You know, the bad-influence friend who whores around instead of spending her time at the library, studying like a boring nerd.
Well yeah, she's right. I am a bad influence, because I influence my friends with my luxury lifestyle. I unconsciously bait them with these high end materials I bought with the money I get from sleeping with older men, that after some time they're lured into being a baby, like me.
My best friend Cleo joined Cupcake after being friends with me for two years. Unlike Kimmie, she came from a middle class family so I kinda understood how tempted she'd be seeing me in designer clothes and beautiful jewelleries, eating whatever I want, wherever I want.
Also, because she was heart broken with her douchebag childhood boyfriend back at home, who cheated on her but blamed their long distance relationship instead. Whatever, she definitely dodged a bullet there.
Being a good friend, I asked my agent, Madam Helen to make the first match. During our whole friendship, Cleo is the type of person who'd okay with everything so as expected, she okay-ed when Helen proposed a forty year old widower to be her first daddy.
I don't know what got into her but I would never, ever, be with someone that old. We were only twenty. But again, it's Cleo. The Queen of Okay. So she okay-ed despite the glaring age gap considering he's twice her age.
But you see, human perspective can change over time. Because now, instead of being the bad-influence friend, I'm being toasted as the one who brought a meant-to-be couple together.
Oh yes, Cleo is one step closer to being Mrs Montgomery because in just one week, Kimmie and I are going to her engagement party.
"I can't believe I'm engaged to Harold!" She giggles excitedly once the three of us drink to her toast; thanking me for being the reason they're together.
"Oh yeah, Har-old indeed." I don't have any filter when it comes to hanging out with my besties.
Kimmie and Cleo laugh as both of them nod in sync, agreeing with me. That joke never gets old, since the first time I blurted it out two years ago after Cleo spent her first week with Mr Montgomery.
"Do you think I should sign up as well?" Kimmie asks once our food is delivered, "Apparently I'm the only one left."
I raise an eyebrow hearing the last sentence, "The only one left? Excuse me, how come I don't know anything about the existence of my boyfriend?"
Just like that Kimmie takes my phone and flips the screen to my face, "Hmmm?" She makes that bitchy are-you-for-real-guuuurl face.
I quickly take my phone and hide it under the table, right on my lap. Fine. I haven't moved on. I still look at our pictures and videos, changing my wallpaper and lockscreen multiple times depending on my mood. This week, I'm in the mood of dipping-his-dick-into-my-pussy selfie as my lockscreen.
"Shut up." I roll my eyes and start twisting my pasta with the fork.
"It's been three months, and you're meeting Ray tomorrow. Forget him, Elle. He's an arsehole anyway for disappearing just like that."
"Yeah. Forget him. What, you're pretty enough to fuck but not pretty enough to love? Such an arsehole."
The two gang up and as usual, I eat my meal in silence until they change the topic. I want to remember him as the perfect man he was, that's why I refuse to badmouth him.
Thankfully, they change the topic to our new semester that has begun this week. So I chirpily join the conversation until Kimmie suddenly stops talking in the middle of explaining how she knew about this new restaurant we're dining at.
I've been on this part of London plenty of times considering this is like my playground; the area where I shop for clothes at the luxury boutiques, do my hair at the high end salon, and perform a bunch of other stuffs around here but to find this cute yet elegant restaurant in the middle of this street, I don't think I've ever noticed it before.
I swear I've walked on this street so many times so how the hell did I miss it? It's so chic, so posh, so cute, everything I want to be if I'm a restaurant.
"So uhm, Elle," Kimmie shifts her gaze to me instead of whatever she was looking at just now, I couldn't be bothered much when I have such a good meal in front of me, "How big is he again?"
"Owen? Or Ray?" Cleo asks while I sip on my wine.
"Owen. How big is he?" That's when Cleo giggles, about to flaunt on Mr Montgomery's impressive size yet again but Kimmie has already flicks an index finger to the woman, "Yeah yeah Harold has a big one. We're aware of that."
Oh believe me, I am very well aware of that. I'm still traumatised for catching the act with my own four eyes.
We were supposed to meet at Cleo's place for a hang out when I turned up an hour early only to witness the mighty Mr Montgomery is slipping in and out of my best friend's mouth. Oh God. Ohhh dear God. Please take away my memory, it's too big for me to have it. Like literally, too big for any of us to have it. I didn't know it comes in white too if I didn't witness it myself.
