Chapter 9

I wonder exactlywhere to begin the ex conversation. At the start, working my way forward to the catastrophe at the end, or in reverse, starting with how much of a cunt Connor was when he ditched me for a bitch of a groupie, and left me sobbing in our shitty excuse of a life all alone with a mountain of debt. The thought still makes my stomach flip – just the sheer volume I've got to pay off, even now.

I feel sick at the memory of the rage and the pain. The humiliation, because it was so bloody obvious he was seeing Carly – to anyone who wasn't me, that is. Call it naivety. Call it fucking trust.

Yet here I am, about to trust again. On night number one after one single dinner date.

Smart move, Ella. Smart move. But I can't fight the butterflies, and the hope. I can't resist the gorgeous man I've already dive bombed deep with.

One look in his eyes puts my qualms to bed, because he's worth the risk. Na?ve of me or not, he seems so beautifully genuine as he smiles.

"You sure you want to go first?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'll go first. No problem."

He positions himself so he's able to look at me, an elbow propped on the back of the sofa, and then he waits. No rush, no questions, nothing. Screw it, I opt to let my mouth run free, and let the story lead wherever it leads me.

"I've only ever been with one guy, and we were together for just over seven years. I met Connor at high school and got an instant crush on him. It was kind of ditto. Two goth weirdos at school together. After a while we started hanging out and became soulmates and all that regular teenage shit. But it lasted. It got stronger and stronger." I pause, remembering the way Connor used to wait for me after college, with his rucksack slung over his shoulder. The same one I threw at him as our final goodbye. "We used to live in Tintagel, over in Cornwall, and he was mainly at my place. His stepdad is a total douche, who never used to shut up about what a freak Connor was, but Connor was always welcome at ours. So, it quickly became serious and my home became his home, me and him together with my parents. And then it never stopped. Seriously, it never stopped. My whole life was entwined with his. All our dreams of the future were dreams together. He wanted to be a rockstar, and I believed it was destiny." I smile at the memory of him perched on my bed, strumming away, singing a song about forever. "He was so determined that he wanted to make it, and I was all in, right beside him. I said we'd travel the world together to make it happen. I'd be at his side whatever it took, and I believed it. I believed in him. I used to take so many videos of him, and post them online, and he got some followers, sure. But not enough to make him a success. We thought it would be easier for him to perform live, right in front of people."

Josh's eyes don't leave mine. "Do you still believe it? Still believe in him?"

"That he can make it as a rockstar?" I nod, picturing Connor onstage, singing his heart out. "Yeah. I do. He's amazing at it. Ha. Amazing. Old habits die hard."

Josh smirks. "That's why you moved to London, isn't it? So he could go after the music scene?"

"Yeah. My parents had already emigrated to Australia, and Connor was desperate to get to the big city, and it all seemed to add up. We were living with his folks, and his stepdad was still a douche, and London was great at first, when we got here. We were so excited when he started performing his first gigs." My heart starts thumping as I remember the first time he stepped out on stage. How proud I was of him.

"It was fantastic," I admit. "But then real life got in the way. Stress over money, stress over time, over him not landing the multi-million record deal of his fantasies right from the start, like he figured he would. We hated where we lived, and I hated my job, and I resented him more and more for not even trying to stand alongside me in the bullshit parts of life as well as the good bits. I got into debt trying to support us, even though I was working crazy long hours. He was always networking as he called it, which really meant hanging out with people in bars bleating on about music constantly, and we spent less and less time together. When we did spend time together, it was usually at gigs, when I could get there around shifts, and even then, he was networking. It just… turned to shit. The whole thing turned to shit."

Josh's eyes are so solid on mine. "Do you think you'd still be together if you hadn't left Cornwall?"

I feel the lid of the trapdoor rising in my stomach, and get the urge to stamp it shut again, but I don't.

"Yeah. One hundred percent. I would have laughed in anyone's face who said we'd ever split up. The idea would have been crazy." I pause, take a sip of coffee. "Until the big city went to his head, and he turned into a lazy, disillusioned piece of shit and fucked me over for someone better. Well, I say better. Someone who looked up at him like he was a rock god, I guess, the way I used to before real life slammed me flat. He thought Carly had connections in the industry, she said she had. Whatever. Blah, blah, fucking blah. Who cares about the excuses? He left me for someone else. End of."

I give a wave of dismissal, but Josh's eyes don't leave mine.

"Seven years is a long time. You must have really loved him."

I feel a lump in my throat. Stupid damn memories.

"You could say that."

"And how about now?"

"Um, no. And I wouldn't ever take him back. He came begging for another chance before I left for Australia, actually. Told me he'd been wrong, and misguided, and didn't want to be without me and all that crap."

"What did you do?"

"I threw his shitty old rucksack in his face and told him to go fuck himself. Carly is welcome to him. He keeps messaging me from random numbers, but I don't want to know. I used to send him the middle finger emoji before I blocked him, but now I don't even bother, just reply with a no, and block the number. I could say a lot worse. He's getting off lightly."

Josh smiles along with me, but he doesn't laugh it off.

