Broken, p.24
Broken, page 24
“While you were getting jiggy with lover boy over there,” Raif explains further, his jiggy comment gaining him a roll of my eyes, “Jess, Amy and I decided to go out. I managed to bag myself a kick-boxer named Diego, and oh, my word, he’s amazing in all the right places.”
“Too much information,” Paul argues, laying his eyes upon Damien’s sister. “Please tell me I’m not the only one around here who’s not getting laid.”
“Mate,” Damien scoffs, “that’s my sister. I don’t want to hear that shit.”
“Yeah ’cause listening to this lot prattle on about you and Dani is exactly what I want to hear,” Amy argues, and I can’t help but laugh. “But no, you’re not the only one, Paul. Even if there had been any takers, I’m pretty sure Dani wouldn’t have appreciated me bringing someone home to her flat.”
“Damn right she wouldn’t,” Jess says dramatically. “I stayed at hers once, and she lay down bloody ground rules. No overnight guests.”
“That’s ’cause I was in the next room,” I argue, though I am glad Amy didn’t taint my spare bed.
“And Jess is loud,” Raif teases, gaining him a punch in the arm from Jess.
“So, this Diego,” I say to Raif. “Was it a one-time thing or…?”
“He’s taking me out for a late-night romantic meal after rehearsal,” Raif gushes.
“Fancy,” Jess says, impressed. “Diego could be a keeper.”
“We’ll see how it goes,” Raif says, attempting to be casual and failing miserably; his Cheshire cat smile suggests he’s hoping for the best outcome.
“I do believe I’ve never seen you smitten before,” I tease. “It’s adorable.”
“And I do believe I’ve never seen you so smug before.” Raif never fails to give as much as he gets. “I guess sex with Damien has done you wonders.”
“What makes you so sure Damien and I have had sex?” I ask. I haven’t technically given anyone a confirmation, and since Damien’s been at work all day, I doubt he has either.
“Are you kidding?” Raif asks. “You’re practically glowing. You might as well be wearing a sign that says ‘I got thoroughly fucked last night’.”
I burst out laughing whilst Damien shakes his head, and Amy reverts to looking like she might throw up on the counter.
“Okay, enough,” Paul says. “Not all of us have the pleasure…” That only makes me, and everyone bar Paul, laugh harder.
“Poor choice of words there, mate,” Damien jokes.
Paul scowls, not bothering to finish his sentence, looking at his watch instead. “Where the hell’s Danny anyway?” he asks.
“Dani’s right there,” Amy states.
“He means the male Danny, our guitarist,” Damien tells her, and although she briefly appears embarrassed, she shrugs it off as quickly as it came. “I’ll give him a ring,” Damien offers, heading off into his bedroom to retrieve his phone, I’m assuming.
“You, me,” Jess says, pointing in my direction. “Bathroom, now.”
“Why?” I ask, confused.
“Privacy.” Code for “I want the gory details”.
Reluctantly, I follow her to the bathroom, sitting down on the toilet seat lid as she closes the door behind her.
“Well?” she asks.
I smile, unable to contain it, and Jess squeals. I shush her, not wanting prying ears to be drawn to the door, and she covers her mouth with her hand. I don’t mind sharing a little more with Jess, but I’d rather the others didn’t have any more ammunition to attack me with. I love banter, I do, but everyone has their limits.
“It was…” How to put it. “Weird at first. I was nervous, and a little shaky.”
“Obviously,” Jess says casually. “Totally to be expected.”
“But Damien took his time, and once we got going…” I feel a little flush at the memory. “It was amazing. Damien is amazing.”
“Oh, my God,” Jess says quietly. “And no unwelcome flashbacks?”
“Briefly,” I admit. “But only because it hurt at first.”
“How did Damien take that?”
“I didn’t blurt out ‘Adrian’s in my head’,” I scoff. “But Damien could tell there was something. He did the gentlemanly thing and asked if I wanted to stop, but…” I smile. “I love him, Jess.”
Jess’s face softens into something between sweetness and admiration. “You love him,” she repeats, and even though it’s not a question, I nod anyway.
