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October 9 - October 24, 2025
Sometimes they’re like that, ain’t they? Don’t even mean to be—just have this way of makin’ everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the world because they’re paying attention to ’em.
“Need to, do I?” “Yeah.” I nod, dead serious. “Might die if you don’t.”
She sniffs a laugh, tries to act like she thinks I’m an idiot and not proper sexy.
And fuck me—I want to kiss her so fucking bad, it’s driving me mental. But she’s being a twat, so I can’t.
“My father studied English at Cambridge—” She bats away another smile, and I catch it just before it’s gone. “I think he thought he’d like me more at the time he named me.”
“Mine don’t like me either,”
“I don’t believe you. You are every father’s dream—”
“If you think about it, I’m kind of a father’s nightmare…”
I do think on it for a second. Girl like her, with a face like that, doin’ a job like hers, in a world like this one? I mean, fuck—girls like her end up in hotel rooms with boys like me.
“I think if she were here, it wouldn’t matter that he doesn’t like me…”
I lean in, brushing my mouth over hers. Bit of a weird kiss for me, if I’m honest—no fireworks or fanfare, none of that shite. Just a kiss to kiss her because she’s her and I want to.
Has Rock God Joah Harrigan Been Struck by Cupid’s Arrow?
Rumour has it that rock’s favourite wild child Joah Harrigan hasn’t left supermodel Ysolde’s private residence at Claridge’s in an entire week.
Need
Lala’s terrible at hiding her expressions. Whatever she’s feeling, it’s always clear as glass. Some people hate it—lots of people, actually. I love it. I think it’s funny; it can make people really uncomfortable around her, but I think it’s refreshing.
“She really does have that lovely after-sex glow, doesn’t she?”
I give her a long-suffering look, as though it pains me to talk about it—as though I haven’t replayed the last few days in a loop in my own mind even when Joah’s been lying right next to me.
“Joah Harrigan following you. Fittest man in the world,
Proper fit yk
“Balcony, bathroom vanity, up against a bookcase, on a piano, in my town car, in the loo of the Claridge’s lobby. In Selfridges—”
Girl…
“With the stamina of a horse, apparently,”
“I have never been so jealous of a person in my whole fucking life, like I sort of want to punch you—”
“Ysolde, are you in love?” Now I shake my head quickly because—that’s mad, and I haven’t even pondered the thought myself because of course I’m not. I’m definitely not. Probably. I’m probably definitely not in love with him. I think. Fuck.
Me going through a surfing phase meant that we went through a surfing phase,
don’t tell me she didn’t have to come, because all that does is tell me you’ve never had a codependent friend before and that’s your problem not mine and actually, I feel sorry for you.
it’s been eating me up inside, having to play it cool with him—” “Why?” “Because I need him to like me! I need him to think I’m cool!”
“Sol, you’re literally the coolest person on the planet.”
“You don’t got to be jealous, Ys.”
I suddenly clock that she’s standing in my dressing room, and I like her there. Like the idea of her being the last thing I see before I go onstage just works?
“That’d be kind of sexy. I like competitive men.”
And then—as though it is even possible—the screaming gets so loud, I feel it through my body and down to my bones, because Joah walks onto the stage, and that’s who the fuck I’m sleeping with.
How many girls stare at him like they want him—actually, how many of them stare at him like they love him—? That’s kind of terrifying.
I wish I didn’t find his arrogance sexy, but I do.
“So I’m just going to sing her favourite instead, if that’s alright with you lot.”
“Now I don’t hardly know her,” Joah sings, and he’s back to staring at me, and I’m back to being a puddle when he unflinchingly sings the next line: “But I think I could love her.”
Well now I’m crying
“Ugh.” I look over at her, surprised. “What?” “We’re going to be late to the after-party…” I look at her, unsure. “Why?” “Well, you have to go backstage and shag him now, don’t you?”
You should have his baby, probably. If that song didn’t already make you pregnant,
“You know startlingly little about their band. No wonder he’s so into you.”
It’s quite lovely, someone’s face lighting up when they see yours,
Just not sure if I’m ready for the whole world to know I reckon I’m in love with her,
“She’s not my girlfriend.” He actually looks relieved. Prick. “Thank god.” Don’t like that either. “Want her to be, though.”
“Where are you going?” he calls after me. I spin ’round, wouldn’t usually bother, but I wanna see the look on his face. “To get meself a fucking girlfriend.”
Cut her off, don’t I? “I love you.”
“No, you don’t.” “Nah.” I nod. “I do.” More head shakes from her, proper stubborn. “What do you—” I cut her off again. “Now say it back.”
“Don’t cheat on me and don’t lie to me.”
“You won’t make me look…stupid?” Shake my head, solemn. “Never.”
“Fine. I love you too.”
“Hello, Boyfriend. I see you wasted no time.” I shrug. “Know what I want. Went for it.”
“Don Julio,” she says. “Ey, what you on about?” I pull back, give her a look. “We shoot Johnny Walker ’round here.” She presses her nose to mine. “Not anymore, you don’t.”
And y’know what? Fuck it, she’s right. I’ll fuckin’ shoot whoever she wants me to now.
Joah Harrigan’s blend of rock-star bravado and romantic theatrics has the world’s attention.
There are so many ways you can know a person, and knowing someone isn’t linear anyway.