"It's easy to say someone can go fuck themselves when you're still hurting though, isn't it? You can bury it all you like, but seven years is a long time. A lot of happy times to write off for the sake of the bad. I'm not saying he's not a fucking asshole for hurting you, or that you'd be scrambling to take him back in a million years, at least I hope not. But love is love, isn't it? There must still be a load of it there, caught up in the past."

"Maybe I still have some love for Connor, sure," I say. "I don't think it's easy to just switch it off for someone after that long, no matter how much of a complete piece of shit they are at the end, or how many tears you've cried. The bonds ran right into the soul between me and him. That's how I see it. Saw it. But something else has changed that can never be undone, not for anything. And that's me, learning to love me."

The glow I get at my own journey squashes the rage and the hurt dead in its tracks.

"I love myself now, finally," I tell Josh. "And I believe I deserve better than the way Connor always idolised himself at my expense. I was a springboard for his ego, and thank fuck he was an asshole enough to let me see that, because I've now got way too much respect for myself to love someone who doesn't love and respect me back, and Connor hasn't done. Not for a long, long time. It was always his future he was focused on, not mine. Not ever. And it was the same for me. That's what's changed now. That's what's new. It's not his dream I'm living anymore, it's mine." I hug the cushion tighter, ready to put my heart on the line. "My future in London looks a whole lot better than my past ever did. And part of that is because I met you."

Josh grins. "That's good to know. A big part of that or a small part of that?"

I tip my head and tap a finger on my chin. "Ummm. Let me think. Maybe medium. I dunno. We'll see."

"Medium… right. I've got some work to do."

"Anyone would have. So far, I think you're doing pretty well on the dream guy list, to be fair."

"I like to be at the top of every list. Not just the naughty list." He reaches out to squeeze my knee. "Not at the expense of anyone else, though. I like partnerships, not ego parades. I want to be there for someone else, just as they're there for me."

"Well, you're climbing up my dreams list every minute." I raise my mug. "Making a really good cup of coffee helps your cause, by the way. I love it when people pile in the sugar."

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time I make one."

I lean my head against the sofa cushion. "Seriously though, Josh. I didn't expect this. I wasn't looking for a relationship, or planning one. There wasn't a void in my life I wanted to fill. If anything, it was the opposite. But you showed up and it was like fireworks went off. I don't care if it makes me a stupid idiot. Jumping in the deep end is worth a shot with a guy like you. And this isn't a rebound. The last thing I needed or expected was to fall for someone else so soon. I wasn't aching for another soulmate to come along and sweep me off my feet."

"Same goes. One hundred percent," he says. "We're on a parallel on a lot of levels here."

"Are we?" I look at his hand on my knee. "So, this isn't a rebound for you, either? I'm not a girl who's come along to fill a void someone else left behind?"

"No," he says. "You're not. Like you, the last thing I expected was to be diving in the deep end again after things with Amy came crashing down, but here we are. Fireworks for me, too."

I nod, letting the silence settle, and feel the memories of Connor drifting away.

"Guess it's time for your turn now," I say. "Tit for tat."

"Right. Ok." He takes a breath. "I was with Amy for two and a half years until last summer. I thought she was the greatest goddess in creation, and hung on her every word. She was already an entertainer when I met her, and she loved it as much as I did. We'd talk about every proposal, and even re-enact some of the scenes." He sighs. "I would have put my life on the line for her, honestly. But then, like you said, things change. People change. Life changes. She started going out more. Started talking less. Stopped sharing all the details of her proposals." He looks up at the ceiling, and I wonder if he's hurting at the memories, like I was. "She would show me things on her phone, but wouldn't just hand it over without a thought like she did before. She'd put it down when I walked into the room sometimes, and pretend she hadn't been using it, and she'd be later home than she'd planned some nights, to the point I was getting worried, freaking out whether she was ok. I'd get so worried I'd pace across the apartment." He points out a route from the kitchen island to the treadmill. "Back and forth, over and over, with my phone in my hand, waiting for her to message and tell me she was ok."

I feel so shit for him.

"She was seeing someone else, right?"

"One of her clients, yes. She's in Spain now, I believe. She upped and left with little more than a sorry. And it may hurt, and it may have torn me to pieces, but you know what? I'm glad she did it. Because like you, I've been learning the same thing. If she didn't love me enough to value our relationship over a yacht, and a billion pounds in the bank, and hot bondage games with a guy who paid to have sex with her, then she isn't the person I thought she was, or the person I want to be with. Like I said, I want a partnership, not an ego parade, and I think that's what life became for her. The Amy Magpie show. I was just a character on the sidelines by the end."

"A relationship with me definitely won't be the Ella Holly show, I promise you that. I'm still learning that I have a show of my own. It would just be nice to be with someone who genuinely wants to share it with me."

He smiles at me. "It will be nice to be with someone who genuinely wants to share it with you."

I smile back at him. "Yeah, it will."

"I'm all in, you know that?" he says. "I won't be running off with someone who might give me a record deal."

"Yeah. And I won't be running off with a client who pays me for filthy sex. No matter if they have a yacht. A yacht can fuck off, it would never be worth a guy like you."

