Poolside

Part 6 - Peach

"Don't hate me, okay?"

Judging by her tone, it's clear she's been dying to spill whatever's on her mind, like she can't physically keep it in any longer.

"What?" I look up from the page of my novel, tucked up on what is now my spot on the couch. My heart sinks in disappointment but only really at myself; I should have known it was too quiet around here this evening. Normally we're critiquing whatever trash or news is on tv, or she's giving me a running commentary of her tumblr feed. I had a feeling there was something on her mind but just presumed it was another chapter in the Sam saga I could bug out of her later. This is the first time I realise it could be to do with me.

Her head is still poking around the doorframe on pause from the washing up, suds slopping to the ground from her fingers gripping the wood. I raise my eyebrows as a further sign to spit it out, and she breaks into that smile that tells me I'm definitely going to hate her a little bit for whatever's next. "What have you done?"

"Before you say no-"

"No."

"Peach!"

The fact she's adopted my nickname did sting a bit at first, before her sweet accent softened it to the point it now feels like a whole other name the way she says it.

"Go on then, enlighten me Party Girl." She outwardly cringes at that and I smirk triumphantly - I know she immediately regretted telling me that part of her hookup story. "Sorry Pumpkin, go ahead.."

Her face immediately brightens again. "Soo, his name's Joe and he's just recently transferred to my department at work. He's new to the city, said he hasn't really made any friends yet. Did I mention he's really cute and smart?"

I open my hands out waiting for the point to arrive. "Soo...what? Have you got us playing tour guides or something?"

"Not uuusss..." The sickly sweet little smile gets wider and instantly more annoying. "I told him I also have a friend new to the area, might've said you'd be up for meeting next week for a casual spot to eat?"

She says it all in one breath in the hope that I'll miss some of the detail. But unluckily for her - or me I suppose - I know that tactic all too well and hear the whole thing. It earns her a pillow directed at her face. "Oh God! You asshole! What did you go and do that for?!"

She just laughs at my reddening cheeks, the nervousness and embarrassment that appears before anything's even happened. "You know you can stay here as long as you want of course, I just figured it's about time you stopped hiding on the sofa and explored a bit. I've barely been able to prise you off the damn thing, so I decided to make you an offer you can't refuse with a guy you might actually end up having a nice time with."

"I'm pretty sure I can refuse...?"

"Oh come on babe! I have to work with this guy! And I promise you'll have fun, he's nice. You might even forget about you-know-who for a night." She turns victoriously back to the dishes, smug as anything while I bury my face annoyed behind the pages.

I don't know what she's talking about. She's wrong.

I don't think about him, barely at all. It's just when there's music that reminds me of him, but I mean the same could be said for anyone. Or I guess there's that damned car commercial with the silly puppets. It's on all the damn time, he gave them names and backstories and life plans.

The first couple of weeks after, maybe I'd think of him when I woke up, more heartbreak building each day as his late night texts never materialised. Maybe I'd think of him whenever I made a herbal tea, replaying him ranking his favourite flavours even though I never asked, or remembering the proper English tea he brought me back from England.