“Back on the market and I’ve lost my Tinder pal. Stace is officially off the market. She wants to concentrate on her career at the same time as sleeping with a male escort.” I laughed as he shook his head. “I liked comparing notes.” He glanced to me. “Stace had just as many weird dating experiences as I had. It made me feel less pathetic.”
“Maybe keep off Tinder a while,” I replied. “Let something happen naturally. See what life can bring.”
Me?
No. Nope. Not gonna happen.
“Oh yeah?” He sighed. “That doesn’t seem to work out either.” I watched as he followed Reggie towards the tide, Cher daintily walking alongside him.
“What about Catwoman?”
He looked back at me from over his shoulder and adjusted his glasses. It was his nervous trait. One that I realised I’d admired for years. “That was mad, wasn’t it?”
“You almost had my eye out.”
“Of course I did and you loved it.”
“Pah! I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole,” I lied.
“I AM the barge pole!”
It was the first time we’d talked about that night. But it wasn’t the first time I’d thought about it. Daydreams would usually involve me biting his arse cheek then sucking it to calm the sting.
“Loving the look,” Will said, pointing to my chest.
“Thanks.” I smoothed down my transparent rain mac and smiled. “Practical, yet still allows you to see what’s underneath.”
“My kind of garment,” he replied.
“Not quite Catwoman.”
“Still great for…wiping things off,” he said.
“Ah, the cleanliness of rubber, so that’s your kink?”
“Ha. So. Ha. Funny,” he deadpanned before holding up his camera, focusing in on the dogs. “You know, Reggie isn’t going to stay still enough to get a good picture. Can we try to tempt him with a dog treat?” Click. “But Cher is all over this photo shoot. I’m convinced he posed with a kicked-out leg a second ago.” I pulled a tiny feather boa from my bag and draped it around Cher’s neck. Will crouched and squinted into the camera’s viewfinder revealing his laughter lines like a peacock displaying their feathers. Rah! Why did I like those lines so much? “You did not just do that.” Will laughed as I adjusted the boa. “That’s the definition of camp right here.” More snaps, more crinkles, more butterflies. I tried to control my breathing, make a plan of action in my head.
Limit the times we see each other.
Act normal.
Keep up the snark.
Encourage dating.
Reactivate his Tinder profile.
Do not picture his cock!
We all knew how that was working out for me.
“Reggie, I need more commitment from you. Give me your best grimace.” Ah, I loved watching him. Concentration and humour never looked so good. He was still crouching, and his bum wrapped in those grey jeans was more of a vision than the stunning orange sunset spilling over the waves.
Stop flaunting your best asset, dammit! Stop flaunting…you!
“Like what you see?” Will asked, still focused on taking shots. How he noticed me checking him out I’ll never know.
“What are you talking about?” I rolled my eyes as he laughed. It was a mask, to cover up an overwhelming urge to run away before I suffered an injury or created one just as painful.
Don’t fuck us up, don’t fuck us up.
This was everything I loathed. The myth that men and women couldn’t be friends without wanting to bang or banging and losing everything, relationship in the dirt. No, that wasn’t going to happen. I was just using Will as a projection of the frustration of my piss-poor sex life and natural desires.
It’s been a while. Will’s there. Just like a shower head or a trusty vibrator. Projection. Nothing more.
“Fancy dinner later?” Will asked. “I’ll treat you to something deeply satisfying. Something I know you can’t resist. Something that tickles your fancy.”
“Sorry, what?” I started losing vision in one eye. Sweat beaded down my neck.
“Banoffee pie,” he replied. “What did you think I was talking about?”
Holy big banana.
I gathered Reggie and Cher and started power-walking towards the steps. I needed to stick to my original plan. Create distance. Stay away. Keep our friendship intact.
“I need to go.” I shouted over my shoulder, nodding to the brown paper bag I’d left at his feet. “There’s the lemon drizzle cake and a meatball sub. My way of saying thanks for the pics.”
“You didn’t give me answer,” Will hollered behind me.
“Ask Stace,” I replied, creating that distance. “I’m sure she’d love to.”
2
Skye
“My two favourite people!” Dr Chris greeted me with four air kisses and stepped back, inviting me in. Her home was one of my favourite places to be. It was bright and vivid, gilded golds and bright pinks. Everything clashed yet fitted together perfectly. “How’s my baby?” she said, letting Cher lick her mouth. “Did you work it, honey? Oh, my goodness, I can’t wait to see the pictures!”
“He was a natural.” I looked up to find the large oil painting of Cher sitting on Dr Chris’ knee. He was wearing an angel costume with a rainbow halo and Dr Chris was wearing a trilby, cravat and a diamond necklace a la Quentin Crisp. “Or maybe he’s been coached?” Dr Chris let out a raucous laugh as she sat down on a throne she used as an armchair. I chose the velvet chaise lounge and smiled as she poured me a cup of tea in a china cup decorated with tiny roses.
“How are the preparations going for your new venture, darling?” She plopped two sugar cubes in my tea.
“Good. Excellent. All on track.” She eyed me from over her teacup. “As soon as I get the photos from Will, I’m going to make flyers and hand them out at the next big event on the beach. It’s one of those Ironman competitions.”
“Marketing is big business, darling. You need to stand out from the crowd. Give them something to entice them. Attach it to some baked goods. Knock up a cake, some brownies. Those
