The Mighty Storm (11 page)

He grins at me, it
’
s a sexy smile. My cheeks heat and so do other parts of my anatomy.

“
So are we sharing or not?” I ask, looking back down at my menu.

“
We
’
re sharing.”

Why do I always feel like there
’
s an undertone to everything he
’
s saying to me?

But he is a renowned womaniser, so flirting is probably just part of his genetic make-up nowadays.

“
Okay, so we have the exotic choice of
–
Posh Pizzas, The Hut Classics or Make Our Own,” I say as I pour my eyes over the menu.

“
I was thinking we could have our old favourite ...”

“
Oh my god,” I look up at him laughing. “The Blazin
’…

“
Inferno,” he finishes.

“
I haven
’
t had that pizza in years!” I
’
m still laughing.

“
Me either,” he laughs. “So that
’
s what we
’
re having?”

“
Definitely,” I beam.

I close my menu and that
’
s when I realise he
’
d never actually opened his.

He remembered the pizza without even seeing it on the menu.

I take a swig of my beer.

Jake signals the waiter over, who has been loitering by the doorway for the last few minutes, and he orders our pizza.

Jake picks his beer up and has a drink.

It
’
s still dead in here. Not one single person has turned up for a pizza.

“
It
’
s good that it
’
s quiet in here tonight,” I say echoing my earlier thoughts. “No fans to hassle you.”

He smiles. “I paid for it to be quiet.”

“
Huh?”

“
I bought the place for the evening.”

“
You bought Pizza Hut?”

“
Not Pizza Hut as a whole, Tru,” he grins. “Just this one, rented, for the evening.”

“
Why?”

“
So we wouldn
’
t be interrupted.”

“
Oh.”

I can
’
t believe he rented out the whole of Pizza Hut so we could have dinner together here, because it was, once upon a time long ago, our place.

I know he can afford it, easily, but still, it
’
s crazy sweet.

“
Where did Stuart take the car to?” I ask, just thinking of it now, and actually why he was waiting outside to take it.

“
He just took it back to the hotel. He
’
ll bring it back when we need it.”

“
And your security guy?”

“
He
’
ll be at the top of the stairs.”

“
Oh.”

“
Hey, do you remember those matching friendship bracelets you made us with that kit your mom bought you that one Christmas?” he says putting his beer down.

I wonder what made him think of that.

“
Oh God, I really was lame.” I cover my face with my hands, my cheeks burning.

“
I thought they were sweet.”

I stare at him surprised.

“
Do you still have yours?” he asks.

I do. But if I tell him I always kept mine because it was just one of the many things that reminded me of him and I could never part with, might sound as lame as it actually is.

“
I still have mine,” he says as if reading my thoughts.

“
You do?” Now I
’
m surprised.

“
Yes.”

“
Where is it?” I look at his wrist.

“
In LA at my house
–
so do you still have yours?”

“
Yes.” My voice is lower.

“
Where is it?”

“
Here, in the UK, in my tiny flat.”

He laughs. “You
’
ll have to show it to me later.” His expression suddenly turns serious.

He wants to come in my flat? My stomach starts doing acrobats across the room.

“
Okay.” I cough nervously, my face flaming.

“
How are your
Mom and Dad
?” he asks.

“
Good,” I smile. “They still live in Manchester, in the same house.”

“
You
’
re kidding?” he grins.

I shake my head, no. “And my dad
’
s teaching music now to underprivileged kids.”

“
He always was a good man. Is it a charity based organisation he works for?”

“
Yeah.”

“
What
’
s it called?”

“
Why?”

“
Because I want to donate some money to it. If it wasn
’
t for your dad, I would have never picked up a guitar let alone
learned
how to play one, and I wouldn
’
t be where I am right now. I owe him a lot.”

I fill with pride for my dad. He is the best.

“
It
’
s called Tuners for Youths.”

“
Cool,” he says. “I
’
ll make the arrangements tomorrow.”

“
My dad will be made up when I tell him.”

“
You don
’
t need to tell him the donation was from me.”

I kink my eyebrow in confusion at him.

“
I don
’
t want him thinking I
’
m being a flashy bastard.”

“
He wouldn
’
t think that, he
’
s really proud of you.”

He looks up, surprised. “He is?”

I nod. “He follows your career, like I do. Probably more so
–
you know how he is about music.”

“
I bet he wasn
’
t proud of the drugs … and women.” His lips turn down at the corners.

I have the urge to reach out and smooth my finger across them, but I don
’
t, instead I reach out and put my hand on his arm.

