I know, I’ve known Jake a long time, but I knew him back then. Not now.
Now he’s a mega rich superstar. And I’m just a lowly journalist working for a small, up and coming magazine, with enough money to pay the bills and fill the cupboard with enough food and wine to get me through the week.
He probably earns in an hour what I do in a year.
I’ve stayed in exactly the same place and Jake has sky rocketed to the stars.
We live in two very different worlds. I don’t know anything about his life now, except what I’ve read in the papers.
I wonder if he still likes the same things he did when I knew him?
Of course he doesn’t. Do I still like the same things I did when I was fourteen? Nope. Well, except for kids cereal. Coco Pops are awesome.
I’m just wondering once the step back in time has dried up, what on earth will we talk about. We are so worlds apart now. Our childhood aside, what else is there?
I’m just hoping the childhood stories will somehow stretch us through the night.
I gulp down another mouthful of wine.
The doorbell rings. It’s a minute after eight. If nothing else, he’s punctual. And here was me expecting him to be rock star late.
Putting my glass down, I pick my handbag up, get my keys and wobble on nervous legs to the door.
When I open it, he’s standing there looking all kinds of gorgeous, wearing dark blue fitted jeans, Converses trainers and a pale blue shirt which is rolled up at the sleeves, top buttons open, his tattoos on show.
And once again, I suddenly feel totally of out of my depth.
“Hi,” I say.
“Wow. You look great.”
I flush. “Thanks, you too.”
I’m doing a little mini-dance inside.
This dress was totally worth it – okay, so I might have popped to my favourite clothes shop, Dixies, after work and bought the dress I’ve been eyeing in the window for the last few weeks. The dress I couldn’t really afford at the moment – so, thank you Visa.
It’s not to impress Jake or anything, I mean it’s not like we’re going on a date, but he’s rich and I wanted to look nice. And the dress is so damn cute.
It’s a black shift dress with silver embellishment all over it, and so totally me. I’ve teamed it with my black heels, and silver clutch bag, and I left my hair down and curly, and kept my make-up minimal, how I always wear it.
I step through the door, deciding against inviting him in for a drink. He probably lives in a mansion. I don’t want him looking around my tiny flat.
I lock up and follow him down the path.
“Nice place.” He nods back at the house that hosts my flat.
“Thanks … wow, is this yours?” I ask as he approaches a silver Aston Martin DBS.
He grins and unlocks it with the key fob. “Loaner, but I do have one back home.”
Loaner? I’d be lucky if I’d be able to loan a scooter.
And once again, I’m reminded of how very different our lives are.
“Isn’t this James Bonds car?” I ask, as I slide into the supple leather seat, putting my seatbelt on.
“Well, not this specific one, no – but I have driven his.”
I slide him a look. “Show off,” I smile.
“Oh, you have no idea.” He winks at me, leaving my stomach to free-fall off into the next galaxy.
We pull away, roaring off down my small street, in his very flashy car.
“So where are we going?” I ask, still trying to recover myself from his earlier comment.
“It’s a surprise.”
“A surprise?” I turn to look at him.
He slides me a look, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah a surprise, you remember those – they usually happen on birthdays, that kind of thing.”
“But it’s not my birthday.”
“Yeah, well I’ve missed twelve of them, so I’ve got quite a few surprises to make up for.”
I really don’t know what to say to that, so for once, I keep quiet.
I look out of the window and notice a black Land Rover that is driving pretty close to the back of the car.
Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at the car. It’s tinted and I can’t see in the window. I hope it’s not paparazzi following him. Don’t they usually drive big smog chuggers like that?
“That car’s pretty close behind,” I say, tilting my head back in its direction, trying to alert him.
Jake’s eyes flick to his rear-view and then back to me.
“It’s Dave, my security guy.”
“Oh. Does he go everywhere with you?”
“Yeah … well everywhere, except the bathroom.” He slides his grinning eyes in my direction.
“Why is he riding back there and not in the car with us.”
“Because I wanted to be alone with you.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
My nerves have instantly gone haywire. I could really do with another glass of wine.
Actually, I feel the need to drink every time he looks at me. I have a feeling I’m going to get very drunk tonight.
I look out of the window again, watching the buildings of London, thinking how surreal this is. Last night I was out getting drunk in Mandarin’s with Simone, ragged nerves over interviewing Jake, wondering if he would remember me, and now I’m here in his fancy James Bond car, and he’s driving me to my surprise night out.
Jake Wethers, my old best friend, one-time love of my life, biggest rock star and most sought after man in the world, and he is sitting inches away from me. I could reach my hand out and touch him.