Page 69 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
If I’m asking for proof, I need a plan. Time to ask the one person who won’t let me fudge it. I phone Jenna.
“Hi, hun! You okay? Bit of a late one for you.” Jenna runs her own sports PR firm, so she’s no stranger to midnight dramas. Still, I usually avoid calling this late unless someone’s died—or I’m about to make a questionable life choice. Tonight it’s the latter.
“Not really,” I say. “I’ve been working every frigging hour of the day and night just to try and sell myself to the bloody board. So no, this is early.”
“Oh, shit. It’s the wedding, isn’t it? IknewI should’ve checked in, but I didn’t want to be annoying.”
“No, the wedding was fine. Got through it without too muchsoul-searching.”
She knows what that means. Seven years ago, Jenna’s fiancé called off their wedding a week before the ceremony. My plans didn’t even make it past venue deposits before falling apart. At least I didn’t waste money on a dress.
“Good on you,” she says.
“It was beautiful. Haley looked amazing. And…” I take a deep breath. “I met someone.”
“You met someone?” Jenna’s delighted squeal pierces my ears as her face lights up the screen. “Sorry, love, but I need to see you for this conversation.”
“What conversation?” My brother’s familiar voice in the background is quickly followed by the sight of his goofy face hovering at Jenna’s shoulder. Even though they’ve been together over a year, seeing my childhood best friend with my younger brother still sends a small jolt of surprise through me, especially at times like this when I realise they’re actually lying in bed together.
“Not one you need to be part of.” Jenna shrugs him away and begins to move. “Let me get rid of this nosy bugger and we can talk.”
“I bet I know who,” Geordie taunts from the background. “That drummer dude.” Sometimes my brother is the same irritating little shit he was as a kid.
“Bet you’re wrong,” Jenna singsongs back at him as she makes her way downstairs to their lounge. “He’s wrong, isn’t he?” she says, flopping onto a sofa. “You’d never hook up with Teddy Hargrove.”
I swallow hard. “What if I said ‘fuck it’… and I did?”
Her mouth twitches at the corners. “I’d say a quick fling never hurt anyone. I’d say maybe he’s the bit of casual fun you need in your life right now.”
“Yeah, he is…”
“Why do I suspect there’s a ‘but’ coming here?”
“Your Spidey senses?” I joke. Jen’s always loved her superheroes. “Your expert PR antennae scanning for trouble?”
“Butyou like him.” She’s prodding me likeshe’sthe lawyer leading a defendant. “Butyou want more”
I try to keep my emotions in check as I tell her about the week—the moments that should be etched in my mind as just fond memories. But my body betrays me. A laugh spills out when I describe Teddy dusted with icing sugar. The tension in my shoulders dissolves recalling quiet mornings on horseback. Warmth floods my cheeks when I admit to kissing him first on the doorstep. My lips curve upwards thinking about the songs we sang together. Heat flares between my legs as I share the sort of intimate details you’d only tell your best friend.
“You’ve got it bad, hun,” she says softly.
“You think?”
“I know. But has he?”
“He says he’ll do anything to prove he only wants me. That there’s no one else. That he’s done moving on before things get serious.”
“And do you believe him?”
“I want to. And I believe he wants to,” I whisper, thinking of murmured words in a darkened bedroom, the last voicemail on my phone.
Jenna sighs. “But there’s something getting in the way?”
“Jen, I don’t think he’s deliberately bullshitting me, but you only have to look at the tabloids, social media, to see how fucking impossible it feels. All those bloody girls grabbing at him, most of them at least ten years younger than meand—”
“Remember who you’re talking to here,” she interrupts. “There’s a man six years younger than me lying upstairs in my bed. Don’t give me that age gap crap, Rache.”
“The bigger problem is, every bit of evidence screams he doesn’t change. His track record says it all.”
