Growing up, Robbie had always managed to maintain his accent. Even as they’d moved around, Zoya’s family practically a hop, skip and a jump behind his own. Her parents were immigrants, travelling here, there and everywhere before settling down permanently. They’d only been living in Ireland for a brief time before she and Robbie had become fast friends on the school playground. She’d been moved around here and there, just the same way Robbie had, but his Irish accent remained thick and unbreakable, and it was one of her favourite things about him. It was charming and sweet, and everything sounded a whole lot better when he was the one saying it!
She especially enjoyed the cutesy way that he always called her chick, knowing that it had a much cuter connotation than when American guys referred to girls as chicks.
“I don’t think it’s the sugar we should be worried about,” Zoya grinned, lifting a hand as she placed her forefinger to his lips in a shushing motion. As though the two of them were both in on a little secret, even if she wasn’t sure what that secret supposedly was.
She giggled sweetly as his moustache tickled her finger, crinkling her nose at the way it somehow felt soft and scratchy against her skin. She’d never kissed a guy with a moustache before, but she would bet the people Robbie slept with laughed a lot.
“And Harry won’t mind, because he loves me and thinks I’m the cutest,” Zoya nodded obediently, echoing the words that Robbie so often told her. She wasn’t entirely sure if there was any truth to it, but she’d yet to find herself in Harry’s bad books. He liked a pretty face, and Robbie was positive his friend had a wee soft spot for her, as he liked to put it! Everything was wee, but especially Zoya, who happened to be the littlest of all.
Feeling light and breezy – but then again, when didn’t she? – Zoya looped her arm with Robbie’s and started to direct him towards the entrance to their hotel. She still couldn’t get over how nice it was and made a mental note to ask him more questions about it when she wasn’t the teeniest bit tipsy and also reliving the high of Diego Rodriguez taking his shirt off and throwing it into the crowd. She hadn’t been anywhere near close enough to catch it, but she and Robbie had enjoyed the view anyway!
“Wait... Can we wear the complimentary dressing gowns? And the slippers? And, oh! Can we have a dance party too?” Zoya bounced on the spot, giving his bicep a squeeze as she pushed up onto her tiptoes for the second time. Her nose brushed his jawline as she teetered on the spot, wobbling against the hotel doorframe. She suddenly had visions of the two of them wearing nothing but cotton and twirling around the room to her Maggie Chance playlist. “Please? Pretty please.”
Admittedly, Harry did have a soft spot for Zoya and Robbie had mixed feelings about that. His other friend was wrapped right around Zoya’s little finger in the way that he’d only ever seen Aoife manage before. It was cute to a certain point, because Robbie knew what it was like to be possessed by the ever-present tendency to do right by Zoya. But then Harry would get that smarmy look on his face and start flirting with her and Robbie would have to drag him back by his collar like a naughty dog. That was when Harry’s infamous soft spot for Zoya went from cute to irritating. His best friend didn’t need to be on the receiving end of Harry’s sleazy charms.
“‘Cause Harry’s just marvellous, ain’t he?” Robbie drawled, rolling his eyes. He slung his arm over Zoya’s shoulders, steering her in the direction of the hotel doors.
At this rate, with Zoya’s stop-and-start motions repeating themselves every time yet another brilliant idea popped into her head, the two of them wouldn’t be able to get to their room until well past midnight. He had to recalibrate, get them back on track.
“How about we can do whatever you want if ye agree to get your arse into the lift?” he teased her, smirking when she continued to rattle on about all the grand plans she had for them once they got back to their hotel room.
Truth be told, he liked the idea of a cozy robe and complimentary slippers and ordering whatever the fuck they wanted from the room service menu. He was starving and the idea of a concierge pushing a little cloth-covered trolley into their room was more than appealing, especially since it would create the illusion that Robbie was the kind of man who did shit like this often, instead of it being a once in a blue moon occasion.
“Zoya,” he chided, throwing his head back with a laugh as she began bouncing around and pleading for a dance party, dangerously close to sticking the head in him and giving him a rubber lip. It wouldn’t be the first time Zoya’s enthusiasm had ended up with a body count.
Hands gripping her hips to balance her, he snorted out another laugh.
“Christ, Nadar, I’ll even do one of Buddy’s tap dance routines for you if it gets you up to the room,” he urged her.
Eyeing her carefully, he figured it was time to bring out the big guns. Holding her gaze, he smirked and reached into the pocket of his jacket, tugging out his weapon of choice. Holding the bag of M&M’s in front of her face, he drew her attention to them and then began shaking them.
“C’mon, Zoya. Y’want the candy, don’t ye?” he said, walking backwards towards the lift and making a show of guiding her in that direction, like he was training an overly enthusiastic puppy.
