“Yeah, she was saying they’re always fighting about something and that it would have ended a long time ago if it weren’t for Teegan. I’ve heard Rowan on the phone with Christina, she sounds like a right piece of work. About a year ago he went storming out, in the middle of an appointment with a patient, and was having a very tense phone conversation with her in the car park,” Becca said, brows knitted together in a sad expression.
“I bet that’s what’s going on. Rowan is gay, or at the very least bisexual, and he’s married this Christina woman too young because he got her pregnant and—”
“I appreciate your efforts, but I feel like you guys are trying to make this situation work out in a way that makes me the good guy here.” I smiled sadly, slumping back down on the sofa with my tea.
“Youarea good guy, Max.” Louise touched my arm. “And after talking with Rowan last night, I’m convincedhe’sa good guy as well.”
“He’s trapped,” Becca said quietly. All three of us sat in silence for a moment. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, Rowan wasforcedto marry Christina. He’s not the kind of guy to run from a commitment.”
We were silent for a while, thinking our theory over.
“I’m going to go shower.” I announced suddenly, placing my mug of tea down on the table. I didn’t particularly care about whether I was clean or not, but I felt like I needed somewhere to think by myself for a while.
“Sure,” Becca replied. Both girls had concern written all over their faces as I shuffled off into my bedroom. I sighed softly, pulling the door closed behind me.
“This is so fucked up,” I muttered to myself. As I sat heavily on the bed, a small scrap of paper flew off my bedside table. I frowned curiously and leant to pick it up. There was a small note written in a familiar scrawl. I held my breath.
Sorry I left so early this morning – I didn’t want to wake you.
07651 564 773
That’s my number. Call me. ?
P.S. Nice tattoo!
My hand flew to the back of my neck. A few years ago, Oliver and I had taken a trip down to the local tattoo place. I had only gone along as moral support but ended up leaving with a tattoo of my own, as well as the number of the artist and a discount. It wasn’t anything crazy – just a jagged design across the top of my shoulders where my neck became my back.
I read the note again, smirking at the small smiley face, and grabbed my phone. I tapped the number in quickly, double checking that I had it saved correctly before crumpling the note and dropping it into my wastepaper bin.
???
Eventually, Louise and Becca went home, and I spent the rest of the day trying to distract myself from the urge to stare at my phone. I must have tapped out at least fifteen different versions of the same message, but every time it came to the point where I had to hit send, I deleted it.
I lay in bed hours later, wide awake and re-typing yet another text to Rowan.
MAX: Hey, it’s Max. Just thought I’d drop you a text with my number.
It was simple and understated. Feeling confident, I pressed send and put my phone back on the bedside table. I stretched across to turn my lamp off and had been lying in bed for only a minute or so when my phone lit up the room and vibrated loudly against the wooden table. I snatched it eagerly.
ROWAN: I was starting to wonder if I’d given you the wrong number.
I grinned and tapped out a reply.
MAX: Sorry! How has your day been?
Less than a minute later, another reply buzzed through.
ROWAN: Honestly? Pretty shitty. Were you feeling rough this morning?
MAX: Surprisingly, I was okay – perhaps I have you to thank for that? Sorry to hear about your shitty day.
I held my breath as I pushed the send button, excitement and nerves fizzing in my stomach as I awaited a reply. Thankfully I didn’t have to wait too long.
ROWAN: The pleasure was, literally, all mine, Max.
MAX: I take it you enjoyed yourself last night?
ROWAN: Enjoyed isn’t the word. I definitely owe you one.
