Page 34 of When Worlds Collide
“Actually no.” She waved a hand, as if metaphorically waving away her troubles. “Tell me about your perfect life.” Beckapeered at the screen. “Where’s the idol? Tearing petals off roses to toss over the bed sheets? Writing a love song about you?”
I laughed. “He did all of that already.” Well, he’d tossed me around the bed sheets this morning, before singing in the shower; it was basically the same thing. My body ached in ways that made me smile.
“I see that smirk, Thompson,” Becka grouched. “Your delirious happiness is sickening.”
Coming from anyone else, that might have stung, but as it was my best friend in the whole wide world, I just matched her eye roll with one of my own.
“Where is he, then? Not left you to fend for yourself, surely?”
“He’s at the gym.” I absently bit at my thumb nail.
“Stop biting your nails,” Becka scolded.
I held up my hand in surrender. “Yes mother.”
“Speaking about moms,” Becka sidesteps, “have you spoken to yours yet?”
I pulled a face.
“Babes! You’ve been there for days! Why haven’t you called your folks yet?”
“I haven’t found the time!” I protested.
More like, I hadn’t come up with an acceptable way to explain to them that not only had I lost the job I already flew half-way around the world to take, but oh, I’ve now flown the rest of the way around the world to shack up with my famous, but secret boyfriend.
Oh, and that thing I went to university for, studied for years and spent thousands of pounds on? Yeah, nah, I don’t wanna do that anymore, either.
Yes, I can see that going well.
“I just need a moment to breathe,” I said. “It’s kind of a lot of information. I need to figure out how to relay it all without sounding like I’ve lost my mind and been human trafficked.”
“Babes, you’re over-thinking it. Your folks just want to know you’re safe and happy. Call them.”
I groaned. “I know, I know. I will.”
“Okay, lecture over, tell me what you did last night that stopped you calling me – unless it’s yet more sex, in which case I don’t need to know!”
I laughed, “‘Yet more’?”
“I just assume you’re spending every waking moment making up for lost time,” she shrugged.
She wasn’t completely off the mark. Everything was very… intense at the moment.
“For your information,” I began, “we went to a private screening in the hotel’s cinema.”
There really was no way to deliver this kind of information in a tone that was anything but smug, especially when going for casual.
Becka sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of fucking course you did. My, how the other side live.” She sighed again. “What was it? Korean art nouveau? Some fancy, rich people noir film?
I giggled, almost sloshing my coffee. “Good grief, Becka. He’s a singer, not a Rothschild. No, we watched scary movies, seeing as how it was Friday the 13th.”
“Oh fuck, is it?” Becka looked at her smartwatch, reminding me that for her, it still was Friday the 13th. “That explains the absolute horror of today.” I watched as Becka stood up suddenly and walked around the sofa and into the kitchenette. I heard her open the cabinet where we – she. I didn’t live there anymore – stored the wine.
“That bad, huh?”
“Not great.” She pulled down a glass and set the phone down to open the bottle. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but fuck it, it’s probably your fault.”
Before I could get out more than an indignant splutter, she continued.