“And all I had to do was remind myself that Damien loves me too, and Adrian was long gone. After that, it felt so comfortable like we’d been at it for years. He knew every spot to hit.”
“Did you climax?” Jess asks the blunt question, and my smile is all the answer she needs. “Give the man a pat on the back.”
“Oh, he deserves more than a pat on the back.”
“I’m so happy for you,” she says sweetly. “Look at how far you’ve come.”
“I know,” I admit. “It’s all a little surreal.”
“You deserve every second, Dani,” she says. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve happiness.”
That comment means more than Jess will ever know, and randomly, I find myself on my feet, embracing Jess in a hug. She hesitates, probably from the shock, before returning the gesture.
“You’re hugging me,” she almost sobs. “You’re actually hugging me.”
“I figured it’s the best way to say thank you,” I say, pulling away to find a stray tear rolling down Jess’s cheek. “For always having my back.”
“Are you kidding?” she asks. “You’re my sister from another mister. I’ll always be there for you.” I smile. “And if you want any tips in the bedroom department…”
“I know who to ask.”
“Damn straight,” Jess says cockily. “Now, hug me again.”
After a minute of hugging, Jess and I return to the kitchen and rejoin the chatter – apparently, the other Danny has cancelled tonight, some family emergency. Looks like it’s another motley crew night, and I’d bet my life on it turning into a late one. Not that I mind. I’m in far too good a mood, and nothing is going to bring me down.
“Fancy rehearsing without Danny?” Paul asks Damien, obviously eager to make music tonight.
“Or…” Jess says suggestively. “You could still rehearse with Dani.” I instantly catch her drift and want to slap her.
“Jess, honey,” Raif says, patronisingly, “I know you can be a little slow on the upkeep, but Damien’s just told us Danny’s not coming tonight.”
Jess sighs dramatically, but I notice out of the corner of my eye that Paul’s cottoned on, his face lighting up and his eyes heading in my direction.
“No,” Jess argues, slapping the back of Raif’s head. “You’re the one slow on the upkeep, ’cause I’m talking about that Dani.”
As if noticing my annoyance at my supposed best friend, Damien pulls me to stand in front of him again, his arms wrapping around me.
“Oh,” Raif says, probably feeling like a prize dope. “But Dani doesn’t know the songs.”
“Have you met Dani?” Jess asks. “I bet you any money, give that girl half an hour, and she’ll have a least –” she ponders “– five songs down pat.”
“I am itching to play,” Paul muses aloud.
“But Dani doesn’t perform in front of people,” Amy reminds them, and I’m grateful someone in the room is actually thinking of me in all this. I may be riding the biggest high of my life tonight, but I’m still a nervous wreck underneath. I also don’t particularly appreciate being talked about without actually being consulted. Not that anyone seems to care.
“Pfff.” Jess wafts a hand for dramatic effect. “Dani’s far too loved up and happy to give a shit about that. Besides, we’re practically family.”
Are we? That’s an interesting statement, although, given my lack of blood relatives, I guess my friends are the closest thing I got to a family now. I’m surprised at how warm that makes me feel.
“I wonder who the gobby one is the family is,” Paul states, inciting a chorus of laughter.
“Shut it, daddy,” Jess bites back.
Surprisingly, Paul shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”
“That I don’t doubt,” I tease, gaining me a middle finger.
“All right, so if you’re the daddy, and Jess is the gobby one…” Raif repeats. “What’s that make me? The beautiful one?”
I laugh a little too hard, gaining me a less-than-impressed glare from dear Raif.
“Sorry, honey,” Jess says, “but Amy gets that title.”
“Me?” Amy can’t hide her surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re way prettier than me.”
“Not without make-up,” Jess retorts.
“I feel sorry for any bloke that wakes up next to you,” Paul utters, hiding behind his beer, which nearly spills all over him when Jess smacks his arm.
“Maybe we should change your title to the violent one,” Damien teases Jess, and she throws him a threatening stare.
“Yeah, all right,” Jess says. “Not all of us can be the sensible, responsible one.” Damien laughs.
