Page 39 of Conviction
I tilt my champagne glass toward her. “Here’s to idiots like us.” She taps her beer bottle, gently against my glass.
“Love ya, baby chick.” I smile at her use of the nickname her brother had given me a long, long time ago. I was about eight years old and had stayed over at their house one night. When I went down to the kitchen the next morning wearing a pair of yellow pyjamas and with my blonde hair sticking up all over the show, Josh had greeted me with, “Good morning, baby chick.” And the nickname had stuck with the pair of them.
“Did you talk to your brother yet?” I ask, she shakes her head.
“Na, I text to tell him I’m here, but I’ve not heard back. He’ll be busy as fuck I reckon.”
I was secretly glad that Josh hadn’t come over and spoken to us yet. I always felt so awkward around him. He knew my secret. He knew how desperate I’d been for Conner to get in touch with me all those years ago, and he knew that Conner had rejected me.
The makeup artist Sophie had been talking to earlier was joined by her hairdresser husband. I smiled as I was introduced but then zoned out and went back to people watching. Hoping that imagining the exciting lives of the people around me would push away the thoughts of the dickhead that had abandoned me so long ago.
I turn back and start watching the beautiful people standing to the side of me again when I notice a huge bald man come walking through the now crowded VIP area. People move out of his way, or he moves them as he makes his way through. He’s followed by a tall, dark-haired man. He looks about fifty, and he’s gorgeous. If I were ever going to go for an older man, he would be it. He’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, his dark hair is longish and pushed back from his face, a mixture of grey and black stubble covers his chin. There’s just something about him that says, ‘I like sex’ written all over his face.
I’ve apparently gone without for far too long, apart, that is, the shitty experience I’d had with my husband last Friday, which had offered me no release whatsoever.
I never usually look at men and think about what it would be like to get down and dirty with them, but my thoughts have been in the gutter a few times this week. First with naughty Nate the lawyer and now with this unknown random. Perhaps a shag with a complete stranger is exactly what I need.I wonder if I could live with myself after mindless sex with a stranger though?I finish my drink and grab another, thinking to myself,well there’s only one way to find out!
I watch as the DILF is followed by three children who are so very obviously his. Two boys and a girl aged about fourteen. The boys are the absolute image of their dad. The girl is tall, slim, with long dark hair and big brown eyes. They head toward the original group of BP’s, my new nickname for the crowd of genetically blessed human beings congregating to the side of the bar.
I watch as the DILF turns and watches a woman approach with a teenage girl. Again the woman is stunning, tall, slim, long brown hair and the bluest eyes I think I’ve ever seen on an olive-skinned person. She too looks vaguely familiar, but I’ve far too much alcohol buzzing through my veins to try and think too hard about who she is. I’m sure it’ll come to me later. She stops right in front of me and says to the girl, who has her arms folded across her chest, “Stop sulking, Lula, I really don’t need this today.”
The girl turns toward her with a frown. “Let me stay downstairs then. Harley’s down there.”
The woman tilts her head and closes her eyes for a moment. She lets out a long breath.
“Harley is eighteen, you’re eleven. You are not going downstairs. You’ll stay up here with the rest of us, and youwillstop wearing a face that looks like a smacked arse. Do I make myself clear?”
Shit, eleven. I would’ve put her at fourteen or maybe even sixteen, easily. I was the opposite, thirty-one and still looked about twelve.
The girl stares at, who I assume is her mum through narrowed eyes but says nothing. Then flips her hair over her shoulder and heads toward the rest of the group. The DILF grabs the girl’s arm and says something into her ear. She shakes her head then nods. He says something else, and she smiles the biggest smile, stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek and walks over to the rest of their party.
I’m entranced, sipping on my champagne as I watch all of their interactions. Emboldened by my alcohol consumption, I continue watching, unashamedly.
The woman approaches the man. “How did you do that? What did you promise to make her smile like that?”
The DILF smiles the sexiest, lopsided smile I think I’ve ever seen as he looks at the woman. If I believed everything that I was taught during my Catholic education, I’d swear to God and all that is holy, that my ovaries just exploded watching him smile at her like that. He pulls her into him and whispers into her ear, all the while, he has one hand cupping the back of her head, the other has a handful of her arse cheek. He bends his knees slightly so that he can look into the woman’s eyes and my heart melts.
I want that! What they have. The way he looks at her. I want a man to want me like that. She leans in and kisses him on the mouth and grinds herself against him.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
She’s in a public place. A room packed with celebrities and her children present, and she doesn’t care. I want to be her. I want to be as brave as her. I want to love someone so much that I would be brave enough to not give a fuck about who might be watching me behave like that.
My heart hurts, and I can’t help but feel a little bit angry and resentful.Why can’t that be me?I just want to feel loved, cherished and wanted. I want someone to look at me like nothing else in the world exists. I want someone to want me, to need me like they need air. I just want to be loved.
I wipe the tears, that I’ve just become aware have fallen, from my cheeks and try to compose myself, when I hear Sophie say from beside me, “Ohfuck!Fuckinghell. Shit.” I turn and look at her but she’s not looking at me, she’s staring straight ahead. I follow her gaze and my heart slams into my rib cage and stops. Dead.
When we get downstairs tothe VIP bar, we’re met with a few stares. This is the first time any of the members of Shift has been seen in public since Jet’s death. Marley has assured us that the area would be strictly off limits to fans, with passes being allocated to industry insiders and direct family members of the artists performing only.
The first few bands have already played. There’s a comedian on stage now, and a lot of people are watching the big screens, listening to his performance.
As we approach Lawson, I’m disappointed to see that Amanda is still here.
“What the fuck, Laws? Why didn’t you send her home?” I ask him when we get to the small round table he’s standing next to.
“Chelsea will be here in a little while, she’ll do her fucking nut when she sees her,” Gunner says.
Lawson looks down into the glass of bourbon that he’s holding and swirls the amber liquid around and over the crushed ice, sitting at the bottom. “I can’t fucking get rid of her,” he states, turning his back on Amanda and toward us while he speaks.
