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Authors: Samantha Towle
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couldn ’ t get out of it.
Maybe it ’ s best she ’ s not here, I ’ m freaking out as it is. Simone is a big Mighty Storm fan, so she ’ d be freaking too, making me worse.
What on earth am I going to talk to him about tonight?
I know, I ’ ve known Jake a long time, but I knew him back then. Not now.
Now he ’ s a mega rich superstar. And I ’ m just a lowly journalist working for a small, up and coming magazine, with enough money to pay the bills and fill the cupboard with enough food and wine to get me through the week.
He probably earns in an hour what I do in a year.
I ’ ve stayed in exactly the same place and Jake has sky rocketed to the stars.
We live in two very different worlds. I don ’ t know anything about his life now, except what I ’ ve read in the papers.
I wonder if he still likes the same things he did when I knew him?
Of course he doesn ’ t. Do I still like the same things I did when I was fourteen? Nope. Well, except for kids cereal. Coco Pops are awesome.
I ’ m just wondering once the step back in time has dried up, what on earth will we talk about. We are so worlds apart now. Our childhood aside, what else is there?
I ’ m just hoping the childhood stories will somehow stretch us through the night.
I gulp down another mouthful of wine.
The doorbell rings. It ’ s a minute after eight. If nothing else, he’s punctual. And here was me expecting him to be rock star late.
Putting my glass down, I pick my handbag up, get my keys and wobble on nervous legs to the door.
When I open it, he ’ s standing there looking all kinds of gorgeous, wearing dark blue fitted jeans, Converses trainers and a pale blue shirt which is rolled up at the sleeves, top buttons open, his tattoos on show.
And once again, I suddenly feel totally of out of my depth.
“ Hi,” I say.
“ Wow. You look great.”
I flush. “Thanks, you too.”
I ’ m doing a little mini-dance inside.
This dress was totally worth it – okay, so I might have popped to my favourite clothes shop, Dixies, after work and bought the dress I ’ ve been eyeing in the window for the last few weeks. The dress I couldn ’ t really afford at the moment – so, thank you Visa.
It ’ s not to impress Jake or anything, I mean it ’ s not like we ’ re going on a date, but he ’ s rich and I wanted to look nice. And the dress is so damn cute.
It ’ s a black shift dress with silver embellishment all over it, and so totally me. I ’ ve teamed it with my black heels, and silver clutch bag, and I left my hair down and curly, and kept my make-up minimal, how I always wear it.
I step through the door, deciding against inviting him in for a drink. He probably lives in a mansion. I don ’ t want him looking around my tiny flat.
I lock up and follow him down the path.
“ Nice place.” He nods back at the house that hosts my flat.
“ Thanks … wow, is this yours?” I ask as he approaches a silver Aston Martin DBS.
He grins and unlocks it with the key fob. “Loaner, but I do have one back home.”
Loaner ? I ’ d be lucky if I ’ d be able to loan a scooter.
And once again, I ’ m reminded of how very different our lives are.
“ Isn ’ t this James Bonds car?” I ask, as I slide into the supple leather seat, putting my seatbelt on.
“ Well, not this specific one, no – but I have driven his.”
I slide him a look. “Show off,” I smile.
“ Oh, you have no idea.” He winks at me, leaving my stomach to free-fall off into the next galaxy.
We pull away, roaring off down my small street, in his very flashy car.
“ So where are we going?” I ask, still trying to recover myself from his earlier comment.
“ It ’ s a surprise.”
“ A surprise?” I turn to look at him.
He slides me a look, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah a surprise, you remember those – they usually happen on birthdays, that kind of thing.”
“ But it ’ s not my birthday.”
“ Yeah, well I ’ ve missed twelve of
Maybe it ’ s best she ’ s not here, I ’ m freaking out as it is. Simone is a big Mighty Storm fan, so she ’ d be freaking too, making me worse.
What on earth am I going to talk to him about tonight?
I know, I ’ ve known Jake a long time, but I knew him back then. Not now.
Now he ’ s a mega rich superstar. And I ’ m just a lowly journalist working for a small, up and coming magazine, with enough money to pay the bills and fill the cupboard with enough food and wine to get me through the week.
He probably earns in an hour what I do in a year.
I ’ ve stayed in exactly the same place and Jake has sky rocketed to the stars.
We live in two very different worlds. I don ’ t know anything about his life now, except what I ’ ve read in the papers.
I wonder if he still likes the same things he did when I knew him?
Of course he doesn ’ t. Do I still like the same things I did when I was fourteen? Nope. Well, except for kids cereal. Coco Pops are awesome.
I ’ m just wondering once the step back in time has dried up, what on earth will we talk about. We are so worlds apart now. Our childhood aside, what else is there?
I ’ m just hoping the childhood stories will somehow stretch us through the night.
I gulp down another mouthful of wine.
The doorbell rings. It ’ s a minute after eight. If nothing else, he’s punctual. And here was me expecting him to be rock star late.
Putting my glass down, I pick my handbag up, get my keys and wobble on nervous legs to the door.
When I open it, he ’ s standing there looking all kinds of gorgeous, wearing dark blue fitted jeans, Converses trainers and a pale blue shirt which is rolled up at the sleeves, top buttons open, his tattoos on show.
And once again, I suddenly feel totally of out of my depth.
“ Hi,” I say.
“ Wow. You look great.”
I flush. “Thanks, you too.”
I ’ m doing a little mini-dance inside.
This dress was totally worth it – okay, so I might have popped to my favourite clothes shop, Dixies, after work and bought the dress I ’ ve been eyeing in the window for the last few weeks. The dress I couldn ’ t really afford at the moment – so, thank you Visa.
It ’ s not to impress Jake or anything, I mean it ’ s not like we ’ re going on a date, but he ’ s rich and I wanted to look nice. And the dress is so damn cute.
It ’ s a black shift dress with silver embellishment all over it, and so totally me. I ’ ve teamed it with my black heels, and silver clutch bag, and I left my hair down and curly, and kept my make-up minimal, how I always wear it.
I step through the door, deciding against inviting him in for a drink. He probably lives in a mansion. I don ’ t want him looking around my tiny flat.
I lock up and follow him down the path.
“ Nice place.” He nods back at the house that hosts my flat.
“ Thanks … wow, is this yours?” I ask as he approaches a silver Aston Martin DBS.
He grins and unlocks it with the key fob. “Loaner, but I do have one back home.”
Loaner ? I ’ d be lucky if I ’ d be able to loan a scooter.
And once again, I ’ m reminded of how very different our lives are.
“ Isn ’ t this James Bonds car?” I ask, as I slide into the supple leather seat, putting my seatbelt on.
“ Well, not this specific one, no – but I have driven his.”
I slide him a look. “Show off,” I smile.
“ Oh, you have no idea.” He winks at me, leaving my stomach to free-fall off into the next galaxy.
We pull away, roaring off down my small street, in his very flashy car.
“ So where are we going?” I ask, still trying to recover myself from his earlier comment.
“ It ’ s a surprise.”
“ A surprise?” I turn to look at him.
He slides me a look, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah a surprise, you remember those – they usually happen on birthdays, that kind of thing.”
“ But it ’ s not my birthday.”
“ Yeah, well I ’ ve missed twelve of
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