“Damien’s definitely the glue,” Raif says, spot-on in his assessment.
“Raif gets the drama queen title,” I pitch in, and when Raif holds his hand to his heart in fake offence, my point is proven. “See?”
“Laugh all you want, missus,” Jess says. “You’re the crazy one.”
“I totally agree with that,” I admit.
“How the hell is Dani the crazy one?” Amy asks, reminding me of her blissful ignorance.
“She’s not,” Damien argues, and as a thank you for coming to my defence, I turn to kiss his cheek. “She’s the passionate one.”
“We’ll take your word for it, honey,” Raif teases.
“That’s totally not what he meant,” I say, gaining me a visual of Raif’s childish tongue. “But you are right about one thing.”
“What’s that?” Damien asks.
“We’re dysfunctional enough to be a bloody family.”
“Aw,” Jess gushes. “We love you too, Dani. Warts and all.”
I can’t hide my happiness, and I don’t want to. “I didn’t say anything about love.” I’m teasing. “I’d call it more of a tolerable acquaintance.”
“You are so full of shit.” Paul scoffs.
“All right,” Amy intervenes. “Can we go back to the part where I get to hear Dani sing?”
“No one said anything about singing,” I remind her. “Danny with a Y plays the guitar, and if Dani with an I is hypothetically considering the idea, singing is not a requirement.”
Paul sighs. “Hypothetically? You scared you’ll screw up and fall from the pedestal this lot have got you on?”
“Oh, babe,” Damien gushes in my ear. “Paul doesn’t believe you can learn the songs quick enough. Do you really want to let him think he’s right?”
“You too, huh?” I ask, and upon turning my head to look at him, he flashes me that beautiful smile.
“I’m not entirely convinced either, honey,” Raif wades in.
“Well, I am,” Jess scoffs. “So, how’s about we make things interesting?”
Paul’s eyes are the first to light up. “What are the terms?”
“Half an hour,” Jess says. “Five songs.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Paul says eagerly.
“Erm, hello?” Again. “I ain’t agreed to shit.”
“Oh, come on,” Amy pleads. “Even I hate to see Paul think he’s right.” Paul merely chuckles at that.
“I’m assuming you’re betting against me?” I ask Raif, who annoyingly nods.
“You’re gonna regret it.” Damien is clearly on my side, and rightly so.
“So, it’s game on?” Paul beams.
I sigh. “Do I get the scores or am I expected to learn by ear?”
Paul scoffs. “Learn by ear? Yeah, right.”
“Oh, mate,” Damien states. “When are you gonna learn to stop underestimating my girlfriend?”
Smiling from ear to ear, I turn in Damien’s arms and kiss him, again thanking him for his support. It’s only when Amy starts groaning that I pull away, laughing.
“All right,” I say, abandoning Damien’s grip and moving to retrieve his guitar. “You got two options. Either I get the scores, and I get half an hour to learn five songs, or Damien plays two songs twice over, and I learn them by ear. But…” What’s realistic for me? “I get twenty minutes solo to give them a run-through.”
Paul weighs up the options, but it’s all for show. I already know which option Paul’s going to choose.
“Two songs, twenty minutes,” he answers, awakening my haughty smile. “But after your little practice, you got to run through it with the full band, and if you screw up a single note, you lose.”
“And what do I get when I win?”
Paul smirks at my confidence. “My devoted respect.”
I laugh. “Whether you want to admit it or not,” I state, “I earned that a while ago, mate.”
“Keep telling yourself that, lass.”
The challenge is set and accepted, and if that’s not a flashing, neon reminder of how far I’ve come in such a short space of time, the banter-filled room and my boyfriend definitely are. I’m starting to wonder why I let my stupid, irrational fears and paranoia hold me back in the first place. No wait, I remember. I’m still a drama magnet, and it’s only a matter of time before something or someone comes along with a shoe to drop. You’re probably shaking your head at me right now, and I don’t blame you, but rest assured, no matter how good things get, negativity will forever be my friend.