"Are you sure about that? You are still a newbie. I know that proposals can be intense early on. I know fantasies can be hard to leave behind when the timer reaches the end of a session."

I don't break the stare.

"I'm very sure. And even if I did fancy a guy with a yacht, or got caught up in the fantasies of proposals, or whatever shit could come from the sidelines, I wouldn't ever disrespect someone by doing what Connor did to me. Not a chance in hell."

"Good. Same goes." He takes my hand. It feels easy. Natural. Safe. "So… one more question."

I tip my head. "About Connor?"

"Yeah. Everyone has a type, don't they? Of some description."

Oh no. I get another stomach lurch, because there's no denying it. I definitely have a type.

"Tell me," Josh says. "Would I resemble Connor if you put our pictures side by side?"

"Umm…" I begin, and he laughs.

"That's a yes, then."

"If Connor was more of a chiselled Adonis, with purple in his hair, then yes. You'd resemble him a bit." I'm sure I'm burning up. "Tit for tat. Would I look like Amy?"

"Yes," he says, just like that. "But she didn't have your stunning eyes, or tits nearly as impressive as yours. And she didn't have nearly as many boxes on the naughty list ticked as you do."

"Wow. I'm flattered. Eyes, tits and filth."

"Chiselled Adonis with purple hair. I'd say we're both winners."

"Sure are."

I love how we laugh together.

The ex talk hasn't been a full-on wail fest like I was scared it would be. The way Josh and I look at each other says it all. We are both in, both committed, and both wanting the same thing.

It's easy to say it in words though. It's another thing altogether to live through the challenges – both betrayed and hurt and lied to by ex-partners. Oh, and being sex workers on top. Fucking other people on a regular basis.

Navigating the winding roads of jealousy and insecurity might need more credit than we're giving it, all loved up on night one. We'll have to follow those roads for real when we come to them, I guess.

We both make the move for another kiss when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

"Sorry. That'll be Tiff," he says. "We always send each other a DS message when we're finished on a proposal. Done and safe."

What a lovely thing to hear. He types out a reply and gets another ping straight back. He replies again and gets another.

"Is she ok?" I ask, and he sighs.

"Yeah, she's fine, she just wants to gatecrash. She's on her way home and asked how the night went. I said it's still in progress, and she wants to call in, but don't worry, I've said we're busy."

He gets another ping through and laughs.

"What?" I say, and he turns the screen to me.

Can't be that busy if you're replying to messages within five seconds. I'd love to say hi to Ella. I'll be passing your floor in about three minutes. You can kick me out again three minutes later if you like.

The thought of seeing Tiff – Creamgirl – for a few minutes makes me feel like a fangirl. The most hardcore of all the hardcorers. My inspiration.

"I'd love to say hi to her," I tell Josh, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Are you sure? When she gets her cute curvy butt in here, she can be difficult to shift out again. She'll be yapping on all night."

"That's cool. I'd love to yap along with her."

"I'll give her the thumbs up," he says. "Be warned, she'll likely do a cartwheel when she sees you in here, she'll be so fucking excited. That's if she's capable. She'd likely spew cum everywhere like a garden hose. I think she's taken a five-on-one this evening."

"Now that I'd like to see. She can give me some tips on cum-spurting cartwheels."

He chuckles as he types his message.

"You don't need Tiff to teach you those. You've got yourself a perfectly adequate tutor right here."

Fucking hell, my pussy clenches again, and I'm all set to dive right in for another kiss when the doorbell sounds out.

"She was already in the hall," he says.

As Josh answers the door, I can't help a whole different set of flutters starting up. The fangirl I was as soon as I saw her profile on The Agency website. Creamgirl, the most notorious of them all.

She definitely won't be doing any kind of cartwheel as she appears in view, though. Not in the slightest. She's practically waddling. She must have taken one hell of a pounding.

"I'll have a cup of tea please, if you're making one," she says to Josh, then flops down beside me with a grin on her face. "Can't wait to get to know you, Ella. I have a feeling you'll be a pretty permanent feature in this place."

"Stop it, Tiff!" Josh calls over from the kitchen, but her eyes are still sparkling.

"Come on, Josh! Break the news. Are we still in the realms of casual here, or have you cut the crap and made it something solid? Please tell me you have."

"Jesus Christ," he says. "Can you wait at least five minutes before diving into tell me everything territory, please?"

"No," she replies, with a huge smirk on her face, and I can't help myself laughing. It's obvious they're best friends by a clear mile, and I can't wait to share the news – even if just to hear it spoken out loud.

"It's definitely something more," I tell her. "I think we've both agreed on that. Josh has kindly offered to let me stay here until I get the keys to my new place."

She gets up from the sofa and goes over to Josh, singing the Rocky theme at full volume, with her hands up over her head.

"Get off me," he laughs while she lands kisses on his cheek. "Tiff! Calm down, will you?"

"Spoilsport," she says, and pokes her tongue out, and right there and then, seeing the wicked friendship between them as he sticks his pierced tongue out back at her, I know it in my heart of hearts.

Connor, broken trust, failed dreams, and client morning after syndrome can all get fucked from my life.

This is the real deal, the true place I belong.