“Yeah a tub of the good stuff – Häagen-Dazs,” she sniffs down the phone. “Double chocolate. And if you want some, you’ll need your own tub.” Wow, this must be serious.
I reach Mel’s house twenty minutes later. I’m still none the wiser as to exactly what’s going on, other than it being related to a guy. Which guy is anyone’s guess, considering she’s been out with a dozen in the last two weeks.
If there were an opposite to me when it comes to relationships it would be Mel. She’s out nearly every night with a different guy, sometimes two. I’m lucky if I go out once a month. I use work as an excuse, but the truth is I’m scared of putting myself out there again, especially after how my last relationship ended. Not that you could really call it a relationship. When a guy refuses to be seen with you in public, it should be setting off all kinds of warning bells. I guess that’s why I’m so hard on Mel. It’s easy to see what mistakes are being made when you’re outside looking in.
I walk inside without knocking, using the spare key Mel gave me last summer to feed her cat. I find her curled up on the couch, TV remote in one hand and a bag of open marshmallows in the other. It’s exactly how I expected to find her, which goes to show how well I know my friend.
We met in our last year of high school after she stood up for me in front of a bunch of girls who decided to make it their mission to make my life hell. I couldn’t believe it when she came to my rescue, because we didn’t exactly run with the same crowd.
Come to think of it, I didn’t exactly run with any crowd back then.
“Must be serious,” I say with a wry smile. I lift her feet off the couch and slide myself under them. “What can I do?”
“Tell me why I insist on making a fool of myself?”
“Who is it this time?” I ask, leaning my head against the soft leather back of the sofa. Her stories only reinforce why I don’t date.
“Asher Quinn,” she grumbles. “He kicked me out of his bed the second he was done because his girlfriend messaged him that she was on her way home.”
“His girlfriend?” I repeat, choking on my words.
She nods glumly. “How do I always pick them?”
Because you go for status over anything else. I don’t say what I’m thinking because we’ve been through it so many times, and right now I can’t be bothered arguing with her. Mel might be blind when it comes to guys, but it doesn’t change the fact that, like most high-profile sportsmen under the age of thirty, Asher Quinn is a giant arse. That’s what too much money and not enough maturity does to you.
“Someone really needs to put these idiots in their place,” Mel mutters, reaching for the tub of ice cream. She yanks the lid free and dives into it. “It’s like they have zero respect for women. I mean, forget about me; what about his girlfriend? That poor girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.”
I’m only half listening to her because she is completely right. So many of these so-called role models have zero morals or respect when it comes to women. They need to be taught a lesson. And don’t get me started on the women who throw themselves at these idiots. As much as I hate to say it, how can you expect a guy to respect you when you don’t respect yourself? Aren’t you worth more than a quick fuck in the alleyway with a guy who doesn’t even bother to ask you your name?
I hang around for another half hour, until Mel’s ego seems to have healed enough for me to leave her alone—at least until the next time she gets herself in the same situation.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask, giving her a hug. She nods and smiles, leading me to the door.
“I’ll be fine once my ego recovers. Thanks for coming over, Abs. I really appreciate it.”
“I’m always here for you,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”
She waves me off from the front porch as I jump in my old Ford Focus. I shove the key in the ignition and turn it on. It starts first time, which doesn’t happen often—especially in winter. I go into autopilot as I navigate my way around the city where I’ve spent all my life, my mind pre-occupied with Mel and Asher Quinn. That arsehole just messed with the wrong girl. Mel has been with her share of men, but that doesn’t mean he gets to treat her like some cheap hooker and get away with it, especially when he has a girlfriend who probably dotes on him. The reporter in me wants to expose him, and every other guy like him. How am I going to do this? It has to be done properly. I only get one chance at this, and not only that, I need to do this in a way so Mel doesn’t know it’s me roasting him.
I grin as I pull into my car park. I don’t know how or when, but Asher Quinn is about to get what’s coming to him. I’m going to make sure of it.
As I walk to my door my phone buzzes. I juggle my bag and check it.
Mel: I forgot to thank you for the ice cream. You’re a lifesaver. M x
I send her a quick reply and shove my phone in my pocket as I unlock the front door. Throwing my keys on the table, I drop my bag by the door and check my phone as I walk into the kitchen. I’m starving, so I order a takeaway pizza and pour myself a large glass of wine.
My mind wanders back to Mel. I would do anything for her but I can’t for the life of me understand why she lets herself get treated like shit over and over again by so many men. It’s like she physically seeks out these assholes so she can be treated like crap. The little voice inside my head begins to mock me. Like you’re so much better? At least Mel puts herself out there, over and over again. All I do is hide behind my work and rant about how much I hate men. There was a time when my world wasn’t all just work and hiding behind my laptop. I’ll be damned if I let myself be sucked into that world again.
It makes me so glad that men like Asher Quinn don’t go for girls like me. With my short, curvy frame, I’m not exactly what you’d call their type. I know Asher wouldn’t be seen dead with a girl like me—not in public. at least.
By the time I’ve finished my second glass of Pinot, my dinner has arrived. My stomach growls as I carry the box over to the sofa. I sit down and lift the lid, the smell wafting up from the large vegetarian pizza heavenly. I start my usual game of flicking through the TV channels but I’m not really paying attention to what’s on. I’m too busy thinking about different ways to expose Asher. Contacting his girlfriend is too private and she probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.
Then it hits me. That’s it! A rush of excitement hits me as an idea begins to form in my head.
“I’m going to go global on your arse, Asher Quinn,” I mutter to myself, unable to wipe the smile off my face. I race into the kitchen to retrieve my laptop from my bag. I carry it and the bottle of wine back to the couch, kick off my shoes, and plant my arse in my writing armchair.
I finger the worn, soft leather of the arm, my thoughts drifting to my grandpa. After my parents died when I was ten, my grandfather raised me. He was my only family until he died last year. This is the very chair where he penned ten bestselling novels. Nobody other than close family ever knew he was Christoph Rose. No mat