My Brothers Best Friend [18+]

Chapter Eight

Her car is old, loud, and freezing cold. Six months ago, when the two of us had traveled the country for a week in this car, sleeping on the seats and putting sheets across the windows, we had been near a beach. 

A national football game had been going on. England were set to win it too - the odds were in their favour. And so the country buzzed with anticipation, with the electrifying feeling they got every time they came close to winning a sport, and she had rolled down the window to scream when the radio presenter announced the first goal. 

I remember feeling the breeze from the window as she did. I remember realising that we were cooking in that crappy metal box that somehow still worked, and reaching forward to twist the dial of the air-con. 

"Shit, Maddie!" Chelsea had laughed, high on the sea air. The knob came off in my hand and the cool air blasted over us in waves. I laughed too, it was funny. 

It's decidedly less funny in the winter. 

My skin prickles under the cold air. Despite the fabric she's sellotaped over the vents, the rumble of the air-con working its magic still mocks me. It mocks the memory in my head of breaking it. 

"Are my lips turning blue?" 

She laughs, slapping at my shoulder. Apparently, she's unaffected by the cold air when she drives now. She says it's part of her driving routine. 

The bag of Chinese food on my lap is a Godsend. 

"Is your check engine light on?" 

"Right." She slams down on the accelerator to narrowly miss a red light. "Just because you've gotten used to Zeus' fancy convertible-"

"Chelsea!" I blush. "You can't call him that tonight." 

We jolt as the car tips over a speed bump. 

Bottles of beer Matt asked me to pick up clink at my feet and the smell of the food on my lap makes my mouth water. 

"I am so ready for some crappy food," I moan to her. 

"I skipped lunch for that meeting with Garrett, so I'll fight you for a grain of rice. Don't test me." 

I don't doubt it. The day has been long and it's already been dark for hours. Matt has texted me four times, updating me throughout the afternoon about our night out, and finally informing me that they were going to start drinking without us. 

Noah texted too, asking how my presentation had gone.

Terribly, I'd texted back. My boss laughed when I fell over a whiteboard leg. But he seemed pleased with my advert idea, at least.

He sent me back a picture of a single cupcake, sat on the kitchen counter text to Smoosh, captioned: Knew you'd smash it.

 My heart about melted. 

I had smashed it, actually. We all had, and at the end of the day, sat around the table in the oval room collapsed into our chairs, it felt good knowing that tonight could be a celebration rather than a depressing pick-me-up. 

Before we left the office Chelsea opened up a locked drawer in her desk and pulled out four small spirit bottles that she tucked firmly into her jacket pocket. 

She touched up her eyeliner in the elevator, bouncing next to me all the way to the car. 

It's been so long since we've been to a club I've pretty much forgotten how to dance at one. How to dance at all.

Chelsea pulls up to the house, parking across the drive as if dotting Noah's car like a T. Half her car blocks the pavement, but she doesn't seem to care, shrugging as she slams her door and argues to get the too-firm wing-mirror tucked in.