I see his eyes go to it, then he lifts them back to mine.

“
He was worried about you, like I was. But he
’
s really proud of everything you
’
ve achieved. And to be honest, I think he was quite impressed with all the models and actresses you
’
ve been pictured with,” I laugh, trying to come off as light-hearted, but if anything my own words sting me.

Moving my arm away, I pick my beer up. “I bet your mum
’
s real proud of you.” I take a swig of my beer.

He shrugs. Glancing down at his beer, he starts to pick at the label. “She
’
s proud … sure, she just worries a lot
–
you know.”

“
I know, but she
’
s your mum and it
’
s to be expected,” I say.

I know Susie feels like she let Jake down over the years. That she should have forced his dad out of their lives. Then what happened to Jake never would’ve happened.

I overheard Susie talking to my mum one day. I never told Jake though.

He shrugs again, and I get the feeling there
’
s something more, but I don
’
t press it, and then the waiter appears with our pizza.

After that we just fall into conversation like we
’
ve never been apart.

We talk school and childhood memories.

He tells me stuff about the band and his label, which bands he has signed to it.

I tell him about my time at university, living with Simone and my job as a music journalist at the magazine.

But mainly we just talk music, like we used to. Recent and old stuff. And Jakes music.

I haven
’
t spoken to anyone about music in the way I
’
m speaking to Jake now. Not in all my time at university while studying it, and not even in all the time I’ve worked at the magazine.

It
’
s how we used to talk about it, with real passion. And to me Jake was and is music, it
’
s what glued us together, and now it
’
s like a dam is opening back up and everything Jake is just flowing out of me.

One thing I don
’
t talk about it is Will. And he doesn
’
t ask.

I also notice he doesn
’
t mention Jonny. It must still be so raw for him to talk about.

I also notice he
’
s only had the one beer all night. I
’
m glad because he
’
s driving. I like that he
’
s being responsible. Because the Jake I
’
m used to seeing in the news, never appears responsible, despite all his success.

But the more time I spend with him, the more I feel like there are two Jake
’
s.

The one the world sees, and the one I
’
m getting to see here. The one I used to know.

I
’
ve kept light on the drink too. Funny, because earlier I thought I would need it to get me through the night. But not at all.

This is one of the best nights I have had in a long time.

We talk for hours, and when we
’
re finished, Jake calls Stuart to let him know he needs him to bring the car, then he pays the bill.

“
Let me pay my half,” I press, as we walk to the exit.

He laughs. “No Tru. Just call it birthday present number one of twelve.”

“
I owe you twelve birthday presents too, remember?”

“
Oh, I haven
’
t forgotten. I
’
ll start
collecting on them
soon.”

And there it is, that flirty undertone again.

No wonder women are always throwing themselves at him. I
’
m having a pretty difficult time myself not doing just that.

Jake gestures for me to go first up the stairs.

“
You still eat like a dude,” he says from behind me. “But your ass is definitely all woman.”

I gasp.

Pausing, I turn and look at him, agape.

“
What?” he feigns innocence, stopping behind me, but I can see the look in his eyes and he
’
s close, so very close to me. “I told you I
’
d let you know what I thought of your ass, and I
’
m telling you it
’
s perfect. Even better than I remember.”

Eyes back front and I
’
m up those stairs quick march. My insides turning over with embarrassment and want.

Okay, there I
’
ve said it. I want Jake.

He
’
s beautiful and sexy, and flirty. And he
’
s a rock star. And he was my boy next-door. But of course nothing is ever going to happen.

Because he
’
s Jake Wethers … and I
’
m just Trudy Bennett.

And also I have a boyfriend, which is actually reason number one.

Stuart is there waiting with the James Bond car, just like Jake said he would be. His security guy in his car behind, ready to follow us.

The ride back to my place with Jake is a lot quieter than we were in the restaurant.

I
’
m not really sure why for him. But for me it
’
s because I feel sad that the night is over, more than likely I won
’
t ever see him again. Well apart from on the TV that is.

He
’
s pulls up outside my place way too quickly for my liking.

“
Thanks for dinner,” I say taking off my seatbelt, turning in my seat. “I had a great time.”

“
Me too.” His voice sounds deeper, huskier in the dark.

It does funny things to me.

I don
’
t want to get out of the car, I have that same feeling of loss I had when I was leaving him at the hotel, but at least then I knew I was seeing him tonight, but now the night
’
s over and I don
’
t have any reason to see him again.

“
So, I guess I
’
ll go in, thanks again for the pizza and beer.”