Since splitting with Olive, Sam hadn’t really been inclined towards romantic thoughts. He’d spent too long questioning himself, overthinking everything, shutting those doors before they could even creak open. But something had definitely stirred inside him now.
Maybe it was nothing more than the fake dating nonsense coupled with the comfort of a good friend who made him laugh again. Yet his body told a different story. His temperature felt a few degrees too high, his pulse several beats too fast.
Is it just because I’ve been out of the game for so long?
Or perhaps his soul was content, but his body had started craving the pleasure to match.
‘You ok?’ She set her glass down.
‘Just daydreaming.’
‘What about?’
‘You.’
Her eyes widened, then she blinked. ‘Oh… and what about me?’
He steadied himself with a deep breath. ‘Just thinking about how you make me feel.’
‘And how is that?’
‘Relaxed. Happy…’ He wanted to add ‘horny’, but was that wise?
‘Same. I’ve been thinking that all evening.’
He rolled his head around to look at her. Breathing slowly in and out, he caught her sweet and delicate perfume that smelled like roses. ‘Have you?’
She nodded. ‘Do you feel… kind of different? Like it’s not so fake anymore?’
Sam glanced down at her. With a slightly shaky finger, he brushed a strand of hair from across her face and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’
Straightening up, she reached for her drink and downed the rest of it. ‘And do you want to do anything about it?’
His eyes met hers, and he took a slow sip of his Guinness. ‘I’d be a liar if I said no.’
She gave him a little smile. ‘If it’s a terrible idea, we can put it down to a fake dating disaster.’
‘Thank goodness we can laugh.’ He chuckled.
‘We can always do that. Or we could cry – as you know, weddings do that to me. They also make me think about how bad I am at relationships.’
‘It’s not your fault what happened with Kerr.’
She gave him a small smile but didn’t meet his gaze. ‘I don’t mean him. My last boyfriend… “football-first Fergie”.’
Sam stayed quiet, aware that, for all she was a chatterbox, she rarely volunteered personal stories.
‘He was… a disaster,’ she said. ‘Or our relationship was anyway. He was obsessed with sports. Football, rugby, golf – if it was on, he was glued to it, and he would subscribe to every channel to make sure he didn’t miss anything. It got so that itwasn’t a hobby anymore, but an obsession. His mood literally depended on whether his team won. If they didn’t…’
Sam frowned. ‘He took it out on you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Bastard.’ He reached out and covered her hand with his.
‘Not physically, but he’d yell and get so worked up about it. If I tried to cheer him up, he’d snap at me. If I didn’t, he’d sulk. It got to the point where I dreaded weekends because I knew there’d be a match, and I knew he’d find a reason to be angry.’
Sam shook his head. ‘What an arse.’
