Going Overboard, page 13
‘Me too,’ Kira adds. ‘I thought a cruise to a wedding was as fancy as it was ever going to get, but a celebrity wedding – wow.’
‘He’s not really a celebrity, though, is he?’ Todd says.
We all turn to look at him.
‘I’m just saying, he plays sport, it’s not like he’s Tom Cruise or Freddie Bianchi, is it?’ he adds. Somehow, explaining himself only makes him look more pathetic.
‘Mate, he plays for England,’ Al reminds him. ‘England!’
‘Yeah, but – and I mean no offence by this – but at cricket, not football or something like that,’ Todd replies.
I glance at Brody, and while it’s a relief to see how unbothered he is by Todd’s words, I do wonder why he doesn’t speak up for himself.
‘Erm, excuse me,’ a waitress interrupts our conversation and it’s probably for the best. ‘A couple of gentlemen over there asked me to send over these shots, for the table. With their compliments for Mr Ryan.’
She gestures over at two men who are sitting by the bar. As soon as they realise Brody is looking at them, they come alive with excitement.
‘There’s only one Brody Ryan, one Brody Ryan, one Brody Ryan. Brody Brody Brody, oi oi oi…’
As they chant away, Brody just smiles to himself.
‘Tell them thanks,’ Brody says to the waitress. ‘And tell them I’ll come over to say hi, after we’ve eaten. I really appreciate it.’
‘I’ll tell them,’ she says. ‘And, while I’m here, if you could sign this… it’s not a bill or anything, it’s just an autograph, for my dad, he’s such a big fan.’
‘Of course,’ he replies.
Okay, suddenly I get it, why Brody isn’t defending himself to Todd – because he doesn’t need to. Actions speak louder than words. Todd might be trying to make Brody feel like he isn’t a big deal, but it’s not true, Brody is a big deal, more than I realised, and he’s comfortable enough with himself to not let Todd’s words bother him. Oh, to be able to harness that sort of power. I swear, sometimes I feel like I form opinions of myself based on how other people see me, rather than how I actually feel.
I should take a leaf out of his book, and stop obsessing over when Todd and Nikki got together, whether they cheated on us, because what does it matter now? It doesn’t matter when, just that they did, and the best thing I can do for myself is move on.
Problem is, with each day that passes, I’m not sure Todd and Nikki have moved on as well as they think they have.
We might have to test that theory…
21
‘I’m so glad you find me so amusing,’ I say sarcastically.
‘I’m not laughing at you,’ Brody insists. ‘I’m in awe of you, if anything, because this is a stroke of genius.’
I smile – just enough not to give him the satisfaction.
I’m enjoying myself though, as twisted as it sounds, this is just so therapeutic. We get wronged by people all the time – probably every day – but how often do we get the sick satisfaction of actually getting revenge? I don’t want to get Todd back, Nikki can have him, but I do want to get him back in the other way. I want to make him pay.
How? Well, tonight it’s by putting my work skills to good use – or using them for bad, I suppose, depending on how you look at it.
We’ve rushed back to the cabin, ahead of Todd and Nikki, so that we can set the scene.
It feels a bit like staging a house – staging the cabin – although this is sort of like doing the opposite of what I usually do at work.
Instead of setting it up to look appealing and inviting, I’m staging it to look like Brody and I have destroyed the place, by getting it on, all over the suite. Making the place feel uninhabitable. Uncomfortable. A place you’d take one look at and immediately wish you could bleach everything – including your eyeballs. A UV light would have this place glowing purple from wall to wall. Well, that’s the story I’m telling anyway. That Brody and I can’t keep our hands off one another, that things in the bedroom – in every room – are so hot, driven by animalistic, unrelenting lust.
And say what you want about Brody – I know I do – but he’s down for it. He’s peeling off his shirt, tossing it nowhere in particular, like it came off in the throes of passion.
‘Come on, Jessa,’ he says, smiling like a madman. ‘Commit to the bit.’
