Dirty Bad Strangers(72)
“It’s him,” I said. “His voice, his hair, his laugh. Oh God, oh my fucking God.”
“But that’s crazy,” Chelsea laughed. “Jason Redfern wouldn’t be calling chatline, he wouldn’t be interested in someone like...” She slammed her mouth shut.
I finished the sentence for her. “Someone like me? Someone fat?”
“You said those words, not me!”
“You meant them, though.”
Her eyes turned piggy. “It doesn’t make sense, Gemma. He was after me at Kings...” I felt the colour drain from my face. Hers did too. “...but he wasn’t, was he? He was after you...”
“Oh God, I don’t know.” I grabbed my hair in fists, brain lurching around my skull.
“...But he can’t want you. You’re not even blonde, you have no fashion sense.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want that,” Tessa shrugged. “Clearly he doesn’t, not if he’s running around after Gem all over the place. Is it him, Gem? Seriously?”
I nodded, dumbstruck.
Chelsea’s hands turned into scrunched up little claws, her lips thin and miserable. “How come you get a fucking footballer, hey? I’m the one who actually wants a footballer, you don’t give a shit. What makes you so fucking special, Gemma Taylor?”
“I have no fucking idea,” I groaned. “I don’t want a footballer, don’t want to be special. I have no idea what the hell he’d see in me.”
“Gemma’s funny,” Tessa smiled. “And she’s smart, and nice, and a little bit crazy.”
Chelsea practically spat her words across the table. “Gemma is fat and ginger. How could Jason Redfern ever be with someone like that? The media would tear him to fucking pieces. He’d be a laughing stock, a fucking laughing stock.”
“Thanks,” I said, flatly. “Thanks a fucking bunch, Chelsea.”
“Just being honest,” she snapped. “Nothing compared to what the papers would do.”
My heart dropped at the realisation of the inevitable. She was right. Vile, but right. Someone like him could never be with someone like me, they’d never let him hear the end of it.
“Shit, Gem,” Tessa soothed. “What do you want to do?”
The answer was simple. Blindingly simple.
“I want to go fucking home.”
Chapter Twenty
Gemma
Chelsea stomped on ahead as though I’d taken a shit in her handbag. Her extensions swished like a cat’s tail, shoulders rigid as I lagged behind. Tessa stayed by my side, uttering the occasional tut at Chelsea’s dramatics, but little else. She disappeared into the kitchen as soon as we were through the door, leaving me to face the jealous wrath of the blonde-haired monster.
“He was here?! Jason fucking Redfern was here, with you? My fucking God. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“How is this happening to you? I met a guy on chatline, I met up with him, I fell in crazy deep with some stranger I’ve never seen. Nothing’s happening to you, Chelsea.” I dropped myself onto the sofa, tensing against the inevitable ache. Sore pussy, sore ass, sore fucking everything. “This is a horrible nightmare.”
She paced the room. “Sure it is. I bet you’re happy now, aren’t you? Make you feel good, does it? Snaring my hot footballer? Stealing him from under my nose?”
I couldn’t help but gawp at her. “I didn’t steal him from you, he wasn’t even yours to begin with, you just jumped on him in a shitty club and lied to the papers.”
“You knew I wanted him!”
“I can’t believe this. I’ve just found out that the guy I’m seeing is some famous footballer, married to a bloody girl-band singer, and you’re trying to make this about you! I really like him, Chelsea, don’t you get it? I really fucking like him. Not for a ticket to free handbags, and designer bloody clothes, and front row seats and my face on the news, I actually like him.”
“Well congratu-fucking-lations, Gemma. I hope you’re really fucking happy together.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Tears. Jesus Christ. I watched her pouty lip tremble. “It should be me and Jason Redfern. Me as the footballer’s wife. Me on the front covers. Not you.”
“Yeah, I get it. I’m fat and ugly and ginger and no fucking good for anything. Piss off, Chelsea.”
She didn’t even pretend to disagree. “You must have known it was him. It must have been obvious.”
“Of course it wasn’t fucking obvious. You think I’d have thought for one second it would be some famous guy at the end of the line? Some famous guy in my flat? In Blackfriars?”