Dirty Bad Strangers(73)
“He’s so fit, Gemma, you must have known! He’s Jason fucking Redfern!”
“Lots of people are toned, Chelsea, they aren’t all Premier League fucking footballers!”
“Not that toned. Nobody is that toned.”
I shrugged. “I thought he drove a Land Rover, worked for a haulage company...”
“Nice surprise, then, isn’t it?” she spat. “It’s a fucking Range Rover by the way. He drives an R8, too, and an Aston fucking Martin. He has a twelve bedroom fucking mansion in Surrey, and he’s captained the England squad for the past six fucking years, Gemma. He’s hot, he’s loaded, he’s fucking perfect! He’s JASON FUCKING REDFERN!”
My stomach lurched. “I don’t want any of it. Just him.”
She laughed a spiteful laugh. “If you say so.”
“I DO!”
Tessa picked the right time to return with the coffees. I sipped mine with my eyes closed, fighting the need to vomit while Tessa tried to smooth Chelsea’s ruffled feathers. I blanked it all out, past caring what the hell either of them thought. I could still feel his touch on me, in me. My dirty bad stranger, my lover in the half light. Why couldn’t he just be a trucker? A trucker would have been fine. A trucker would have been great. Not a football player, please God no.
“Earth to Gemma! Hello!”
I groaned at Chelsea’s determination to keep harping on. “What?”
“You and him, is it serious? Do you love him?”
I nearly spat my coffee. “Love?! I’m not even sure what being in love feels like.” An icky feeling, I assumed, with a violin accompaniment. Not the kind of flutters he gave me. Hot flutters, dirty, hot, needy flutters. “I like him. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else. Much more.”
“It’s a low bar,” Tessa said. “Seeing as you only normally screw once and run away.”
“I don’t run. I just never want to see them again. He’s different.”
“Of course he’s fucking different!” Chelsea snapped. “He’s Jason Redfern. You can’t be with him, Gemma. Chatline chubby snares football hunk, read all about it. The papers will tear you a new asshole, they’ll rip you to pieces!”
I had a pretty good idea what that would feel like... “Well, I guess I should message him, then. Tell him I know I’m too fat and ugly, now that I know he’s a Premier League superstar. Maybe I could set you up? Get him round here for a candlelight meal, just you and him. Maybe you can bag him this time. Maybe he’ll realise he really does need a new footballer’s wife.”
Chelsea’s eyes flew wide. “Are you being serious?”
Tessa slapped her arm. “Of course she’s not being serious! Jesus, will you stop being such a bitch?”
“I’m not being a bitch. I’m hurt,” she said. “Betrayed and humiliated.”
“How the fuck can you feel betrayed?” I said. “Nobody did anything to you.”
“It hurts, Gemma! You’re standing on my dreams!”
“You’re welcome to them,” I hissed. “I don’t want them! I just want the man I’ve been seeing, without all the celebrity shit that comes along with him.”
“You’re fucked, then!” Chelsea said. “You’ll just have to call the whole thing off and find some other pervert to play dress-up games with you.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? That’s so typical of you, Chelsea, you’ve always been the same.”
“Time out!” Tessa snapped. “We’re supposed to be on the same fucking team here, no pun intended.”
Both Chelsea and I rolled our eyes. I took out my phone, contemplated sending a message before I realised I hadn’t a clue what to say. I was aching, sore, tired and reeling. My hands were shaking around my coffee mug, head spinning.
“I’m going to bed,” I said. “I need some sleep.”
“It’s not even teatime,” Chelsea said. “We haven’t sorted any of this crap out.”
“There’s nothing to sort out. It’s my crap, I’ll deal with it.”
“And call it off? With him?” Her mouth pursed in that mean little line again.
Thoughts piled in. Thoughts of cameras, and journalists, and a sea full of bitches like the ones in the queue at Kings. Bitches like Chelsea. Bitches like his wife, most likely. His wife.
An impossible, stupid fantasy. An impossible situation.
But it hurt. Oh, God, it hurt.
“What choice do I have?” I snapped, battling back tears behind the anger. “Like you said, I couldn’t possibly be with someone like him, and even if I could, I’m not you, Chelsea, I don’t want that shit. I don’t want any of it!”