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Jason Redfern, Kensington Captain.
The world turned way too quickly. Heartbeat in my temples, my breath stuck in my chest. I stumbled backwards, losing the drinks in the process, they tumbled to the floor in a spray of glass and ice cubes. A hundred eyes on me. Tessa and Chelsea’s amongst them.
“Gemma?!” They grabbed me by the arms, yanked me clear of the crowd. “What the hell’s the matter?”
Gemma? Gemma? Gemma talk to us. Are you ok?
Tessa was shaking me, hands tight on my shoulders.
My tongue felt like rubber, words tumbling and blathering without consciousness.
“It’s him, oh my God, it’s him!”
“It’s who? Where?”
“My Jason,” I gasped. “On the TV.”
Chelsea flicked her hair. “You meanmyJason? Jason Redfern.”
“It’s him,” I said, brain spinning. “Holy shit!”
It took a long moment for the situation to dawn on Chelsea, she laughed at first. I watched her expression change as she turned it over. “You meanthatJason is the guy you’ve been seeing? The crazy fucking weirdo who makes you wear a blindfold?”
“It’s him,” I said. “His voice, his hair, his laugh. Oh God, oh my fucking God.”
“But that’s crazy,” Chelsea laughed. “Jason Redfern wouldn’t be calling chatline, he wouldn’t be interested in someone like...” She slammed her mouth shut.
I finished the sentence for her. “Someone like me? Someone fat?”
“You said those words, not me!”
“You meant them, though.”
Her eyes turned piggy. “It doesn’t make sense, Gemma. He was aftermeat Kings...” I felt the colour drain from my face. Hers did too. “...but he wasn’t, was he? He was after you...”
“Oh God, I don’t know.” I grabbed my hair in fists, brain lurching around my skull.
“...But he can’t wantyou. You’re not even blonde, you have no fashion sense.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want that,” Tessa shrugged. “Clearly he doesn’t, not if he’s running around after Gem all over the place. Is it him, Gem? Seriously?”
I nodded, dumbstruck.
Chelsea’s hands turned into scrunched up little claws, her lips thin and miserable. “How come you get a fucking footballer, hey? I’m the one who actually wants a footballer,youdon’t give a shit. What makes you so fucking special, Gemma Taylor?”
“I have no fucking idea,” I groaned. “I don’t want a footballer, don’t want to bespecial. I have no idea what the hell he’d see in me.”
“Gemma’s funny,” Tessa smiled. “And she’s smart, and nice, and a little bit crazy.”
Chelsea practically spat her words across the table. “Gemma isfatandginger.How could Jason Redfern ever be with someone like that? The media would tear him to fucking pieces. He’d be a laughing stock, a fucking laughing stock.”
“Thanks,” I said, flatly. “Thanks a fucking bunch, Chelsea.”
“Just being honest,” she snapped. “Nothing compared to what the papers would do.”
My heart dropped at the realisation of the inevitable. She was right. Vile, but right. Someone like him could never be with someone like me, they’d never let him hear the end of it.
“Shit, Gem,” Tessa soothed. “What do you want to do?”
