’d have to be blind to miss Javier’s confused look over Mac’s Scottish accent as he replies, “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “We’ll take a black coffee and a large iced coffee with extra milk, thanks,” Mac says in a clipped tone and then turns to me. “You pay, sis. I’ll go grab a table.”

  Mac winks a ridiculous wink at me and retreats towards a small counter by the window. I turn a stiff look back at Javier.

  Come now, Freya, you’re beautiful, smart, and clever. You can do this!

  “How…was your weekend?” I ask and mentally pat myself on the back for stringing together a coherent sentence.

  “It was excellent,” Javier replies with a smile as he sets about pouring our two cups of coffee. “I made cheese.”

  My brows lift from his unexpected response. “You…made cheese?”

  He purses his lips and nods. “Do you like the cheese?”

  “Who doesn’t like the cheese?” I bark out an unattractive laugh and then turn a mortified face to Mac, who gives me a way-too-eager thumbs up.

  Javier snaps a lid on the first cup. “I could show you the cheese.” />
  “Sorry?” I ask and begin nervously tugging on my ear.

  “If you wanted to come to my cheese hut.”

  “You have a cheese hut?” I ask flatly, so confused by the bizarre topic of cheese and the thought of a human being actually having a facility to make his own cheese.

  “Yes. Cheese and homemade wine. If you want to partake sometime.”

  He pushes the prepared cups of coffee towards me, and I open my mouth to reply, but I suddenly feel like all the spit has been sucked out of my mouth. What used to be saliva is now kitty litter. Dry kitty litter that makes it impossible for me to respond.

  Out of nowhere, Mac appears beside me. “Just to be clear, are you asking my dear sister out on a date?”

  Javier turns a confused look at Mac and nods nervously. “I am.”

  “She’d love to go,” Mac rushes out and drops a tenner on the counter while grabbing the two cups of coffee. “How’s tomorrow night?”

  Javier smiles at me. “Tomorrow night is good for me if it is good for you.”

  “Great, she’ll text you tonight,” Mac replies and then shoulder pushes me away from the counter. “Let’s go, sis.”

  I smile and wave uncomfortably at Javier. Then, before I can stop myself, I dip my head into a bow before turning and following Mac out the door.

  When we’re finally out of sight from the windows, I grab my ears in agony. “Oh, good God, I just bowed to Javier.”

  Mac’s nose scrunches. “I saw that.”

  “Why the fuck did I bow? Why couldn’t I have at least curtsied like a lady? Given an ounce of a sign that I’m a delicate female? But no, not Freya Cook. She decides to bow like a proper bloke. I’m doomed!” I run my hands through my hair and squeeze the roots in agony.

  “You’re not doomed,” Mac replies, rolling his eyes.

  “And you’re my brother now?” I say with a cringe. “Where the bleddy hell did that come from?”

  Mac shrugs. “What? We’re both redheads. It’s not that big of a stretch.”

  “The thought of you and I coming from the same gene pool is a very big stretch.” I fan my ears as Mac eyes me harshly.

  “We’re both wee stunners, Cook.”

  I bark out a laugh because I’ve seen photos of his family back in Dundonald. His sister, Tilly, is super model beautiful. Tall and thin with silky strawberry blond hair. His dad is the mirror image of Mac sans tattoos. And his mum is so cute, she made me question my allegiance to my heterosexual identity. Honestly, his whole family looks like a successful genetic experiment in breeding handsome gingers.

  Mac does not appreciate my laughter as he adds firmly, “We could be related.”

  “Stop saying we’re related!” I exclaim and then reach out to take my coffee. “It’s creepy.”

  Mac winces. “Yeah, it is a wee bit weird.” He gestures back towards the coffee shop. “So, that’s what does it for you?”

  “Who? Javier? Yes, I think he’s fit. Why, what do you mean?”

  “Nothing, I’m just shocked is all,” Mac says with a shrug of his shoulders as he pops the lid off his coffee and blows inside the cup. “I didn’t know the Luigi brother look is what revs your engine.”

  My jaw drops. “He doesn’t look like Luigi,” I shriek. “He looks nice!”

  “Aye, you’re right,” Mac says, flashing me that dimple he has beneath his ginger-tinted, five o’clock shadow. “He’s a wee lad, so he’s Mario at best.”

  “Shut up, you cow!” I retort with annoyance. I reach out to wallop him on the shoulder, but he hops into the street to avoid my attack. “What happened to ‘everyone is bonnie in their own way’?”

  “I didn’t say he’s not bonnie. I was just surprised, that’s all.” Mac eyes me curiously for a moment and then falls back into step with me. “Is it the accent that does it for you?”

  I scrunch my lips off to the side. “I don’t know. It certainly doesn’t hurt. He just looks like a real man, you know?”

  “What the hell do I look like?” Mac asks, looking mildly offended.

  I shrug. “Like a ginger version of a real man?”

  He nods, seemingly pleased by my answer. “Well, whatever gets your knickers in a twist, Cookie.”

  “Please don’t say knickers to me,” I reply with a groan. “It’s too weird.”

