by Amy Daws
A server comes over to take our drink orders. Freya gets chardonnay, as I knew she would, and I request a pint for myself. When the guy returns with a glass of wine, I stop Freya before she takes a sip and reach down to grab the wee gift bag I brought.
“More gifts?” she asks in shock. “I highly doubt Javier will give me flowers and a present.”
“If he’s worth a shite, he will,” I reply with a frown. “Just open it and don’t question your coach.”
She pulls out the tissue paper the gift shop was kind enough to provide and extracts a kitten coffee mug. On the side, there is a picture of a cat and thick black text that reads, “I work hard so my cat can have a better life.”
She smiles at the saying. “I bleddy love this!”
“I knew you would.” I reach out for her wine glass. “I washed the mug already, so I’ll pour your drink in it because I know that’s how you like to take your wine.”
I dump her wine into the mug and hand it back to Freya who looks so touched, I think I see a shimmer of tears in her eyes.
She falters over her words as she cups the mug to her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
I roll my eyes because she’s getting soft on me. “I’m doing this because you need to learn how to handle some flattery. You’re attractive and fun, Cookie. If your coffee guy is worth anything, he should say and do nice things for you. And I want to be sure you know how to respond appropriately when he does.”
She nods thoughtfully and sets her mug down. “So what’s appropriate?”
“Thank you is always a good start,” I reply firmly, propping my elbows on the counter.
“Thank you.”
I smile and wink at her. “You’re welcome. Also, I hope this guy is someone who pays attention to you. You’ve been going to the coffee shop for months you said? Does he know how you take your coffee?”
“Yes, he does!” She practically squeals with delight. “Large iced coffee—”
“With extra milk,” I finish and waggle my brows at her playfully.
She gets an uneasy look on her face for a few seconds but then quickly brushes it off. “Okay, be gracious and thankful for flattery. Got it. What’s next?”
“A lesson in cheese,” I reply and gesture towards the loads of plates passing us by. “Let’s grab a few plates, do some sampling, and ask our server some questions. Consider this a cramming session for your big test tomorrow.”
Freya eyes light with excitement as we set about picking out various cheese samplings. I have no damn clue what most of the stuff is, but I’m keen to try anything. Even the smelly cheese that has weeds rubbed all over it. Freya snort laughs when I spit it out because it tastes fishy.
After the cheesemonger—an expert in selling cheese—gives us a lesson on everything we’ve tasted, I realise that I’m two pints in and actually having a nice time on this mock date.
We order one more round and have eaten our fill in cheese when Freya says, “Mac, can I ask why you consider yourself an expert in dating?”
I frown at her question. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve given you all this power over my dating life, but we rarely ever speak about our dating experiences. How do I know you’re not an even bigger disaster than me?”
I level Freya with a flat look. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “What was your last relationship like?”
A pang of unease hits me because what Freya is asking isn’t exactly a short story. There’s really no reason to hide it from my best mate, though, so I tell her what I can.
“I don’t really do relationships, but I had this sort of casual situation with a woman I met when I first started playing football for Bethnal Green. It went on for a couple of years.”
“A couple of years?” Freya barks out in shock, her eyes wide and disbelieving. “Who was she? Where did you meet her? When did it end? How have you never mentioned to me before that you had a two-year relationship with a woman?”
I roll my eyes at her last comment. “Her name is Cami, and she was the photographer they hired to shoot me and Roan when we signed on with the club. I didn’t mention her because it ended around the time I met you, so I didn’t really see the point.”
Freya processes this information and then asks, “Why did it end?”
I shrug dismissively. “She met someone.”
“Met someone?” She gapes at me. “So you two were together for two years, and you weren’t exclusive?”
I cringe and rub my palms down my thighs. “Not exactly. We went out occasionally, but it was mostly physical.”
“Oh, like a friends-with-benefits situation?” Freya pries.
“I guess you could call it that.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat because this isn’t a subject I like to discuss. “I wasn’t surprised when she ended it, though, because she was always going on about wanting to settle down with someone serious. The guy she met is a lawyer, so I guess that’s what she was looking for at the time.”
“So, she was with you for two years and didn’t think you were long-term material?” Freya asks. Her brows pinch together in the middle, and I think I see an edge of protectiveness in her posture.
I shrug. “You know what my life is like. I travel a lot, which doesn’t exactly make me good boyfriend material. None of it really mattered anyway because I didn’t want anything serious either. My focus is one hundred percent on football.”
Freya ponders my response for a while, and then asks, “So were you in love with her?”
“Christ, no,” I bark out defensively. “Cami was just sex.”
Freya wilts and gets a sad sort of expression on her face. “You slept with her for two years, and you never fell in love?”
I eye her seriously. “Love isn’t a requirement for sex, you know.”
Freya swallows, and her face blanches. “Sure.”
I watch her carefully. “You do know that, right?”
“Of course I do!” she snaps and then takes a drink of wine from her kitten mug.
“Cookie,” I state and wait until she looks at me. “Are the only guys you’ve slept with ones you were in love with?”
“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 bel
t 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.”
With a heavy sigh, I drop down on the bed beside her, shaking my head and staring at the floor. “The kiss couldn’t have been that bad.”
“It was,” she mumbles defeatedly.
“There’s no way,” I argue, glancing at her lips. “You have nice lips. Perfect for kissing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replies, her lower lip quivering slightly. “I am incapable of using them. I’m a wanker.”
“You’re not a wanker.”
“I’m a lip wanker.”
