"Poor guy," I mutter underneath my breath, watching as a portly man hesitate to step inside as he spots the sign, before sighing dejectedly, whirling on his heels and trudging away with his hands in his pockets. I turn my body back towards the table and snap the lid of my drink open before slipping a straw inside. I glance at Perrie. "How many guys had to walk away in shame after seeing the sign?"
"He's probably the seventh guy this morning," she replies, chuckling afterwards. She flicks her eyes from the sign to me. And it's hard not to notice how her gaze softens instantly. "How's your morning, by the way?"
I promptly break eye contact at the question, fixating my attention on the huts lining the middle of the beach occupied by families. I shrug my shoulders coolly. "Good. You?"
"Perfect."
My eyes betray me as they meet her ocean blue ones. Her gaze didn't waver when I decide to challenge it. I could almost see myself reflected in her blue orbs. Once again, there's this warm, tingly feeling in my stomach - something that I haven't felt in a while since . . . since whatever. And I couldn't help but think that maybe I'm the reason why her morning is perfect right now.
Christ.
Being a celebrity perhaps does make one narcissistic, huh? Immediately, I extricate myself from these thoughts and incline my head down to take a sip of the fresh and cool Coca-Cola drink that I once endorsed during my fledgling days.
Perrie clears her throat and crosses her arms in front of her chest. I look up to see that her gaze hardened.
"I want to talk about last week," she starts. Then with a flash of uncertainty across her facial features, she quickly adds, "if it's alright with you."
Her face suddenly flushes at the suddenness, and I would actually bask in her mortification and her florid face if it wasn't for the dread that crept up within my skin.
Last week.
In my head, a plethora of events that had transfigured last week pops up one by one in quick succession - and I couldn't help but notice that Perrie is in all of them. The moment she stood up for me when the two women talked trash about me behind my back; the moment she confessed that she's the freaking owner of the restaurant that I am in right now (I take a mental note to ask Perrie about this in the future); the moment she confessed that if it wasn't for my fame, she'd kiss me right away.
And then that moment.
Memories of that moment remained fresh and vivid in my mind. It almost felt like it just happened yesterday. I could almost remember the feeling of her soft and slender fingers wrapping around my forearm, firm but gentle; the way she hauled me closer to her; her propinquity, her lavender scent, her intense gaze. And I could almost feel the tension that happily accompanied us during that particular moment.
All those things happened last week . . . but what the hell was she referring to?
As if to answer my unspoken question, Perrie answers me, "It's about Caitlyn, by the way."
Instantly, the proverbial glass shatters.
Feeling my cheeks heat up, I say, "Ah - that one."
Perrie's blue eyes skim over my face, and I pray that she wouldn't notice how I am profusely blushing in embarrassment right now. Although from the glint in her eyes, I am pretty sure she already did.
"Now," she starts carefully, considering her words. Her manicured fingers tugging at the hem of her black shirt's sleeve. "I've been raising Caitlyn practically all my life, for your information."
I raise my eyebrows in astonishment. Suddenly, my mind is racing and subjected to a torrent of questions. But I chose not to respond and let her continue.
"And I always make sure that she knows the difference between wants and needs, so that she won't be that type of girl who becomes a brat when she grows old."
Looking at her incredulously, I scoff, "Okay . . .? What's the point? She can't be spoiled every once in a while?"
Perrie purses her lips and nods. "Exactly."
"And why not?" I inquire before taking a sip from my drink again.
"I don't want her to be a spoiled brat," Perrie replies simply, shrugging. "I've seen what money does to people. And it's not a pretty sight to see. And besides, she should learn how life sometimes isn't fair. That sometimes, what you see is what you can't get."
"You've seen what money does to people?" I reiterate her words, carefully enunciating each term. Suddenly, I feel like, in some way, she's pertaining to me. With furrowed brows from curiosity, I ask her, "What do you mean by that?"
Perrie pauses and takes the time to contemplate about what to say. I know that she's pondering her words cautiously lest she offends me, so I give her a few moments. I silently take a sip on my cola once again, waiting.
Then, with her eyes shut, she sighs out and slaps a palm on her forehead, "Sorry. I almost forgot you're rich and famous."
I snort. "Clearly. So, what does money do to people, Perrie?"
"Please don't take this the wrong way," Perrie says preemptively, letting her hand fall on the table. I can see that she's struggling to find the right words to say. And I can also see how her hand hesitates to reach out to hold mine, though in the end she resisted. "I've met celebrities like you - you're not the first one, Jade Thirlwall. And I just . . . Let's just say that I've never met a person like you who isn't profligate in spending. And I just don't want my little sister to be like that."
"Like what - like a spoiled brat?" I ask forcefully through clenched teeth.
"I'm not trying to offend you, Jade Thirlwall," Perrie placates, holding up her hands in front of her conciliatorily which did not seem to work, to be quite honest. "But . . . yes. I just don't want her to become that person who gets everything she wants because she demands it."
