Page 23 of Blindsided
“We’re not talking about me!” Freya retorts. “I wanted to hear about your last dating experience, and I have, so thank you for sharing.”
I stare back at her and can read her like a bloody open book. Freya thinks she needs love in order to have sex. Maybe that’s been her problem all along. If she thinks she needs to be in love with every man she is sexually attracted to before they can roll around in the sack, she’s putting a lot of bloody pressure on herself. Maybe casual sex is actually what Freya needs more than dating advice.
I may have to draw up a new lesson plan for her.
“I’m coming over,” Freya barks into the phone line before I even have a chance to say hello. Her voice sounds shaky, making my entire body tense.
“Freya, what’s going on?” I ask, my voice low and steady. “What happened?”
“It was awful. Awful!” she cries into the line.
“Did he do something to you?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there,” she answers with a sob.
“Freya Cook, tell me right now. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I ask, anger coursing through me at the thought of that bawbag hurting my Freya.
“My pride is in shambles,” she cries, and my body relaxes instantly. “I’m in your neighbourhood, and I’m coming over.”
“Aye, sure, I’ll see you soon.”
A few minutes later, the bell to my flat rings. I step out of my bedroom located just off the kitchen and yell up to Roan, “It’s for me.” He and Allie are shut off in his bedroom on the second level, so it’s not like he would have come out to answer the door anyway.
I jog downstairs and unlock the door to find my friend standing on the threshold, looking like a beautiful wee mess. She’s wearing a tight skirt that hits just above her knees with a leopard-print blouse and a black belt that nips her in at the waist. Her red hair is curled and swept over one of her shoulders, and her black eyeliner is smudged around her eyes.
In a breath, she throws herself against my chest and groans loudly. “It was awful, Mac. Your lessons were no help.”
“What happened?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her close.
She sniffs and looks up, swiping at her damp eyes. “I just experienced the absolute worst kiss of my life.”
For some reason, my jaw clenches at the mention of the barista kissing her. Then I remember that Allie and Roan can probably hear everything Freya’s saying, so I grab her hand and pull her inside. I lead her up the stairs, bypassing the living room, and head right to my bedroom.
“Sit down and tell me everything that happened,” I state, gesturing to the rumpled, plaid duvet on my unmade bed.
She perches herself on the edge. “Well, the date was going fine. We were in his cheese hut in some remote place in North London where I thought I might get stabbed.”
“Christ,” I mumble under my breath.
“It really was going okay. I didn’t wear my hot first date dress because I didn’t think it was cheese hut chic, you know? Anyways, I still felt good about myself, and I was actually forming complete sentences, and we sampled some of the cheeses.” She runs her palms over thighs nervously, her face wincing like what she’s about to say is going to be bad. “Well, there was this parmesan he had me try that made my mouth particularly dry. And I’d only had one glass of his homemade wine, which tasted curiously like cat piss, so I was dying of thirst. As we continued talking, I could feel the corners of my mouth caked in dried spit. It was not sexy. Not at all.”
She exhales heavily, and adds, “I was about to excuse myself to go to the loo so I could suck down some tap water when he had the nerve to go in for a kiss!”
I run a hand through my hair and grip the back of my neck. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t good. It was bad. Very, very bad.” She scrubs her hands over her face and smudges a bit more of her makeup. “But I figured, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? So I returned the kiss and sort of tried to press my tongue into his mouth, not realising his teeth were closed. He gasped and jerked away, bumping into this mighty cheese shelf where he has some precious three-year-aged cheddar he got from his nan’s farm in Spain and smuggled into the country. The shelf toppled over, and the cheese fell apart all over the dirt floor. It was horrifying. Javier dropped onto his knees, and I think I actually heard him weeping.”
“Weeping?” I ask disbelievingly.
“Yes, weeping!” she replies, throwing her arms up. “I was so mortified that I got the hell out of there! I jumped in my car, stopped at a corner shop, drank a gallon of water, and came here.”
“Christ,” I murmur under my breath.
“I know. It was horrible,” she says with defeat and then glares at me. “You didn’t go over kissing with me at all, so I blame you entirely.”
“You didn’t tell me you don’t know how to kiss!” I reply defensively. “I thought you just had trouble talking to lads.”
“Well, considering I can count on one hand the number of men I’ve locked lips with, I think it’s safe to say I don’t know what the bleddy hell I’m doing.”
