Dirty Bad Strangers (13 page)

“You’d better get back to your friend.”

“She doesn’t care, too busy dancing. She didn’t want to come here anyway.”

Gemma twirled with her arms in the air, curls glowing in the spotlights, and Powell shrugged off the brunette, making his way closer. I lost my train of thought, toppled from concentration enough to miss the lunge Blondie made for me. She pinned me to the DJ Booth, her hard little tits pressed to my chest as she wrapped her arms around my neck. Her mouth mashed against mine, her tongue darting across my lips. I took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away, staring into big blue eyes and fake lashes. Her expression shrivelled into embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But no.”

“But you wanted me... I saw you looking... You’ve been staring all night.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

Her lip trembled in cartoon grief. “Please...” she hissed. “Please, Jason... I won’t tell anyone.”

“Goodnight,” I said. I pushed past her, back into the crowd, back in time to see Powell make contact, sliding up to Gemma to wrap his arms around her hips, bucking against her like a horny fucking stallion. My throat dried, and I could feel the pulse in my temples as she turned to face him, still dancing, putting her mouth to his ear as he angled in for more.

I dithered, on the verge of dashing onto that dance floor without a care for who the fuck saw me. But how could I? Gemma didn’t even know who I was. Maybe she even wanted him. Wanted his cock up her sore snatch in the club toilets. Maybe she’d hand over her knickers gladly, ride him as the whole fucking club watched.

Fuck
.             

I took a step forwards onto the edge of the floor, but someone was ahead of me. Gemma’s blonde friend was dashing across the dance floor to snatch Gemma by the arm, out of the reach of Powell and then onwards, until they were out of sight.

Thank fuck for that.

***

Gemma

Chelsea’s grip was like a vice, dragging me through the crowd like a madwoman. She rushed us into the toilets, darting into an empty cubicle and bolting the door behind us. She plopped herself down on the seat and stared up at me with watery eyes.

“Whoa, what the hell happened?”

She took jagged breaths, her voice squeaky. “I tried to kiss him. I
did
kiss him.” She covered her face with her hands. “I kissed Jason Redfern, in front of everyone. Oh my God, Gemma, he didn’t want me. He pushed me away! Jason Redfern pushed me away!”

I crouched in front of her, put a hand on her elbow. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t cry. It’s his loss.”

“No, it isn’t! It’s my loss!”

“He’s just one guy, Chelsea. It doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t understand!” she said. “He’s Jason Redfern!” Her eyes widened. “I’m too ugly for him, aren’t I? The other girls are prettier than me! I’ll never be a footballer’s wife. It’s my nose, isn’t it? And my tits, they’re not big enough. And I’m ugly!”

“Of course you aren’t ugly,” I said. “You’re gorgeous. Look at you.”

“I could’ve died, Gemma. I can never go out there again. Ever. I’m so embarrassed.”

I took her hands and gave them a squeeze. “Let’s go dance. It’ll be ok. Chin up.”

“I’m not dancing! Not now!” she cried. “My life is over. Everyone is laughing at me.”

“That’s ridiculous, and even if they are, who gives a shit?”

“
I
give a shit!” Tears spilled and dragged mascara with them. I grabbed her some toilet roll but all it did was smear. “I want him, Gemma. I really, really want him. He’s everything!”

“You’re really drunk, and there will be loads of other nights, other footballers,” I smiled. “There’ll be plenty of them falling over themselves to take you home.”

“Not him.”

I shrugged. “So what? It’s no biggie. Life goes on.”

“So, I’m not pretty enough to get a modelling contract, ok?
Not what we’re looking for.
Sorry, you’re not the look we’re going for right now. Sorry, we’re looking for a brunette, someone taller, someone shorter, someone prettier.
He was my big chance, Gemma! My big break!”

“He’s just a guy in a club, Chelsea.”

“The whole world would’ve known my name!”

“Not in a good way.”

“All publicity is good publicity.” She dabbed her eyes. “I can’t believe he did this to me, asshole.”

I pulled her to her feet, wrapping her in a hug while she sobbed against my shoulder, railing against the pain of rejection and how terrible the world was.

And then I took her home.

Chelsea has always been a terrible bed buddy. She fidgets, and takes up way too much space for her size. I put up with it anyway, glad that the tears had finally stopped. She’d hate her confessions in the morning. Confessions of soul-destroying modelling auditions and meetings with fashion designers that never turned into anything. Confessions of being on the edge of the in-crowd, just some nobody from Hatfield, a silly girl whose face doesn’t fit. Confessions of being in debt up to her eyeballs and no way to pay the rent. Poor Chelsea.

Confident Chelsea, the girl who’d make it big in London and snare some footballer, had shrivelled into nothing, leaving a fragile little girl who felt as self-conscious as the rest of us. Maybe we’re all like that, deep down, even the pretty ones like her. Maybe the pretty ones have it worse; so much more to prove.

She rolled to face me in the darkness, just like she’d always done at sleepovers, ever since we were little.

“I’m sorry I was mean to you, Gem, about the dancing. Sorry about earlier, too. You managed to pull, didn’t you? I can’t believe you pulled a footballer and I didn’t. What the hell?!”

I let it slide. “I didn’t pull him,” I said. “Don’t think I would have done, either. And forget about the dancing thing, I know you didn’t mean it.” I risked a laugh. “You did come charging in to save the day when you thought I was being murdered, that kinda makes up for it.”

“Who is he?” she asked. “This
Jason
. God, another bloody Jason. Urgh.”

“Just a guy, that’s all I need to know.”

“Do you like him? Is that why you didn’t pull Powell? He’s a midfielder, you know.”

“I don’t even really know Jason, and that Powell guy was only a kid.”

