Dirty Bad Strangers by Jade West

footballer. Preferably one that doesn’t look like Shrek .”
    “Preferably?”
    She shrugged. “Wouldn’t be a total deal breaker.”
    “So, he must be in the Premier League, and preferably better looking than an ogre?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “I want that Spanish lad, Theo Fernandez from the Singers. He’s hot.”
    My expression must have been completely blank, as it led her to pull out her mobile and shove Google images in my face.
    “He looks about twelve.”
    “ Whatever, Gemma, how many twelve year olds do you know with abs like that?”
    She had a point.
    “I guess you’d better start hunting down this Theo Fernando , then.”
    “Fernan dez , and I already am...” There was that please please please pout again.
    I’d been fleeced. “Spit it out, Chelsea, what do you want?”
    “A coffee with my best friend!” she protested, but her story didn’t hold up very long. “Now that you mention it... there’s this club... Kings ... down Kensington...”
    “...and?”
    “And I’ve heard the Singers are heading out there for Theo’s nineteenth birthday next weekend...”
    “Good for you,” I grinned. “Go knock ’em dead.”
    “I can’t,” she sighed. “I have no one to go with, Tessa’s working...”
    It was my turn to roll my eyes. “You want me to go with you? To some trendy celeb club? For real? I thought I was just your chubby friend?”
    “Please, Gemma. I know you’re milking it, and I know I deserve it, but I really, really, really want to go to that club. Players don’t go out all that often... they’re athletes, on a strict regime... total machines...”
    “How do you even know they’ll be out?”
    “Claudia Lancett told me. She’s in with all the footballers wives, even April Redfern, so they say. You must know her , used to be April Kelly.”
    “April Kelly? Wasn’t she in a girl band?”
    Chelsea nearly spat her coffee across my cream carpet. “You can’t seriously be for real? Do you live under a rock or something? Cherry Electric , you know... I wanna love you, love you, love you, good. Love you, love you, long time, lonnng time. ”
    “They played that song at my twelfth birthday party. It was over a decade ago…”
    “Yeah, well, she’s not as young as she used to be. Still pretty, though. She’s been married to Jason Redfern like forever.”
    “And he’s another footballer?” I was winding her up now, even I’d vaguely heard of Jason Redfern. Captain of the England team, destined for a career of crappy TV ads once the football dried up.
    “You’re so rubbish,” she chided. “You’d be the worst WAG ever. Good job you’re not...” Her face paused in this weird expression, as she stumbled over whatever stupid sentence was on her tongue.
    “Good job I’m not, what? Pretty enough?”
    “No, of course not,” she lied. “Interested... good job you’re not interested. ”
    Well played, Chelsea, good save. It got my hackles up, all the same.
    “I’m sure your friend Claudia will be going to this awesome bash. You can tag along with her.”
    She groaned, and it was a loud one. “She doesn’t like me! She only talks to me to show off, stuck up cow.”
    “Why on earth doesn’t she like you?” I laughed. “You’re always so... pleasant...”
    Chelsea looked at me deadpan, missing my sarcasm entirely. She flicked back her pure platinum mane, gave me the duck pout and offered up the standard Chelsea explanation of life.
    “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s jealous .”
     
    ***
     
    Jason
     
    We won.
    Of course we fucking won. We were on fire, dancing round the pitch like Kings of the world.
    Kensington Rangers - 3
    Manchester Athletic - 0
    Trevor Loveridge had cheered us on from the bench, leaping around so much I feared he’d give himself a bloody heart attack. We’d smashed it, drilled them into the dirt, and left them limp and broken.
    Singers, Singers, Singers!
    I’d made a point of running in front of the VIP box to