"When I googled him, or see him in the pictures you showed us, I never thought he's that fine."
And just like that the two of us follow the direction of Kimmie's eyes, towards my right where a few tables from us, a man in a black chef shirt is standing tall, talking to two guests.
"He's a tree." Cleo lets out a comment.
Well when he's the only one who's standing in a hall full of seated people, of course he looks like a tree.
"A gorgeous tree." Kimmie adds as I keep on staring at the man who I never thought I'd see again.
"Stop ogling at him like that! He's your best friend's man!" Cleo warns her which I take another gulp of my drink. My man? Heh. What a joke. He didn't bother to reach out for me even once after our parting.
"You can ogle him all you want, we're not his type anyway." I shrug as the waiter tops my glass with another serving of Rose.
"Such a waste. How big is his trunk again?"
"Mr Montgomery still wins."
"Just for grieving purposes, give me a number."
I take another look at the gorgeous tree, sure, we can still admire the tree even if we're not the tree's type but, hmm, such a waste. Perhaps he has moved on with another person that's why he didn't reach out to me.
I turn to my best friends again, "Seven, eight, seven and a half. Give or take."
"Think you left out the details on the... trunk thickness?" Cleo's comment makes both of us giggle. Every time we talk about our guy's size, we'd be hella specific about it. Length, girth, color, balls shape whatnot. It's fun to compare, just like how we compare everything else in our life.
"Kindly remember I'm a visual learner, Miss Evans." Kimmie's reminder makes our giggle turn into a full laughter that the guests at the tables around us start to turn their head. So I cup my mouth to tone down the volume until I see Kimmie suddenly widening her eyes.
"Hello, good evening, ladies."
I don't need to turn my head to know who that is, so I remain in position and bring my glass to my lips for liquid courage considering how fast my heart is beating right now. Damn.
"I'm Owen, the head chef. May I know how the food has been so far?" He asks in British slang that I swear I won't know it's him if I didn't see him first just now.
Kimmie and Cleo look at me before shifting their eyes to him again. They must be wanting to check how am I doing considering how close I am to the guy I haven't moved on yet.
As usual, Kimmie comes to the rescue when she nods, "We love the food, Owen. This rabbit is perfect."
"Glad you like it. Can I make a suggestion for dessert? Or you have placed an order for one?"
"No no, we haven't."
"In that case, I'll have Isla bring the soufflé. On the house." Soufflé, the one thing he loves to make when we were together.
"Another glass of Rose for you?"
And there it is, the shock. The surprised look I've been waiting from the moment he came to our table. Because right now he's right next to me, finally looking at my face instead of just talking with me backing him.
Unlike him, I flash a smile and acknowledge him in a calm, poised manner, "Owen."
"You're in London." He states it as if he's telling himself rather than to us.
"I'm in London." I am still in my calm mode. Though my palms are sweating with my heart drumming in my chest for how hot he looked in that black chef shirt, his hair is still in the same sexy haircut he had when we were together last year. And his eyes, are forever in their mysterious colors. God I miss this man so much.
"It's good to see you," he has dropped the accent.
"It's good to see you too."
My best friends must be laughing their ass off seeing how awkward we are at the moment. Because if this is happening to one of them, I'd be laughing too.
"So I guess I'll see you again?" That's how he's ending our conversation?
"Alright," he turns to my besties again, "I'll have someone send the soufflé. Have a good evening, ladies."
I put my head to the front again, not wanting to see him walk away. He really has moved on, then?
"I'd totally lose my sleep over that man too, Elle," Cleo tells me in fascination, "He's hot! Whatever the hell you said about age gap, he does not look old at all. Your concerns on age gap in totally invalid. He can easily pass twenty seven, twenty eight."
"Oh Darling, we know where you get that number." Kimmie makes a knowing look which she instantly giggles, and now winking, "Seven or eight, she says."
"He's gay," I remind my friends before they challenge all the reasons I laid out for rejecting him last year. The last thing I want is for my friends to argue so hard that I'd run to that man to beg him to take me again.
"He's not gay. You're the one who said he's a certified bi as of October last year."
"He's a skittle," Kimmie supports her, "For all we know, he might be eating all the colors. Men, women, oh doesn't matter. The thing is he loves the rainbow, not just one color."
They might be right, Owen might be eating all the colors but he's already tasted my pink pussy, perhaps he has indeed moved on to other colors. The way he talked to me just now, of how awkward we were, it showed just how much not interested he is with me anymore.