Stunned by the statement, I just gape at the blonde woman in front of me. The same blonde woman who basically admitted - in front of my bloody face! - that she doesn't want her little sister to be like that. Like that - a person like me. A person like me - a fucking celebrity like me is what she's insinuating. Perrie thinks celebrities like me are profligate in spending; she deduces that I'm one of those celebrities who aren't frugal like what she wants Caitlyn to be.
A few minutes later, after Perrie excused herself from the table to check on the sales, I call Jesy. The moment she picks up, I tell her everything Perrie said a while ago.
"Welp, I guess that's a turn-off for you?" Jesy asks.
My eyes widen. "Excuse me?"
"Come on. I know you have the hots for this chick," she teases.
"No, I don't!" The heat races up from my neck to my cheeks. Suddenly feeling self-conscious about the prospect of Perrie seeing me a blushing mess, I raise my drink and let the cold surface alleviate the heat on my skin.
Jesy snorts on the other line before continuing, "Sure, Jade, whatever."
"It's just . . . plain rude! And all because I bought her sister some stupid presents I'm not even sure if she'll ever use?" I vent, glancing at Perrie ensconced on a stool at the bar, who seems busy as she concentrates on the screen of her laptop while jotting down on her notebook. I silently pray that she burns alive from my hot, furious stare that's zeroed in on her and solely her.
"So rude," Jesy concurs, albeit teasingly. But I pay it no mind.
Still dabbing the cold surface on the tin can on one side of my cheeks, I continue, "That's just rude. Very rude. How dare she generalize me?"
"I guess that's just normal people for you, Jade."
"Normal people," I scoff, finally tearing my gaze away from that rude excuse of a woman. "I'm normal, too, you know."
"Now that's where you're wrong. You've been in the film industry for more than a decade," Jesy reminds me. "So, you should know by now that you're never normal for them."
There was a pause in our conversation as I process her words and let them sink in. Then I remembered our heated altercation an hour ago. With a sigh, I lower the drink back down on the table.
"I'd like to apologize . . . for a while ago," I say, lapping my tongue on my chapped lower lip.
Jesy doesn't respond for a second, then, "It's fine. We're basically siblings - we fight all the goddamn time. So, tell me about this Perrie girl who wants to kiss you . . ."
"She is annoying," I blurt out. "And plus, I'm pretty sure she forgot about that."
I hear a chuckle on the other line before Jesy speaks up again, "Falling for her yet?"
I scoff. "Didn't you hear me rant about her awhile ago? If you call that falling in love, I don't wanna be near you anymore."
"You do realize that she's the first thing you talked about the moment I picked up the phone awhile ago, right?"
"Because that's the sole reason why I called you in the first place. What she said really ticked me off," I reason out, glancing at Perrie who seems to be in a middle of a conversation with one of the waitresses this time while occasionally taking a gander at her laptop screen. I roll my eyes and fix their attention on my fingernails.
"You wanna know the real reason why what she said ticked you off, Jade?" Jesy asks.
"Because it's offensive?" I venture, though I'm certain that's not the answer she's looking for anyway.
"No," Jesy denies, stringing the word along further, "But because for the first time, someone you like thinks of you that way."
Almost instinctively, as if afraid that Perrie might hear this, my eyes frantically dart towards the blonde woman sitting down on one of the stools at the bar.
She hasn't noticed me staring, and so I take the time to observe her.
She isn't talking to the waitress, isn't typing away on her laptop anymore, more like staring into the screen with a pensive expression, her right cheek resting upon her right hand, the other hand tapping thoughtlessly on the wooden countertop.
She must have a lot going on in that head of hers, while mine only consists of her alone. While her ocean blue eyes seem fixated on what's in her laptop screen, mine can't seem to fixate on anything else but her.
"You need to stop saying that I like her," I reprimand the woman on the other line. "I don't like Perrie that way."
"Why do you have to be in denial? She told you she cares about you, right?"
The memory of last Wednesday comes flooding right back in my line of vision, almost vivid; it almost feels like I've time-travelled back that very moment when Perrie confessed about what she really feels about me.
Feeling my cheeks burn up once again, I grab my drink and dab my whole face with it.
"Shut up, Jessica," I hiss.
I risk another glance toward the blonde, wondering how on earth can she be so calm around me just after confessing that she basically likes me; wondering what I should do about it; wondering if I have the time to even entertain her feelings.
"You know what's funny?" Jesy queries, and takes my silence as a green light to continue, "I haven't met this Perrie yet, but I think she's different."
"How so?"
"Well," Jesy says, "you haven't known her for a month, and she's suddenly driving you crazy. That's gotta be something, alright."
Just at the end of the statement, almost as if on cue, Perrie finally looks up to meet my gaze. And I swear I can feel my heart stop beating for a second. I didn't look away, nor did she; my heart starts beating rapidly; my eyes can't seem to stray away from her magnetic ones.
She flashes a smile -- the kind of smile that shows no teeth but still feels like they're being genuine. I smile back at her the same way, and she winks at me. And as if to torture me even more, my heart starts doing jumping jacks in my chest, butterflies start fluttering in my stomach, and my smile widens because this is what it feels like to like someone different.