“How do you know he’s not the lip wanker?” I ask with a gruff reply. “Maybe you just didn’t have the right partner. Any man with a cheese hut doesn’t sound like he’s kissing a lot of burds.”
She turns a flat look at me. “I promise you, Mac. Even if I had the right partner, I would be crap.”
Now I’m getting angry. “Prove it.”
Her brows pinch together. “I’m not about to kiss my hand or something stupid like that just so you can take photos of me and use them for blackmail the next time you’re cross at me.”
“Aye, not your hand,” I reply, taking a deep breath before adding, “Practice with me.”
“Me,” she repeats with a huff. “Me, who?”
“Kiss me and I’ll show you that it wasn’t you. It was him.”
“I’m not going to kiss you!” Freya shrieks, her voice rising to a high pitch at the end. “You’re mental!”
“I’m not mental. I’m your best mate, and I’m telling you to kiss me so I can show you how it’s done properly.”
“It would be too weird,” Freya says with a nervous laugh as she shuffles to the corner of the bed, putting space between us even though there is a glimmer of intrigue in her eyes.
“It wouldn’t be weird.” I scoot over to her. “I’m a lad. You’re a lass. Kissing is natural.”
She swallows nervously and glances down at my lips. “You better not be taking the piss.”
“I’m not taking the piss,” I reply, my voice dropping lower as I shift closer to her so our legs are touching. She smells faintly of cheese. Curiously, my heartbeat increases.
Freya goes very still. “Are you sure about this, Mac?”
I take a minute to glance down at her lips. They are a nice rosy hue from the lipstick she had on earlier and rest in a perfect pout. How did I never notice how kissable they are until right this second? There’s no way she’s bad at kissing with lips like hers.
“Live a wee bit, Cook,” I state softly and lick my lips in preparation. I lean in, and her eyes whirl with worry but also something resembling anticipation. I have to fight back my smile.
I run my fingers along her cheek before combing them through her hair and pulling her face to mine. With one last breath, I touch my lips to hers, and she lets out a surprised squeak that makes me smile.
Despite my grin, I move my lips against hers, trying to get a feel for the softness and warmth. Her lips feel just as good as I expected, so I bring my other hand up to her face in hopes of coaxing her to relax into this. She’s being a cautious kisser. I hate cautious kissers. Kissing shouldn’t be safe. It’s an animalistic act. It’s connecting on a fundamental level that humans should embrace with their base instincts, not their minds. I know she had a bad experience earlier tonight, but I’m her best mate. She doesn’t need to worry with me.
Without warning, I plunge my tongue into her mouth, and she lets out another sound that isn’t quite a squeak. A moan, maybe? She grips my forearms as I cradle her face in my hands and continue to explore her technique. I’m doing everything I can to give her something to respond to, and I almost growl with pride when her tongue slips out and gently moves against mine. That’s it, Cookie. Let go. Let your gut take over and just give in.
With a shuddered breath, I tilt my head and deepen the kiss. She responds in kind, her lips sliding over mine as my tongue draws hers out to play. Truly play. Our tongues stroke each other in a perfect rhythm that’s ramping up to something resembling indecency. When her hand falls from my forearm onto my lap, and her fingers brush over my groin, I realise it’s not just our kiss that’s become indecent.
I pull back with a grunt, tearing my eyes from her lips and doing everything I can to ignore the damn near painful throbbing inside my shorts. I hunch over my lap, propping my elbows on my knees to hide my state.
“Christ, woman,” I croak and clear my throat, shifting away to give myself some space before my cock decides to spring through my jersey shorts.
“Was that bad?” she asks, her large breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath she takes.
I turn my back to her, willing my body to calm the fuck down before I come off looking more inexperienced th
an her. “Not bad. Good.”
“Good?” she asks excitedly as she shuffles over next to me.
I leap off the bed and run my hand through my hair. Old lady in a garden. Picture an old lady all sweaty in a garden, Maclay.
“Your coffee shop guy is a wank,” I bark out of nowhere. “You’re a great kisser. End of lesson.”
I chance looking over my shoulder at Freya, who looks confused.
“Okaaay.” She chews her lower lip. “So what do I do about it then?”
I exhale heavily and purse my lips in annoyance. “If he’s not an idiot, he’ll call you tomorrow and apologise. If he is an idiot, you’re better off without him.”
She nods, absorbing my advice, and then glances at the clock on my dresser. “It’s late. I suppose I should go.”
I nod, thinking a bit of space from her is probably a good idea. When she stands, I conceal myself enough to walk her out of my bedroom without too much embarrassment. I see her safely to her car and reassure her one more time that she’s not a bad kisser. Then she drives away.
My mind is whirling as I lie on my bed thinking about how Freya is not a bad kisser. In fact, she’s quite good. Too good apparently because my hand is inside my shorts and I’m stroking myself while picturing my best mate’s lips wrapped around my cock instead of that idiot’s fucking shite cheese.
Fuck me, what have I done?
It’s dark when I feel the gentle brush of fingertips along my shoulder. The sensation is delicious, and it causes my body to roll into the mattress with need as goosebumps erupt all over me. When I finally come to, I turn onto my back to see Mac standing in my bedroom.
Shirtless.
My mind swims with confusion over why Mac would be in my bedroom in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. What is he doing here? And why is he looking at me like that?
As if answering me, he slowly reaches out and peels back the duvet to reveal my body. My apparently very naked body.
What the bleddy hell happened to my pyjamas?
I sit up to cover myself, but Mac shakes his head and presses his hand against my shoulder to lay me back down. His eyes break away from mine and rake hungrily over every square inch of my flesh.