  Mac huffs out a small laugh, and we continue walking for a silent moment before I ask, “So how in the hell am I going to be ready for a date tomorrow night? I think the only reason I didn’t make a complete fool of myself is because I was distracted by cheese. I love cheese.”

  Mac nods thoughtfully. “Don’t worry. We’re going to have a two-a-day workout, and I’ll come up with a great training session for tonight.”

  “Oh, joy. I can’t wait.”

  The Cheese Bar.

  Only Freya Cook could get me to set up her next lesson in a place like this. Though, I do love cheese. How can you not? However, going to a cheese bar with a burd is not something I ever would have seen myself doing. My history with women is of the fun and casual variety, usually involving minimal clothing, but I’d do just about anything for my Cookie.

  I’m walking towards the restaurant that’s north of Covent Garden where I told Freya to meet me when a group of young lads stops me outside for a selfie. I oblige, hoping their attention won’t raise more attention, and then politely excuse myself.

  Getting recognised isn’t a new thing for me. Being a big, tattooed, ginger footballer doesn’t exactly help me blend in with the crowd. But ever since Bethnal Green was bumped up to Premier League, our fame has definitely seen an increase. I don’t play football for the fame, though. I’m in it for the honour of playing the greatest sport in the world. As a wee lad, my grandad all but beat into me what an important game it was and that he would disown me if I wasn’t a Rangers fan. He’s a wiry old git and probably my favourite human, even if he barely forgave me for never landing a contract with his beloved Scottish team.

  I do have other aspirations outside of football, though. My mum always told me I couldn’t fall back on athletics, so I went to university and got a degree in computer science. I do continuing education in the off-season just so I’m not completely out of the loop when I eventually retire.

  The sun is beginning to set as I walk into Seven Dials Market, which is a high-end, indoor food court of sorts with two levels of places to eat and canteen-style seating in the centre. It’s also home to this magical place called The Cheese Bar.

  When I heard about the coffee guy’s cheese hut, I thought it might be a good idea for Freya to brush up on her cheese knowledge. She always told me about what a good student she was in school, so I figured she can look at this like cramming for an exam. Along with cheese knowledge, I’m hoping we can cover some first date experiences. I might not take a lot of girls on formal dates, but my mum taught me how to treat a lady, so I know how it works.

  I told Freya to doll herself up and meet me here like we were meeting for a proper date. She seemed terrified.

  I love it.

  To be truthful, I’m enjoying the new development in my friendship with Freya. She’s normally so confident and sure of herself, and she’s always having a go at me for something I do that’s barbaric. Call me crazy, but it’s nice to be better at something than she is for a change.

  The Cheese Bar is a bright and cheery spot with a large square counter in the centre that features a conveyor belt of colourful plates of cheese with glass domes over the top. The place is nearly full, but I manage to grab us a couple of seats towards the end of the bar.

  I picked up a few items for Freya, which I set down on the floor beneath my seat, and look towards the doorway to see Freya walk in right on time. I wave her over and can’t help the devilish smile on my face as I watch her make her way to me. She looks nervous but nice in her fitted green and white-checked blouse with a pink jumper over top and a wee pair of black shorts. She still has her signature vintage style to her, but the outfit is different th
an her others.

  I swivel my stool to face her full on as she approaches, and my gaze can’t help but lower to her legs. “You follow directions quite well, Cookie.”

  She rolls her eyes and slips onto the open stool beside me, placing herself squarely between my legs. “I went shopping. Let’s not make a thing out of it.”

  My smile grows. “Freya Cook, does this mean you’re actually starting to listen to me?”

  She shoots me a warning scowl, and I swear her greenish-brown eyes darken. “Maclay Logan, I just said let’s not make a thing of it. Are you trying to get me to thump you?”

  My shoulders shake with silent laughter, and I lean in to softly reply, “Aye, maybe that’s my kink.”

  She elbows me square in the chest, and it only makes me laugh harder. Then I reach down to grab something. “Maybe this will make up for my cheekiness.” I hold up a bouquet of pink carnations.

  Freya’s jaw drops. “What’s this?”

  I shrug. “We’re on a date. Dates bring flowers.”

  “I was trying to forget about the date part,” she murmurs, shooting me a nervous look as she takes the flowers from me.

  “It’s a practice date but still a date. Pretend you fancy me so we can work out all your kinks before your real one tomorrow.”

  “Can we stop using the word kink?” she asks as she brings the bouquet to her nose. The pink brightens the freckles on her face as a soft smile plays on the corners of her mouth. “Pink carnations are my favourite.”

  “Aye, I know,” I reply, noting that her ears are turning a pink shade before my very eyes. I move to face forward on my stool. “I’ve heard your ramblings about Carrie Bradshaw enough times to take a hint. I’m very trainable, you know.”

  I feel Freya’s eyes on me as I glance at the cheese passing by on the conveyor belt. “You actually listened to that?”

  I shrug dismissively. “Not the point, Cookie. The point is, I’m a lad who brought you flowers. The correct response would be…”

  “Thank you,” she quickly spits out.

  I nod, impressed. “Good. See? You’re already better at dating than you think.”