Blurred Lines

1

She listened to Cristiano talking about training, and about his day, gesturing around animatedly as always but she didn’t really hear what he was saying. She’s had a thought on her mind for months and it simply didn’t seem to be one she could get rid of.
He was her best friend for long years now, specifically since they'd met at a press conference during the time when she'd been working at Audi's PR department as a trainee. He was the person who knew literally everything about her, even the most awkward facts like how she’d puked before each and every job interview she’s ever had or that she started sneezing when she was around people who intimidated her. He was the only person who she trusted enough with this question, and the only person with required knowledge to help her.
“Can I ask a favour?” She cut in before she stuffed some fries into her mouth.
“Sure.” He nodded and reached for his glass in the middle of the table.
“Would you train me?” She asked casually, her gaze fixed on his face, waiting for his reaction. With anyone else this might have required more planning, more consideration but Cristiano was different. Whenever she had a problem, he was the first to know about it and the first to offer his input, either in the form of giving his thoughts or actual help.
“Train you for what?” He asked from above his glass before he took a sip of the wine. Every week Friday they had dinner, just the two of them. It was a tradition since Irina and Cristiano had splitted up. During these dinners they also shared a bottle of wine, something he'd refused for a long time but slowly learnt to appreciate.
“Sex, dummie.” What was he thinking, that she needed help in the gym? She rolled her eyes at him but she barely had time to finish the action before all the wine from his mouth ended up spitted into her face. “What the fuck, Cris?” She screetched, and reached for the papertowel in front of her.
“I’m asking the same! What the fuck?” He stared at her with wide eyes, his voice raised in disbelief. Sheer shock settled on his features as he wiped the drops of wine from his mouth and chin.
“God, I know I’m not your usual skinny brunette but no need to be a jerk about it.” She dropped her papertowel back on the table and lifted her chin. Yes, she was dirty blonde and she wasn’t sporty but curvey, nothing he usually looked for but he shouldn’t have been an asshat. “Besides, I have good ass and good tits.”
“It isn't… Jesus woman, you don’t just drop questions like that during dinner out of the blue!” He exhaled with a shake of his head, gaping at her.
“Well, I just did. So?” She tapped her fingers on the table, impatiently. She needed help, of that she was aware of. She'd tried therapists, porn, both reading and watching, toys, everything but it seemed she was dead south and she was not going to live her life like that. Hannah was successful and happy with everything in her life, except for sex and that simple act wasn't going to ruin her. She was determined to find a way to learn to enjoy what her body could offer.
“No way. No fucking way. Absofuckinglutely not,” he stated and stood up, turned his back on her, his arms folded over his chest.
“Why? Because a fat bitch like me doesn’t deserve some good sex? It’s only models who can get it?” She raised her voice, her cheeks flaming up. Could she spend time in the gym to look like those women everyone drooled over? Yes. Did she want to? No. She was happy with her body. She looked avarage, not fat, not skinny, not toned, just avarage. But she had a pretty face and she wasn't exaggerating with claiming she had good breasts and nice ass.
“This has got nothing to do with how you look like! What the hell? You know I think you’re stunning!” He threw his arms into the air. “And you are not fat!” He pointed at her, irritated.
“Then what the fuck is the issue? Why can’t you just be a friend? I’m 25, had two men in my entire life and you know as well how awful both were! You are fucking unfair!” She just didn't get it. He did it for others. She knew for a fact he's trained women before who he'd had no other relationship with, just helped them find what they liked. Why not her? Was she that disgusting? Was she so unfuckable? She did not think so.
“I said…” He stepped to her and grabbed her jaw roughly. She hissed quietly as his fingers dag into her face. “No. Not in this lifetime, not in another.”
“Fine. I’m sure there's going to be someone in that favourite club of yours willing to help me out.” She dragged away from him, jumped up and stormed out. If not him then someone else. She was going to enjoy sex one way or another.