He’s right. We were just with them – they know what we were wearing. This needs to look real.
I shrug off my dress and fling it. It lands on the coffee table, so messy and yet so perfectly staged. Then I run to the bedroom and grab underwear – mine and Brody’s – and bring it back in, scattering it around like horny confetti.
He pulls a face at me.
‘Well, obviously we’re not going to take our actual underwear off, are we, perv?’ I say.
He just laughs at me.
‘Hey, I think you’re doing a great job,’ he says, knocking over a lamp, chill as you like, sort of like a cat would.
‘Nice touch,’ I tell him.
‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘Hey, by the way, are you sure you’re okay?’
His question catches me off guard.
‘What?’
‘Are you sure you’re okay, with all of this, with Todd, and—’
‘Absolutely fine,’ I insist, pausing for a second. ‘I’m over him, it’s all good.’
He stares at me for a beat longer than feels normal.
‘I mean, all of this is fun, I’m down for it, so long as it’s coming from a fun place, not a hurt one,’ he replies.
I push over an artificial plant.
‘Does this look like someone who isn’t having fun?’ I reply.
‘You still seem pretty hung up on whether or not he and Nikki cheated on us,’ he points out, swiping cushions from the sofa.
‘Well, yeah,’ I reply, throwing the faux lemons around. ‘I don’t want to look silly.’
He smirks at me. Okay, that’s an arguably hilarious thing to say when you’re lobbing plastic lemons around. I throw one at him.
‘I don’t like being made a fool of,’ I say instead. ‘It’s not about wanting him back – I just want to make him feel as shit as I did.’
‘All I’m saying is, energy spent on the right things is never wasted,’ he tells me. ‘But some people are just dicks. They don’t deserve your energy or your effort, good or bad.’
I cock my head curiously.
‘That’s awfully profound, for a—’
I don’t quite get to finish my compliment-insult because we can hear Todd and Nikki, behind the door, about to come in.
‘Shit,’ I whisper.
What do we do? I could throw myself at him, push him back onto the sofa, make them think they’ve walked in on the main event – but the two sets of underwear don’t make sense. Why would it be on the floor and on us? It’s perfect staging if we’re not here. It’s a plot hole if we are.
Brody’s eyes widen. We’re on the wrong side of the room – way too far from our bedroom door to make it before they walk in. They’ll see us.
‘Quick, this way,’ Brody says, taking me by the hand.
He drags me out onto the balcony, sliding the door shut just in time. Well, almost shut, he leaves it open just enough for us to hear.
The balcony isn’t that big and there isn’t really anywhere to hide thanks to the patio doors. With just a small wall space on each side, Brody pushes me up against the wall, before pressing his body against mine.
Oof, now that’s good staging.
I try to ignore the fact that my heart is beating faster – it’s probably the fear of being caught. Nothing else.
Inside, we hear Todd and Nikki storm in.
They’re chatting until they see the scene we’ve set for them. Then they fall silent for a moment.
‘Oh my God – ew, ew, ew,’ Nikki says. ‘They’re like animals.’
‘What have they been doing in here?’ Todd asks.
‘Oh my God, that’s a thong – ew, Todd, we know exactly what they’ve been doing in here,’ she replies.
Mission: Accomplished.
‘But Jessa was never—’
‘Todd! Can we not,’ Nikki snaps at him.
I blush a little. Was Todd about to say that I was never adventurous in the bedroom? I mean, we weren’t exactly setting the bed on fire, but his match was one of those little ones you get in books, not those big bad boys that take longer to burn through. If y’know what I mean.
Not me blushing because I care that Brody heard him say that. I’m not boring. Would a boring girl be pinned to a wall, in her underwear, by a professional sportsman – the bad boy of cricket, no less? I don’t think so.