“He’s twenty, not a kid. What’s even the deal with this Jason? Do you want to know him?”

I stared up at the ceiling. “No. Yes. I dunno.”

“I think you secretly like him.” I heard her yawn, and shuffled down under the duvet, getting myself comfortable while I weighed it up. “I think you have a thing for him and that’s why you wouldn’t have got with Powell. You don’t normally have a problem fucking men in clubs.”

Ouch. She had a point.

Thoughts of Jason spiralled around my stomach in a champagne glow. His voice. His touch. His heady scent. The excitement of his name against a text message icon. The way he made me feel with his hand all the way inside me. All the dirty ways he knew what I needed. A night in that club, surrounded by gorgeous people, and posh drinks, and loud music, and all I’d been thinking about was him. I wouldn’t have fucked that Powell guy. Chelsea was right.

“I do like him,” I whispered. “I like him so much it’s crazy. Insane, right? It doesn’t make any sense. How can I feel like this about a guy I’ve never even seen?”

But there was no answer. Chelsea was already sound asleep.

I was up first, pottering around the kitchen when Chelsea surfaced. She didn’t look so hot, her extensions a matted blonde mess around her face, and streaks of mascara still plastered to her cheeks.

“I feel like death,” she groaned.

I handed her a mug of coffee while she scrolled through her phone. I’d already checked mine. Nothing from Jason. I wished I wasn’t as disappointed as I felt.

Chelsea’s fingers were frantic on her handset, eyes turning to saucers. “Oh my fucking God.”

“What?”

She shoved the phone at me. “Claudia Lancett’s been pinging me all fucking morning.”

“And?” I quizzed, trying to make sense of the image in front of me.

“And, that’s me on that photo.”

I could see her blonde extensions, her pink dress, the same one she was wearing right now. “In Kings?”

“Yes!”

I took a closer look. She had her arms wrapped around someone, his hands on her shoulders as she practically chewed his face off. It looked
intense
. “That’s him, then?” He was blurry, but I guessed it was obvious if you knew who you were looking for. “Timely snap. You look cosy.”

“They’re all talking about me, all of them. Claudia, and Melanie and that bitch Anthea Reynolds who models for
Diva
.”

“Let them talk,” I groaned. “Who cares.”

“
I
care,” she said, and she was smiling. “They all want to know how I pulled Jason Redfern. Little nobody Chelsea, pulling the superstar Singers’ defender. Jesus, Gemma, I’m the talk of London. The picture’s trending on Twitter.” She downed her coffee and grabbed her things, smoothing her extensions in the mirror and slapping on a fresh layer of foundation. “Gotta go.”

“What’s put a rocket up your ass?” I laughed. “You haven’t even put your lipstick on.”

“Meeting up with the girls for lunch.”

The girls.
The same girls she’d been crying over the night before, bemoaning how spiteful and nasty and snidey they were with her at auditions.

“Really? You want to hang around with those bitches?”

“They aren’t bitches.” She rolled her eyes. “I was just drunk.”

I rolled mine right back. “Sure you were.”

“I was.”

“Whatever you say,” I smiled. “At least stay for toast or something.”

“Nah, I’ll catch you later. Thanks for last night, you’re the best.”

Clearly not. Clearly Claudia Lancett and her gaggle of witches are the best. I bit my tongue.

Turns out I’d be biting it a whole lot longer.

***

Jason 

“What the holy fuck is this, Jason? You stupid fucking asshole!”

April launched herself on the bed at me, slapping at my face as I jolted to consciousness. I grabbed her wrists, pulling her tight to me, close enough to wrench the phone from her fingers. “What the fuck are you doing?! What the fuck are you talking about?!”

I scrolled through the news article, some fucking shitty tabloid spouting shit, but then there was me, a blurry picture of me as Gemma’s silly blonde friend attempted to snog my face off. Pissing hell.

“This isn’t how it looks.”

“It never is!” she spat. “Who the fuck is she?”

“Just some girl. I pushed her away. Seriously, April, I was home before two. Alone. She was just some girl I helped out in the queue.”

“And she helped herself in return, did she? I’m not fucking stupid, Jason.”

“She thought I was interested, that’s all. Whole thing was a fucking embarrassment.”

“
You’re
the fucking embarrassment, Jason. You’ve made a fool out of me yet again!”

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my face. “This is bullshit. Another fucking tabloid piece of bullshit.”

“You’re fucking kissing her!”

“
She’s
kissing
me.
I was pushing her away.”

“Doesn’t fucking look like it!”

“Never fucking does.”

“Why did you help the silly bitch?”

I sighed. “Bouncers turned her away.”

“Why?!”

My heart pounded. “She had a friend with her, who didn’t meet their stupid fucking dress code. I was helping them out, and the blonde took it the wrong way. I pushed her away and came home. End of drama.”

April chewed her manicured nails, which is never a good sign. “This is going to fucking ruin us, Jason. We’ll be a fucking laughing stock. You’re a stupid, selfish sonofabitch, you know that? A weasily piece of fucking shit. Helping out some stupid little slags in a fucking club somewhere, and look where it’s got you, asshole. You’re so fucking stupid!”

“Fucking hell.” I dragged myself out of bed. “Give it a fucking rest.”

“What am I expected to do now, hey? Tell me!”

“Same as always. Smile for the cameras and tell them what a big pile of fucking bullshit it is. Tell them how I was home at two a.m. and fucked your pissy little brains out. Gush about how in love we are, and how you know I’d never do such a horrible thing, you know, all the crap you normally come out with. You’re a good fucking liar, April, you’ll pull it off just fine.”

She stared at me with dagger eyes while I pulled my jeans on. “Never again, Jason Redfern. You’re never going out on your own again, you understand me? You go, we go. Simple as that.”