Easy by Donna Alam

Author:Donna Alam [Alam, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Donna Alam
Published: 2018-02-17T18:30:00+00:00

Two

LOUISE

‘My slutty senses are tingling!’ Flo rises from the café outdoor table setting just around the corner as she’d promised. My borrowed hat sits on the table, her black hair loose around her shoulders, shining almost blue in the sun. ‘Where’ve you left your horse?’

I glance down at my crumpled clothing, taking a beat to decipher her non-sequitur. I suddenly feel a little old. Old enough to know better, at least.

‘It’s my shoes,’ I answer belatedly, realising she’s teasing me. Anyone who’d worn four-inch heels one full day and part of the night was bound to have an awkward gait. And here I was, wearing them again. There were, of course, other aches, but I wasn’t about to share those details.

Collapsing into the chair opposite, I swipe Flo’s cup and swallow a mouthful. My grimace is instant. ‘Green tea?’ When I so need a coffee. When she doesn’t respond, I look up; I’m greeted by one highly defined and eloquently raised brow. It’s the kind of look that demands details. The kind of look hard to ignore.

‘It’s true,’ I protest. ‘My feet are killing me.’

Flo’s response is a dirty, sniggering laugh. ‘Only your feet, sweets? And do leave my tea alone. I’ve no idea where your mouth has been.’ Ignoring my shocked expression, she passes me my canvas tote. ‘Here. I’ve brought those god-awful plimsolls you wear. And a cardigan.’ Somehow, I sense she isn’t done, proven right when she breaks out into a sing-song tone, ‘Because appearances are everything!’

‘Only to the vain and shallow,’ I mumble, placing the bag on the empty chair next to mine.

‘Just ninety-eight percent of the city’s population, then?’ She lifts her cup as she stands. ‘Make yours a latte and a banana muffin?’

‘You know me so well,’ I reply gratefully, shrugging on the long-line sweater. I look down at my feet, realising this isn’t the case at all. After last night, I barely know myself. I slip my feet into my favourite pink Chucks and wrap the pale scarf around my neck. While I might be in desperate need of a shower, at least I’m now more suitably dressed for a Saturday morning, though a little cold.

Adele begins to croon from the café shop door as Flo pushes it open from the inside, cups in hand.

‘Anal,’ she states certainly, flopping into the metallic chair opposite. ‘It had to be.’

‘What?’ I splutter, my gaze darting around. Lowering my voice, I hiss, ‘I would . . . I . . . never did that.’ But would I have said no? The pulse between my legs isn’t the answer I’m looking for.

‘Not you, silly. The song.’ She breaks into a couple of surprisingly melodic lines from Adele’s hit; words about the delights of a new lover and the things unshared. ‘The other tart gave him things she couldn’t. It had to be anal,’ she repeats with certainty.

‘I worry about what goes through your head sometimes.’ My tone is disparaging.

‘Only my head?’ Along with her response, she shoots me a bawdy wink.

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