Brody’s face is so close to mine I can see all the little flecks of colour in his eyes, even in this dim light. I can feel his breath tickling my lips, almost like a preview of what his lips might feel like. I don’t know, it’s like there’s this tension between us, this electricity – bloody hell, even I’m falling for it now. This is an act. I’m faking it, he’s faking it, and we’re doing such a good job that it feels real, even here on the inside.
Eventually, we hear Todd muttering something about ‘sleeping in the bloody casino if they hear a peep from us’ before their bedroom door slams shut.
Brody pulls back slightly, still grinning.
‘Okay, Jessa, you’re good,’ he tells me.
I puff air from my cheeks, relieved to have pulled it off.
‘Yeah, well, ever the professional,’ I joke.
We stand with our arms on the railings for a moment, looking out to sea, admiring the view. There’s something so captivating about all the stars.
I blow out a breath, feeling slightly dazed.
‘Yeah. Total professionals, us.’
‘It’s gorgeous out here,’ I say softly. ‘I bet it would be lovely, to sleep out here, under the stars.’
‘Well, maybe you should,’ he says in a soft, breathy voice. ‘Seeing as it’s your turn in the bath tonight.’
Ugh, he’s such a wind-up. Honestly, I deserve an Oscar, for successfully convincing even one person that I could ever feel anything real for him. Brody Ryan. Professional cricketer and semi-professional tosser.
He’s good at this though, there’s no denying that. I’ll just have to put up with him a bit longer, I suppose…
22
I can’t believe I’m a gym girlie now.
Well, I’m not technically, am I? Because I only come here to hang out with my fake boyfriend.
Brody is lifting weights – although that makes it sound far less impressive than it is, because to a layman like me, it looks more like he’s lifting the machine than the weights. It’s hard not to stare at his muscles – it’s almost hypnotic, the way they contract, flex, twitch, ripple. It’s like they have a mind of their own. In fact, I could swear his abs were flirting with me.
I’m almost exercising today, technically, because I’m using an exercise ball as a chair, lightly bouncing up and down on it.
Brody comes over to me, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm.
‘I don’t think you’re allowed to do that in here,’ he jokes, nodding towards the bar of chocolate I’m eating, the one I swiped from the minibar before we left our suite.
‘We all have our morning routines,’ I remind him, popping another square of chocolate into my mouth.
He just laughs as he lies down on the mat next to me. I thought he was going to relax for a second then but, no, he’s doing crunches.
‘You never stop,’ I tell him.
‘You never start,’ he claps back.
I keep bouncing, letting the momentum do most of the work.
‘So what does a typical day in the life of a professional cricketer look like?’ I ask curiously.
Brody stops for a second, rolling onto his side to look at me while we chat.
‘Wake up, protein, gym, training most days – depends when we have a match,’ he tells me.
‘When even are cricket matches?’ I ask, realising I have no idea when it’s on TV, because I actively avoid sport.
‘It depends,’ he replies. ‘I don’t want to bore you, but sometimes they’re in the day, through the week, sometimes they’re on a Friday night – it varies.’
‘Boring as it might be to watch, it’s interesting to talk about,’ I say with a smile. ‘What does a free evening look like?’
‘I live with one of my teammates, we share an apartment,’ he explains. ‘Something Nikki said was pathetic for a man in his early thirties, but we have a laugh. I go out to eat often, to bars with the lads, or we’ll watch movies and play video games. What about you? What does your typical day look like?’
I swear, my brain has stopped working. What does a typical day for me look like? The more I think about it, the more I realise that it’s not my mind that is blank, it’s my day. Beyond work there’s not much going on.
‘It’s not so much a routine, it’s more like being on that treadmill,’ I say.
‘Would you know what that was even like?’ he jokes.
‘Har-har,’ I reply. ‘I guess I get up, get ready, rush off to various appointments, different houses, different clients. Sometimes I’m shopping for furniture or smelling 500 candles until I find the exact right one for a particular en suite. I’ve started dressing holiday rentals, and I’m about to do some stuff with a boutique hotel. They want their guests to have the best time and you would be amazed how the right colours, the right pillows, the right accessories can make a difference.’