Chapter Twenty
I nail it, and Paul is left eating his words. Eventually, he congratulates me gracefully, but when he reopens the offer of joining the band, especially as he’s convinced it’s only a matter of time before the other Danny bows out, I swiftly decline. I may be on the right side of my horror story, but I’m not an idiot.
That leads to an interrogation, and to silence them, I make Amy’s wish come true by stalking off and having a little singsong. I keep it quiet, as if I’m not trying to be heard, even though I know they are all listening intently, and surprisingly, I feel at ease. In fact, when Damien decides to join me and we end up duetting, I thoroughly enjoy myself. The sound of Damien’s husky singing voice is always a delight to hear, even if it does stir a want to get rid of my friends so Damien and I can be alone. Geez, I’m becoming as sex-crazed as the rest of them.
It’s now Friday, and since Amy is going home in two days, she’s managed to convince me – she a master at the puppy-dog eyes – that going out tonight is a good idea. I tried to wriggle out of it, but since Jess and Raif are off out on a double date with Diego and his mate – his straight mate – and Paul is treating Kayleigh to a father-daughter night, I officially have no excuse to avoid Amy’s invitation. Thankfully, I have the added security of Damien’s company to keep my anxiety at bay. Me and pubs tend to end badly, but I’m trying not to think about it too much. That, and I’m moving on, one step at a time, right?
So here I am, at Damien’s, waiting for Amy to get ready, which is taking forever I might add, reminding me of Jess a little too much. I’m sitting sideways on the couch, my legs stretched across Damien’s lap, welcoming the little foot massage he’s honouring me with as I sip at a coffee. Damien is looking as hot as ever with an open denim shirt sitting over a tank top, the sleeves rolled up, and dark denim jeans. I’m in my usual outfit, although I’ve swapped my Converse for my dark grey ankle boots as I do in any going-out situation, and it’s about as much effort as I’m going to make.
I glance down at my now-empty cup. “Should I make another or is Amy planning on surfacing any time soon?”
Damien glances at his watch and sighs. “Come on, Amy,” he shouts. “Today would be nice.”
I laugh, but Damien’s plea does the trick, and Amy appears from the bedroom. Wow. She looks stunning. She’s wearing a tight, strappy black dress that falls to just above her knees, which is more reserved than I was expecting, but then her brother probably wouldn’t approve of anything slinkier, and her short brown hair is bone straight, highlighting her slender, elegantly decorated face perfectly. My eyes trail to the six-inch heels with straps that wrap around her ankles and the bottom of her legs, and although I would never be seen dead in a pair of shoes like that, they are very nice.
“Are we good to go?” Damien asks as Amy slides on her fake leather jacket.
I rise from my seat, sliding on my boots and taking a detour to the kitchen to drop my cup in the sink. As we head for the door, I notice Amy smiling from ear to ear a little creepily, and I’m wondering if she doesn’t get out much back home. She seems a little too excited.
“It’s only Stanton,” I remind her.
Amy pulls a sarcastic I-know face as we follow Damien out of the door. Damien and I walk hand in hand, Amy walking by my opposite side, and the journey into town is short and sweet. Damien picks a bar with an eighties theme despite Amy’s many, many protests, on the promise we’ll head somewhere more Amy’s style later. The bar is quiet when we walk inside, but it’s early, almost seven, so there’s plenty of time to draw a crowd.
The bar itself is quite big with tables around the edge of the large dance floor. It’s basically a massive square, with the bar at the far side in a long line against the wall, and a space in the opposite corner for the DJ. It’s all very disco, with coloured lights dancing around the room, and a large glitter ball hanging from the ceiling above the middle of the dance floor. I’m suddenly wondering if Damien plans on showing me some dance moves, other than the romantic ballroom style he introduced me to at Blackpool, and the thought tickles me.
We grab a table near the door, one of the few that has a couch, and I happily sink into it. I might as well pick a comfy spot to park myself for the night. Amy sits down on a neighbouring chair, plonking her matching black clutch bag on the table.
“What are you wanting to drink?” Damien asks, remaining standing.
“Usual,” I answer first.
“What’s the usual?” Amy asks.
