Page 3 of Blindsided
“Shut up, you cow,” I scold and wave off his response. I point at his sizeable body. “My point is, you look like that.” Then I gesture to myself. “And I look like this.”
“I still don’t have a clue what you’re going on about.” Mac continues to gape at me with a thick look that I want to claw right off his face.
What is it with fit people pretending like they don’t see what’s in front of them? If they have eyes, they know how I look. The game is up!
I level him with a stare and angrily state, “I am a short, round Cornish seamstress with a West Country accent that only gets thicker when I’m flustered. I’m obsessed with cats, and my freckles look like the Milky Way galaxy on a clear night.”
“I love your freckles!” he barks, splaying one hand out on the counter and using his other hand to bop my nose. “They make me want to play connect the dots on your wee face.”
“That’s not a compliment!” I screech, doing everything I can to not bash this adorable idiot’s face in.
“And you’re not round,” he barks again, ignoring my reply with his haughty tone. He looks down at my body. “You’re healthy. You actually eat! There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I eat too much,” I correct and turn to open the fridge for my chardonnay. If I have to deal with him pretending he doesn’t see what’s plainly in front of him, I need a drink.
I grab one of my kitty coffee mugs off a hook beneath my cabinet and pour myself a fortifying drink. “It’s not news that I have never been a willowy waif, and I know that I’ll never change because I’ve tried every bleddy diet in the universe and nothing sticks.”
“You don’t need to change, Cook,” Mac states seriously, drawing my gaze to his green eyes that are soft around the edges in a way that makes my tummy do the flippys again. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and crushes me to his chest. “You’re bonnie, and you’re my best mate. You should never feel the need to hide.”
The wind beneath my sails has ceased, and my huffy, defensive attitude from moments ago has been completely washed away by this sweet ginger giant standing in my kitchen. I set my mug on the counter and pull out of his embrace to gaze up at him curiously. “Did you say ‘bestmate’?”
He shrugs. “Aye, you have been nearly since the second we met, which is why I want my teammates to know you. You’re my wee treasure, and I’m right proud of you.”
A tender smile lifts my cheeks. Mac and I don’t talk about our friendship often. Honestly, we’re usually too busy bickering to be sweet to each other, so hearing him call me his wee treasure makes my heart practically explode inside of my chest. Who would have put the two of us together as mates in any type of situation? Certainly not me. That’s why the closer we became, the more secluded I wanted our friendship to be. I can only imagine what the headlines would say if we ended up photographed in one of those online blogs you always see footballers tagged in.
Scottish footballer has found himself a stalker who looks like a plus-sized Anne of Green Gables.
Wankers!
At least my fashion sense is a touch better than Anne of Green Gables, who honestly could have been a lot more progressive with the Victorian Era. My stint in design school certainly helped with that, so, well done me.
Sadly, there’s not much that can be done for my sizeable curves or myLittle Mermaidred hair that I’ve tried to dye countless times to no avail. And my freckles are so defined, I quit wearing concealer full stop because all it did was make me look like I was covering up leprosy. Is leprosy still a thing? Could that be a headline?
Stay focused, Freya.
The point is, Mac is an attractive athlete who can eat an entire Big Mac and burn it off in one quick run. Bleddy hell, even his ankles are fit. I didn’t know ankles could be fit until I saw his very large bare feet propped up on my sofa table for the first time. The veins that run up his calves are immense!
Then there is me. I’m someone who mindfully chooses to eat wine gums instead of celery stalks even though I know it’ll take me days to burn them off. Not only do I like wine gums, but there’s just something about the word “stalk” that makes me think it doesn’t belong in my mouth.
All this means is that Mac and I are very different people, so the thought of him parading me in front of his team is terrifying, especially since I’m crap with men.
I grew up as a freckled, chubby redhead with an obsessive affection for knitting furry pink jumpers with kitten faces on them—an act thatreallydidn’t bring all the boys to the yard. And because of my horrible experiences with the select boys I did try to date, I can barely string together a declarative sentence around a bloke whom I think I may have a chance with. I really don’t want Mac to know that side of me.
“Hellooo, Freya…Earth to Freya.” Mac’s voice snaps me back to reality, and I realise my mind was having one of those outbursts Mac mentioned.
“What?” I ask and blink to regain my focus on him.
“Did you hear me? I said I think it’d be good for you to come with me to the party on Friday night. You’re not old enough to be cooped up like a wee old lady.”
His words are a punch in the gut, even if he didn’t mean them to be cruel. I have secluded myself quite a bit this past year. All my friends are married or are about to be married, so my social life has taken a nosedive. If it weren’t for Mac, I’d be well on my way to becoming a proper spinster.
“What kind of party is it exactly?” I ask as I turn to heft myself up onto the kitchen counter, fretting over the idea of making a complete fool of myself in front of my apparent best mate.
Mac’s face lights up as he hoists himself up beside me. God, he made that look so easy while I looked like a child trying to crawl into Papa Bear’s chair. He nudges me with his shoulder. “It’s called a No Bloody Kids Do at Tanner and Belle Harris’ flat. The entire Harris family got sitters, so they’ll all be there. Plus Roan and Allie, of course, and some other of my teammates.”
All couples,I think to myself as I bite my lip nervously.Just like it will be at Allie and Roan’s wedding.At least I’m somewhat familiar with this crowd. Allie is a cousin to the Harris family, and my colleague Sloan is married to the eldest Harris Brother, so I’ll certainly be amongst friends. And in the back of my mind, I’ve known that I need to find a date for the wedding or I’ll be the sad bridesmaid wearing a puffy pink dress and sitting at a table drinking champagne alone while all the other couples are dancing.
Mac hits me with a dazzling smile like he knows I’m faltering. “Come for me, Cookie. Please?”
