I could see the confusion on the faces of the North clan at the ‘pork chops’ comment, but thankfully they let it slide.
Getting up and standing next to Tink, I started the introductions. “John this is-”
“John? Psht, it's Tink and you know it. What’s come over you?” he hissed glaring at me as though I had lost my mind.
Through gritted teeth I started again. “Fine! Tink this is Pamela, Boleyn, Samantha, Henry, Tate and Tudor. Everybody this is Tink, my best friend, roommate and fellow Geordie,” I gestured in his direction.
Henry began laughing, and Samantha hit his shoulder to shut him up.
I raised a questioning eyebrow. “What?”
Henry pointed along the table. “Tash, Tink, Tate and Tudor. All T’s – thank God you don’t all hang out, it’d be a total nightmare remembering all your names.”
I giggled. “Good job your hulk of a brother can’t stand me then, eh?” I lightly flicked Tudor on his arm, but he instantly grabbed my hand and stared at me, squeezing my hand gently in his.
“I don’t hate you,” he mumbled, all seductively.
I couldn’t look away, and felt frisky little shivers creeping up my arm from where his hand touched mine and that familiar warm sensation heading south.
Henry cleared his throat and broke the tension, “Tink? That’s a strange name. Where’s that from?” he asked with a curious side-look at me and his brother.
“Well, it’s a funny story. Wil and I–”
“Wil?” interrupted Tudor, looking mightily confused and breaking our weird little exchange.
“Yeah, Wilbur,” replied Tink, naturally assuming people would make the connection with me and the famous literary pig.
“You mean, Tash?” he clarified.
“Well, yeah but she’s been Wil to me since we were twelve. You know, she was named after the pig –”
“Well, I think we’ll leave it there, hey, Tink? Are you ready to go?” I interrupted, practically shouting while nipping his back and Chinese-burning his arm.
“Ow, Wil!”I glared at him with daggers in my eyes, daring him to continue his delightful storytelling.
With a defeated huff, he spat out in a prissy tone. “Fine, yes.”
I noticed Tudor silently laughing, and I rolled my eyes at him in reference to Tink. I also noticed Tate. He was staring at the self-named ‘Friggin’fantastic fairy’ and was practically salivating.
Tudor, having seen me studying Tate, covertly glimpsed his way too and raised an eyebrow knowingly. Tink, on the other hand, was oblivious to Tate’s attention. He was too busy trying to embarrass me to notice anything else going on around him. I decided it was time to make an exit.
“Thank you for inviting me to meet you all properly, and for not holding my earlier performance against me. It was really nice to meet you. Tudor, good luck with the acting. Not that you need it but– ah, you know what I mean,” I flustered. “Boleyn, have a nice break, and I’ll see you next week. Samantha, Henry, Tate, Pamela, I hope you have a good night.”
With that, Tink and I headed towards the door, arms linked and giggling when I heard. “Nice to meet you too... Wil.”
I whipped my head around, stopping dead in my tracks.
Tudor had twisted in his seat, an amused expression on his face, obviously tickled at my swine-themed nickname.
Tink started laughing his head off at his dig, and I proceeded to stick my tongue out at Tudor, earning a loud, bellowing laugh from the Blade Reaper himself as I dragged a giddy fairy through the exit.
One-nil to him.
Tudor Bloody North!
Chapter 8
Smack-Bam into fate
The morning after…
I had been lying in my bed for about an hour trying to gain some form of energy to try and move so I could calm my spinning head. However, I instead found myself staring at the ceiling and thinking about recent events.
I had to say that meeting someone who is mega-star-famous was a bit strange, but then, I guess they’re just people too. Abruptly meeting a superstar in the back room of a restaurant in Calgary of all places proved that they did normal things just like everybody else.
Tink couldn’t shut up about meeting Tudor and I just… well I didn’t know what to think. Sure, his looks were phenomenal, and all the adjectives in the world could not describe the pure animal magnetism of the man. But I was having a hard time trying to unravel the enigma that was Tudor North.
He was so dry in humour, so sarcastic in his delivery. Admittedly he was, at times, an arse who seemed to find enjoyment in winding me up immensely – that being said, he did improve a fraction as the night went on. But was that genuine, or was he bullied into that by his family? He seemed unapproachable and gruff, but the real question was, was he a private person, or was he really just a wanker?