The Saturdays Drabbles

jealousy

ғʀᴜɴᴀ

ғᴀɴғɪᴄ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: Frankie suffers as she watched Mollie happy with another man, but isn't the only dealing with their feelings.

   Watching Jordan with Mollie made her sick.

   The Saturdays and what was left of their boy-toys had gone to a big promotional party. They were currently Stateside, performing across the country in multiple venues and concerts from their latest album. Their music had done so well as it skyrocketed up the charts that it demanded their presence and that's where they were, in some fancy bar with a bunch of fancy people acting fancy and drinking fancy champagne.

   Frankie rolled her eyes and tried vainly to keep from throwing back her flute of bubbly. Instead, she took discrete gulps and turned her attention away from the blonde at another table full of important people the younger Saturday had forgotten who they were about one or two flutes ago. At her own table was some chap talking to Una and Vanessa, while Rochelle had gone off to meet Marvin, who had been running late to join them. Alone for the moment, she finished the rest of her drink in hopes that she could swallow the bile at seeing the woman she proper loved in the arms of a man she proper hated.

   What did Mollie see in him anyways? Compared to the rest of the men in the bar, he was dressed like some hipster trying to be classy. At least he wasn't wearing some stupid hat, though she wouldn't put it past him to try and get away with it. Sure, he had served well in helping them with one or two tracks on their album with his record company, but it was completely baffling that Mollie had found something noteworthy of him to call him her boyfriend. Maybe it was a rebound from Gandy, who Frankie could actually say she hated more considering how awful he had treated Mollie. Or maybe there was just something he had that the others couldn't see and only the blonde could. With a scoff, she dissed that idea as she set down her emptied flute with a curt sigh and looked around for the next platter of drinks.

   "Frank?"

   Looking up with a hum of acknowledgement, she saw that Una had left her seat across the white-clothed table to interrupt her search. A look of concern could be seen on her features and she pulled a chair out from beside Frankie to sit in and cross her legs, putting a hand on on the other's leg.

   "What's wrong?" she asked, her Irish accent light as she kept her voice low.

   Shrugging a shoulder, she lied, "Nothing."

   It must have been such an obvious lie because Una lifted a manicured brow in skepticism and said, "Are you going to lie to my face or are you going to tell me what's really bothering you?"

   Frankie should have known better than to try and get away so easily with her best friend. Each of the girls in the band knew her inside out, and trying to think she could brush off the redhead with that excuse was stupid. Maybe she had had more to drink than thought. Before she could reply, her eyes shifted past Una to behind her, where Frankie could see Jordan's arm snaked around Mollie's waist as they both laughed at whatever the finely dressed man had said. Mollie's hand rested on Jordan's knee, an intimate gesture, and they looked the picturesque couple.

   Catching on, Una twisted in her seat. Cursing herself silently for giving away what was distracting her, Frankie dropped her eyes to her lap and waited to see what Una would have to say. She was being so obvious, there was no way the Irishwoman would miss what she had been staring at. After a moment, she could see Una return to her natural position, and the hand that had slipped from her leg found it again, giving a gentle squeeze.

   "Frankie," Una murmured, prompting the brunette's attention. She looked up, completely somber because she had been caught. Her expression must have read everything she was feeling because Una's mouth twitched into a frown, and she asked, "Do we need to have a talk?"