Page 20 of Blindsided
I bark out a laugh because I’ve seen photos of his family back in Dundonald. His sister, Tilly, is super model beautiful. Tall and thin with silky strawberry blond hair. His dad is the mirror image of Mac sans tattoos. And his mum is so cute, she made me question my allegiance to my heterosexual identity. Honestly, his whole family looks like a successful genetic experiment in breeding handsome gingers.
Mac does not appreciate my laughter as he adds firmly, “We could be related.”
“Stop saying we’re related!” I exclaim and then reach out to take my coffee. “It’s creepy.”
Mac winces. “Yeah, it is a wee bit weird.” He gestures back towards the coffee shop. “So, that’s what does it for you?”
“Who? Javier? Yes, I think he’s fit. Why, what do you mean?”
“Nothing, I’m just shocked is all,” Mac says with a shrug of his shoulders as he pops the lid off his coffee and blows inside the cup. “I didn’t know the Luigi brother look is what revs your engine.”
My jaw drops. “He doesn’t look like Luigi,” I shriek. “He looks nice!”
“Aye, you’re right,” Mac says, flashing me that dimple he has beneath his ginger-tinted, five o’clock shadow. “He’s a wee lad, so he’s Mario at best.”
“Shut up, you cow!” I retort with annoyance. I reach out to wallop him on the shoulder, but he hops into the street to avoid my attack. “What happened to ‘everyone is bonnie in their own way’?”
“I didn’t say he’s not bonnie. I was just surprised, that’s all.” Mac eyes me curiously for a moment and then falls back into step with me. “Is it the accent that does it for you?”
I scrunch my lips off to the side. “I don’t know. It certainly doesn’t hurt. He just looks like a real man, you know?”
“What the hell do I look like?” Mac asks, looking mildly offended.
I shrug. “Like a ginger version of a real man?”
He nods, seemingly pleased by my answer. “Well, whatever gets your knickers in a twist, Cookie.”
“Please don’t say knickers to me,” I reply with a groan. “It’s too weird.”
Mac huffs out a small laugh, and we continue walking for a silent moment before I ask, “So how in the hell am I going to be ready for a date tomorrow night? I think the only reason I didn’t make a complete fool of myself is because I was distracted by cheese. I love cheese.”
Mac nods thoughtfully. “Don’t worry. We’re going to have a two-a-day workout, and I’ll come up with a great training session for tonight.”
“Oh, joy. I can’t wait.”
The Cheese Bar.
Only Freya Cook could get me to set up her next lesson in a place like this. Though, I do love cheese. How can you not? However, going to a cheese bar with a burd is not something I ever would have seen myself doing. My history with women is of the fun and casual variety, usually involving minimal clothing, but I’d do just about anything for my Cookie.
I’m walking towards the restaurant that’s north of Covent Garden where I told Freya to meet me when a group of young lads stops me outside for a selfie. I oblige, hoping their attention won’t raise more attention, and then politely excuse myself.
Getting recognised isn’t a new thing for me. Being a big, tattooed, ginger footballer doesn’t exactly help me blend in with the crowd. But ever since Bethnal Green was bumped up to Premier League, our fame has definitely seen an increase. I don’t play football for the fame, though. I’m in it for the honour of playing the greatest sport in the world. As a wee lad, my grandad all but beat into me what an important game it was and that he would disown me if I wasn’t a Rangers fan. He’s a wiry old git and probably my favourite human, even if he barely forgave me for never landing a contract with his beloved Scottish team.
I do have other aspirations outside of football, though. My mum always told me I couldn’t fall back on athletics, so I went to university and got a degree in computer science. I do continuing education in the off-season just so I’m not completely out of the loop when I eventually retire.
The sun is beginning to set as I walk into Seven Dials Market, which is a high-end, indoor food court of sorts with two levels of places to eat and canteen-style seating in the centre. It’s also home to this magical place called The Cheese Bar.
When I heard about the coffee guy’s cheese hut, I thought it might be a good idea for Freya to brush up on her cheese knowledge. She always told me about what a good student she was in school, so I figured she can look at this like cramming for an exam. Along with cheese knowledge, I’m hoping we can cover some first date experiences. I might not take a lot of girls on formal dates, but my mum taught me how to treat a lady, so I know how it works.
I told Freya to doll herself up and meet me here like we were meeting for a proper date. She seemed terrified.
I love it.
To be truthful, I’m enjoying the new development in my friendship with Freya. She’s normally so confident and sure of herself, and she’s always having a go at me for something I do that’s barbaric. Call me crazy, but it’s nice to be better at something than she is for a change.
The Cheese Bar is a bright and cheery spot with a large square counter in the centre that features a conveyor belt of colourful plates of cheese with glass domes over the top. The place is nearly full, but I manage to grab us a couple of seats towards the end of the bar.
I picked up a few items for Freya, which I set down on the floor beneath my seat, and look towards the doorway to see Freya walk in right on time. I wave her over and can’t help the devilish smile on my face as I watch her make her way to me. She looks nervous but nice in her fitted green and white-checked blouse with a pink jumper over top and a wee pair of black shorts. She still has her signature vintage style to her, but the outfit is different than her others.
