Chapter 2: The Aftermath and a New Invitation
The roof was a different kind of heat. Up here, the sun had softened into a bloody smear over the Gulf, but the day’s warmth rose from the concrete underfoot, mingling with the cool kiss of the ocean breeze. Neon tubes snaked along the bar, casting a violet glow on rows of glittering bottles. The music was a deep, percussive throb you felt in your molars, not your ears. Josh leaned on the railing, the city laid out before him like a stolen vista, all sharp glass and liquid light. It was a far cry from the sticky carpet and stale lager smell of his local back home.
“Two more,” Dean shouted beside him, slapping the bar top. His shaved head gleamed under the lights.“Proper drinks this time, none of that fizzy piss. Something with a little umbrella in it, make me feel pretty.”
Josh laughed, the sound swallowed by the music. He was still riding the strange buzz from the beach, the encounter with the blonde woman—Lynda—refusing to fade with the hangover. It was the surprise of her, the unexpected voltage in that brief exchange.His second cocktail arrived, something frothy and pale green in a chilled glass. He took a sip.Sweet, then a punch of ginger and lime.Better.
“You’ve been quiet, mate,” Dean said, elbowing him. “Still thinking about that fit bird who ripped your head off? Should’ve told her to piss off.”
“She wasn’t wrong, was she?Looked like I’d nicked it.”
“So? Doesn’t give her the right. All high and mighty, bet she’s a nightmare.”
Josh was about to agree, just for the ease of it, when a shift in the air behind him made him turn. She was there, emerging from the elevator bank like a scene change.
The athletic intensity of the beach was gone, replaced by something calculatedly sleek. A simple white dress, cut sharp at the shoulders, hugged her frame before falling straight. Her blonde curls were tamed now, falling in a deliberate cascade over one shoulder.She looked polished, unapproachable. Then her eyes found his across the crowded rooftop, and the green of them caught the neon and held it.
She moved towards them, not with the storming certainty of the beach, but with a contained purpose. Dean followed Josh’s gaze and groaned into his drink.“You are kidding me.”
Lynda stopped a foot away. The scent of her cut through the bar smells—clean, like citrus and salt, expensive. “Josh,” she said.Her voice was softer than he remembered.Softer than he’d expected.
“Lynda.” He gave her the grin, but he kept it smaller this time. “Stalking me now?”
A ghost of that surprised smile touched her lips.“Hardly. My agency booked the space for post-shoot cocktails. I saw you from across the bar.” She paused, her fingers tightening on a small clutch.“I wanted to… properly thank you.For the phone. I was unnecessarily harsh.”
Dean snorted.Josh ignored him.“You were.But it’s alright. High-stakes world, fitness influencing. Can’t be too careful.”
She heard the tease in his tone and tilted her head. “You have no idea.” She glanced at Dean, then back at Josh.“Can I buy you that drink?A peace offering.”
Dean slapped Josh on the back. “I’ll get another round in. You two… chat.” He vanished towards the bar, a mocking salute over his shoulder.An awkward silence settled, filled by the thumping bass. Josh gestured to the railing beside him. “Views are better over here.”
She joined him, not touching the railing, just looking out. The ocean was a black void now, pricked with the running lights of boats. “It’s beautiful,” she said, but it sounded automatic, like a line from a brochure.“It’s all right.A bit much, maybe. Prefer a nice gritty park, myself.”
That got a real look.“A park?”
“Yeah. You know, grass.Ducks.Old men on benches. Less…” He gestured at the glittering skyline.“Less everything.”
She studied his profile. “You’re not from here.”
“Lincoln.UK.Bricklayer.” He said it plainly, a test. He watched her process it, expecting the subtle flinch, the polite disinterest.Instead, she nodded slowly. “Honest work.Must keep you fit.”
He laughed, a short, surprised bark. “That’s your takeaway?Not ‘oh, how quaint’?”
“I deal in fitness. I respect a physical job.” She took a delicate sip from a drink a waiter had materialized with.“It’s probably more real than what I do.”
Now he was the one thrown. He’d prepared for condescension, not… this.This quiet acknowledgement. “Your stuff seems real enough.All those perfect pictures.”
“It’s a product.A lifestyle product. The shoot today was for a probiotic yoghurt.” She said it flatly, then turned those laser-green eyes on him. “You think smiling for six hours with a spoonful of fake yoghurt next to your face is real?”
He leaned closer, the breeze carrying her scent to him again. “So why do it?”
“Because it pays. Because I’m good at it.” She held his gaze, challenging. “Because sometimes you get to stand on a roof like this and the yoghurt pays for the drink.”
Dean returned then, clattering three new glasses onto the railing. “Sorted! Got you one too, love, don’t worry.” He pushed a lurid blue concoction towards Lynda.She looked at it like it was a chemical hazard.
“Thank you,” she said, not touching it.Dean bulldozed on. “So, you’re like, an Instagram model?Do you do those workout videos? The ones in the tight leggings?”
Josh closed his eyes for a second. “Dean.”
Lynda’s shield slammed back into place, her posture stiffening.But her voice stayed cool, a sharp knife wrapped in silk. “I create content around functional fitness and disciplined living. The apparel is incidental.”
“Right, right.” Dean winked at Josh. “Incidental.”
Josh felt a spike of frustration—at Dean, at the situation, at the way her walls had just visibly reinforced. He wanted back the woman from two minutes ago, the one who’d hinted at the yoghurt-fueled artifice of her world.
“Ignore him,” Josh said, stepping slightly between Dean and Lynda.“He’s from Manchester. They have no filter.”
“Neither do you, from what I saw,” Lynda said, her focus returning to Josh. The charge was back, that electric current from the beach, but now it was woven with something else—a recognition. She’d seen his rough edges, his mate’s crudeness, and she hadn’t bolted.Not yet.
She picked up her own drink, the clear liquid in a crystal glass, and raised it slightly towards him. “To honest work,” she said, her eyes locked on his.He clinked his garish glass against hers. “To pretending to like yoghurt.”
That same, genuine, unguarded smile broke through again, quick and bright.It felt like a victory. “It’s a terrible yoghurt,” she whispered conspiratorially.Then her phone buzzed in her clutch. She glanced at it, and the mask of professional obligation settled back over her features.“I have to go. My sister’s downstairs.” She finished her drink, placed the glass neatly on a passing waiter’s tray. “Enjoy your holiday, Josh.”
She turned to leave, then paused, looking back at him over her shoulder, just as she had on the beach. The neon light caught the curve of her neck, the line of her dress.“Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe,” he said.
He watched her walk away, the white dress disappearing into the elevator’s chrome interior. The rooftop felt instantly louder, cheaper, the magic leaching out with her departure.
Dean shoved his drink into his hand.“What was that? Sounded like a bloody job interview.”
Josh didn’t answer. He was still tasting the lime and ginger of his cocktail, but all he could smell was citrus and salt.He looked at the city, at the endless, dark, inviting ocean. For a second, he’d seen past the polished finish to the weight she carried underneath. The responsibility, the discipline, the yoghurt.It was more intriguing than any flawless picture. And it left him with a restless, itchy feeling, like there was a layer of his own life that was just concrete and dust, and he was only just noticing it was bare.