I won’t though, cause that would be pretty weird.
Actually, things don’t get much weirder than this.
We’re in Convent Garden when Jake pulls the car up and parks it on the main road just outside a Pizza Hut. His security guy pulls up behind.
“I don’t think you can park here,” I say looking around at the no parking signs
“Don’t worry, come on.” He climbs out of the car. I guess when you’re him you can do whatever you want.
I climb out of the car and notice there’s a guy standing outside the entrance to the Pizza Hut staring at us. My first thought is he must recognise Jake, but then I realise it’s Stuart, Jake’s PA.
“Hey,” Jake says to him. “All ready?”
“Yep.” Stuart nods.
Jake tosses the car keys to him. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“No worries, have a good night … hello again, Trudy,” Stuart says as he walks past us.
“Hi,” I say, offering him a smile.
Stuart hops in the James Bond car and promptly drives away.
“Come on,” Jake says, taking hold of my hand.
My skin tingles at his touch again. He’s so much more tactile than he used to be, I notice.
He walks me to the entrance of the Pizza Hut.
I stop and look up at the sign, then back to Jake.
“We’re going to Pizza Hut?” I grin.
He remembers.
That was what he meant in the car with the comment about my birthdays.
Every birthday we would come here, it was kind of a tradition with us – and who doesn’t love Pizza Hut, right?
I can’t believe he remembers. I feel all warm and squishy inside, and also a little overdressed.
He smiles back at me, it reaches all the way to his beautiful blue eyes. “Like I said, I’ve got twelve birthdays to make up for. I know it’s not the one we used to go to in Manchester, but I figured you wouldn’t want to drive all the way up there, so this was the next best thing. After you ...” he gestures for me to pass him.
My heart is buzzing around my chest at his thoughtfulness. I walk past him and make my way down the stairs.
Jake is the only guy I know who would pick me up in an Aston Martin DBS then bring me to Pizza Hut. And that’s why I love him.
I mean, of course I don’t love him – love him. I just used to love him when I was younger.
Anyway, the Covent Garden one is a little smarter than the usual Pizza Huts’. Especially the one we used to go to in Manchester, at least from the outside. For starters, it’s underground and you have to take the stairs to reach it, but once you get inside it’s just a regular Pizza Hut and I love it.
I’m greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a waiter. The instant he sees Jake, nerves and awe light his eyes up.
I feel sorry for him, as it must be a shock when the biggest rock star in the world turns up unannounced in your place of work. I mean Pizza Hut is not where you’d usually expect to see Jake Wethers.
It’d pretty hard not to be overawed but I think he does okay overall. He doesn’t ask for Jake’s autograph which is a good start, because I totally would have.
As I glance around, I see the restaurant is empty.
Surprising, but lucky as I’m pretty sure Jake would have got hassled non-stop for autographs in here. Hopefully, it will stay quiet while we’re here.
The waiter shows us over to a booth table. I slide into my seat, Jake sits opposite me.
His legs are long under the table. I bump his leg with my foot.
“Sorry.”
He smiles at me.
It squirms its way through me. I feel like I’m a teenager all over again.
“Can I get you some drinks?” the waiter asks handing us our menus.
Jake looks at me.
“Beer,” I say.
“Two buds,” Jake orders.
The waiter disappears to get our drinks while I stare at Jake, surprised.
“What?” he asks, seeing my staring.
“Um … nothing.” My face flames.
“No, go on,” he urges, leaning forward, he rests his arms on the table.
“Well, I just thought you didn’t drink anymore – you know – rehab.” I say the word quietly, like it’s a really inappropriate word to be saying.
He lets out a laugh. “Drinking was never the problem, Tru.”
“Oh.”
He leans back in his seat. “That’s the press for you. But still, everything in moderation for me nowadays. Except drugs – they’re completely off the menu of course, but my cigarettes have increased.”
“When did you start smoking?” I ask, wondering if it was after he got clean as a replacement for the drugs, as he never was interested in smoking when we were teenagers.
He scrunches up his face in thought. “When I started in the band.”
A while then.
“Bad habit.”
“It is,” he agrees. “But not as bad as being an addict.”
I instantly tense.
He smiles. “Relax, Tru. It’s not the worst thing in the world I’ve ever said, and my drug counsellor says I’m supposed to be open about these things.”
Okay…
“Was it horrible?”
“What? Rehab.”
“No – but I can’t imagine that was a great place to be. I meant being an addict.”
How can he be so together and so successful, but have been a drug addict? It doesn’t feel like the two should go together. But somehow in him, they did. I guess everyone has a weakness.