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“Come in,” I yell a little too fast. Bridget scowls at me. I smile as I open the door.
“Hi honey, are you feeling better? I wish you came and got me last night. You didn’t need to catch a cab on your own. Why didn’t you just find me instead of texting me?”
“Yes, why is that Natasha? It’s very unlike you.” Bridget scowls at me as she folds her arms in front of her.
“Come on, we have breakfast at the Stantons’.” I am so not going there. How do I get out of this?
“I still don’t feel well. I can’t come Mum, sorry. I don’t want to risk throwing up in public or on Margaret for that matter.” The thought tickles my fancy and I stifle a smile.
Bridget narrows her eyes at me. “I bet,” she snaps. Mum gives me a reassuring smile that only a mother can give.
“No worries. It’s a shame though. We never catch up with them, never mind, next time.” She rubs my arm and heads over to the lift entrance calling from the hall for Bridget to hurry up.
“When we get home we are meeting Abbie at Oscar’s and I want the fucking truth,” she pokes me hard in the chest.
“Ow, ok,” I whisper, trying desperately to get rid of her. I do wide eyes to her to signify my distaste for this conversation. I dread the impending conversation—my stomach dry–retches just thinking about it. I’m not stretching the truth too far actually; vomiting could be in the very soon foreseeable future. This is a total nightmare. I want desperately to go to breakfast to see him. I need to see him. It’s a need, not a want. I want to see his face after last night but I can’t risk seeing Scott, his brother. I am so embarrassed. I wish I had a vision of what last night looked like. Did I look like the instigator? Was I the instigator? Did he reciprocate my desire? Or did I imagine it? For the next three hours I act like the total loser I am. I download Rihanna’s ‘Diamonds’ track and listen to it on repeat while lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, only leaving the bed to dry–retch into the toilet every now and then. I reminisce dancing with him last night, the feel of his unrestrained strength under my hands and the divine smell of him. Hmm, the way he bit my neck. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. His want for me, his pure maleness…is that even a word? I can’t help but smile—my god he sure does shine bright, like a diamond that is. He’s still got it and, worse than that, I still want it. Joshua Stanton is too beautiful for words.
6.00 pm, Oscar’s
Bridget hasn’t talked to me all day other than to tell me Joshua didn’t show for breakfast with his family. We are waiting for Abbie to arrive, sipping our coffee in silence. I don’t know why she’s pissed off as I’m the one everyone is talking about. I just wish I knew what they were saying.
Abbie finally turns up in a rush and is obvious flustered. “Hi, what in the hell is the crisis meeting about?” She unloads all the crap from her bag, looking for her wallet. “Is it TC? Have you heard anything?” Her eyes search mine. “Has she made a move on him?”
“No, nothing like that,” I answer. “How would we know anyway?”
“What’s so bloody urgent then? I am going on a date tonight.”
“Who with?” we both say in tandem.
“Tristan, army guy.”
We all smile. I think she likes him.
Bridget sits back. “Natasha has something to tell us.” She folds her arms in front of her. God, she plays the bitch well.
“You do?” Abbie smiles, her face questioning and eyebrows raised.
“Um,” I don’t look either of them in the eye.
Bridget points her spoon at me. “Enough
of this shit. Out with it.”
Abbie looks between both of us. “What the hell is going on?” Obviously she is shocked at bitch Bridget’s venom. My moment of truth has arrived and I am about to be judged by the two people who mean the most to me. They are important. Their opinion matters, it really matters. I blow out a long and steadying breath as I try to calm my nerves.
“I…I…had a steamy month–long sexual affair with Joshua when I was seventeen.” I say it in a rush to get the words out.
“What the fuck!” Abbie spits out. I stay silent as I see the colour drip from their faces, my eyes flicking between them. “Hang on, back up.” Abbie is confused and holds up her hand in a stop signal. “Your cousin?” she asks, mortified.
“Yes,” I nod.
“The gorgeous one?”
I nod again.
“What. You slept with him?” I nod. “Your cousin,” she repeats as she frowns. “More than once?” I nod. “How many times?” Abbie is in total shock. I shrug my shoulders. “How many times?” she repeats.
“Four or five times,” I answer.