‘Sounds more exhausting than my job,’ he replies.
That almost sounds like a compliment.
‘I’m not sure about that,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I love it though. I love that no two days are the same. It keeps things interesting. And it’s not always plain sailing, sometimes people need convincing that they need to take down all of their family photos.’
‘Why do you do that?’ he asks curiously. ‘Surely it’s nice, to see it as a family home?’
‘Well, that’s the thing, not everyone wants to see it as a family home,’ I reply. ‘If people think it’s a family home, not a swanky bachelor pad, it can put them off. Even the people who do want a family home, they want to imagine their own family in it, not someone else’s. You want people feeling like it’s their house from the second they walk through the door.’
‘Okay, I’ll admit it, I thought your job sounded kind of silly the first time you told me about it but, now that you’ve explained it, I get it, it makes sense,’ he says. ‘So, what about after work? How do you relax?’
How do I relax? Do I even relax?
‘It’s interesting, since Todd…’ My voice trails off.
‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ Brody insists.
‘No, it’s okay,’ I reply. ‘Since we split, the days kind of… drop off after work. We used to go out with our friends together sometimes, but most nights we would just hang out together. Watch Netflix, get a takeaway, cuddle on the sofa. So I don’t do that any more, obviously, I do a version of it on my own, I guess. I’m hoping that once wedding season calms down, I’ll get my friends back, figure out a new version of normal. One that doesn’t include him.’
Brody watches me quietly for a second, not teasing me or laughing at me.
‘Were you really happy with Todd?’ he asks curiously. ‘And, again, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’
‘No, I’m happy to talk about it,’ I tell him. ‘And, yeah, I was happy. Really happy.’
‘You just… talk about your life like it was a bit… boring with him?’
I pick at the empty wrapper in my hand.
‘Do I?’ I reply. ‘No. It wasn’t boring… I don’t think. It was… comfortable. The kind of love where you’re best friends first, you know? That’s what makes it last. Friendship. That’s the foundation of a long-lasting relationship. Would you say you and Nikki were friends?’
‘No, no way,’ Brody replies. ‘She was my girlfriend. My friends were my friends.’
And that’s exactly why I could never entertain anything happening between me and Brody – not that he’s entertaining it either. Because there’s no world in which he and I would ever be friends. I’m attracted to him physically, sure, I think anyone who is attracted to men would be. And his charm, when it’s not pointed at me like a loaded gun full of jokes and sarcasm. But his personality? No, thanks. He drives me absolutely mad. Constantly. Consistently. Unrelentingly.
‘Maybe that’s one of those things lads and lasses see differently,’ he replies, ‘or maybe I just don’t know Todd that well but… he seems boring. It’s hard to imagine him being anyone’s type.’
It sounds to me like Brody can’t quite get his head around why on earth Nikki would leave someone like him for someone like Todd.
I hate to say it, but I’ve asked myself the same question.
‘Unlike Nikki, who’s everyone’s type?’ I reply.
Brody laughs again.
‘She was all right at first,’ he replies. ‘Beautiful, sharp, intense in a kind of exciting way. But then she started pushing me about work, trying to get me to do things I didn’t want to do. She wanted to turn me into an influencer, have brand deals. She even talked about me going on Celebrity Welcome to Singledom once. I told her that even if I did fancy a TV dating show – which I don’t – I’m hardly a celebrity. She said I needed a brand, something to fall back on when I retire. I know, it’s closer than I think, but that’s not what I want to do. I want to step out of the light, not have it shining on me even brighter. I just wanted to play the sport, not have the Daily Scoop print my face on beer mats and send them to almost every pub in the country the week before the Ashes.’
Okay, that does sound awful. I don’t suppose, when he was a kid growing up, starting to get excited about sport, that he thought about getting papped when he grew up.
‘So what do you want to do?’ I ask, genuinely curious.
