Page 11 of Count On Me

EDIE

TWO YEARS LATER…

“Let me guess. Jaxson is texting you asking for something again?” Angie’s voice pulls my attention from my phone and I tilt my head and look at her. “How did I know? You got that dreamy ‘I love him so much and will do anything for him’ look on your face. Not gonna lie, it makes me a little sick.” She pretends to heave but stops abruptly as I kick her under the table. Her screeching ‘ow’ earns us some dirty looks and curious stares from the other customers in the cute little coffee shop we’re meeting in. Angie doesn’t care, she’s too busy rubbing her shin to notice.

I offer a polite smile for disturbing them and when their heads are turned away from us I tell her, “Shut up, you cow. I do not look at him like that.” I reach for my tea, attempting to hide my blatant lie behind the cup.

“Puh-lease. You’re at his beck and call, chick. He says jump and you ask how high. It’s been like this for two years. Ever since you dry humped him and he told you things would be different in a few years. Aren’t you tired of waiting around for him? You’ve avoided dating anyone, helped him decorate his new bachelor pad, watched him achieve his dream and becoming apro… And he’s still holding you at arms length because neither of you are brave enough to admit what you both want. It’s bloody annoying.”

My cup is frozen in mid air inches away from my mouth, eyes bulging wide and my mouth stuck in a perfect O. “I haven’t been waiting around for him! Do I jump when he calls me? Sh-shit,” I stutter out and drop my tea down with a loud clang against the table, not caring this time if I’m disturbing anyone.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, girl. My mouth gets away from me, you know this.” Angie reaches over the table and grabs my hand. “I just meant you’re both frustrating. He’s at your beck and call too, it’s just, well, you don’t need him for as much. You’re more independent, self-sufficient.

“He calls you for everything. You’re his go to person for sure. And that’s because he wants you just as much as you want him. I’ve seen it in the way he looks at you. I get it, he’s scared, afraid to mess things up. Your friendship means more to him than anything. But all this waiting around isn’t doing you any good. Either of you.”

Her words cut through the armour I normally wear when it comes to Jaxson. I brace myself as she continues, knowing she’s going to say things I don’t want to hear.

“It’s decision time, Edie. Do you want to stay in the friend zone? Or are you ready to run into that end zone and score a touchdown with him?”

I know she’s right. I’ve been there for Jaxson every step of the way. Whatever he’s needed, I’ve been there to help. She wasn’t lying when she said I designed his new apartment for him. He wanted me to give it ‘a touch of Edie,’ because apparently he missed me when I wasn’t there. He says things like that all the time. His words make my belly flutter and, just as I think he’s about to make a move, he ruins it by calling me Eddie. No quicker way to bring reality crashing down than to hearthat childhood nickname. A nickname confirming he sees me as nothing more than the quirky little eight-year-old he met so many years ago. Friendzone: table for me.

His actions show me how deeply he feels for me though. When he signed his extended contract with Heath Hampstead FC and got to wear his lucky number thirteen on his shirt, he called me first. Not his pops or his mum, me. He calls me at least three times a day and I always answer. No matter what I’m doing, I’ll drop everything for him. When his teammate got injured and he was given his regular spot on the team, he called me with tears in his eyes and a wobbly voice. It meant the world to him, and I was the first person he shared it with.

We’ve gotten so much closer, but never as close as we did that night two years ago. We’ve never spoken about it, but it’s always there. The sizzling connection, the longing looks, the little touches—but we never cross that line. He introduces me to people as his best friend, and, although I want so much more, I love what we have. But Angie’s right. It’s been long enough now.

I’m twenty-four, barely date, and spend my time working on my blog and design business or hanging out with Angie. I need to make some changes. I want him to start seeing me as more than Eddie. I want him to see me as Edie.

“Wrong football, Angie, but I get your point. What do I do?”

She smirks at me and raises her eyebrow. “You have to make him think he’s lost his shot with you. You’re too available to him. He calls and you go running. You need to play it cool. Be busy. Don’t pick up every phone call. Go on actual dates with people and ask his opinion on outfits for them. Treat him like a bestie, not like a boy you’re in love with, and watch him come running.”

She winks at me and picks her croissant up and takes a huge bite. Laughter bubbles out of my mouth and she joins in, showing me the contents of her chewed up croissant.

“Seriously, Angie! You want me to lie to him?” I sit back in my chair and shake my head, a sudden uneasy feeling settling in, making me bite my cheek.

“You don’t have to lie. I know you have issues with that. Just bend the truth a little. When you’re out with me, text him a selfie, ask him what he thinks of your outfit. Tell him you’re out with Tom instead of Angie. Maybe Tom could text you when you’re with him sometimes. Just make him think he isn’t your be all and end all. He goes on dates, why can’t you?”

She laughs as she grabs my phone off the table and types away on it. I don’t even try to get it back from her, reeling from the mention of him dating. Bile creeps up my throat as snapshot after snapshot of him with different women flits through my mind. I hate seeing him in the tabloids with his arms draped over some tall, toned, blonde party girl. I know it’s what footballers do. I know he’s drunk most of the time. I know he isn’t mine and I shouldn’t be jealous because technically he is single. But every time I see it, it breaks my heart a little.

The first girl I saw him pictured with almost destroyed me. She was gorgeous. He was kissing her, and I was heartbroken. And I needed my best friend to make things better, but I couldn’t go to him.

So I went to Angie. She held me whilst I cried, then dolled me up, got me drunk, and I forgot for a little bit. But when I woke up the next day, hungover and desperately sad, we decided that wasn’t the best course of action for me.

Instead, I mooned about and pined for him. I ignored his calls and texts. But I missed him. I saw more and more of him out on the town, each time a different girl on his arm but a sadness in his eyes that only I could see.

I couldn’t keep ignoring him. His messages kept saying he missed me, and I knew it was the truth. I answered his calls and pretended everything was alright. That I’d been busy with work.His ‘dates’ became less frequent, and the more we spoke on the phone, the less he went out. We’ve become stuck in this weirdfriendlationshipand I know something has to break to get us out of this rut.

I sigh, cross my arms over my chest, and ask her, “What are you doing? You better not be texting anyone?” She shakes her head and turns the phone around for me to see. She’s changed her name from Angie to Tom. “You’re mad.” I laugh and shake my head at her. “So now you’re my imaginary boyfriend? How pathetic am I? I have to have one best friend pretend to be my boyfriend to make my other best friend jealous so he’ll want to be my real boyfriend?”

Dropping my chin to my chest, I close my eyes. Maybe I need to give up on this whole friends to lovers idea. We aren’t a couple from one of my romance books. Lucy Score isn’t in charge of my happily ever after, which is a damn shame. Her stories are always so bloody beautiful.

“You’re not pathetic. You could have a million real boyfriends if you wanted to. Guys check you out all the time—that arse of yours gets a lot of double takes, trust me.”

I shake my head, scoffing in disbelief, and she throws a piece of croissant at me, hitting me right between the eyes.

“Stop shaking your head at me and making stupid noises. You don’t see their eyes eating up all your curves, I do. They try to flirt with you but you shut them down. I mean, come on, Edie, you had Jaxson ‘demigod’ Brady walking around with a stiffy over you. You have to accept that you’re gorgeous for that fact alone.”

She cackles loudly as I turn a beautiful shade of fuschia. The customers look in our direction again and I just shake my head at her antics. This is why I love this girl. She doesn’t care what people think. She is unapologetically Angie, and if you don’t like it, you can kiss her arse.

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