“Not that icky protein porridge.”
“I know, I know. I’ll make it good.”
Laughing, I backed away from his door and fled the flat as fast as my limping would allow without making me look drunk. It was cold outside. I pulled my hood up to hide from the wind, but my brief encounter with Sam had warmed me from the inside out, so I didn’t mind the bitter chill. I shuffled all the way to the gym with him filling my thoughts and almost forgot my own apprehension for the place until it appeared in front of me.
A year ago, exercise had been something I did without thinking. Like breathing. Up in Manchester, I’d rolled out of bed every day like the good little robot, went to training, played matches, and generally lived like an arsehole with no repercussions. It was like that for years. Then I’d switched clubs. Moved to London with zero clue of how different it would be from up north. How many eyes would be on me, and just how fast I’d unravel under the scrutiny.
Andfuck,did I unravel.
But I didn’t have the spoons to think about that today. If I wanted to be mobile for the next twenty-four hours, I had a workout to do before the world woke up and joined me.
* * *
“So, you don’t come to the gym, and somehow I still have to go to a Valentine’s party at the pub? Fuck off, mate.”
Sam grinned from his bed, sugar from the lemon-raspberry doughnut I’d brought him for breakfast all over his lovely face. I tracked his tongue as it darted out to lick his lips. Caught myself and tried to focus on his counterargument.
“...you don’thaveto go anywhere,” he said. “But there’s going to be loads of single people there, men and women, so what harm could it do?”
“Single people? What the fuck has that got to do with anything?”
Sam shrugged, averted his gaze, and brushed crumbs from his bed. “Nothing, really. But don’t you think you should get out a bit more? Meet new people?”
“Newsinglepeople?”
“Or not. Whatever. Look, it’s not a big deal. You’d probably have been there anyway.”
“Says who?”
“Says custom and practice. You always come to the pub on Saturday nights.”
Irritation, raw and irrational, ripped through me. Ididgo to the pub every Saturday, but not because I wanted to hang out with a bunch of drunk douches, and certainly not because I wanted to hook up with any of those clowns. How could he not know that? “Well, I’m not comingthisSaturday. I’ve got plans.”
“What plans?”
“Plans with Freddie.”
A flash of something I couldn’t decipher darkened Sam’s features. “You’re going out with Freddie?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where?”
“Dunno. Some club.”
Sam opened his mouth. Shut it again. And it took every bit of remaining dickhead I had not to retract every fucking word. Every lie. But what did it matter? He only wanted me to come to the stupid Valentine’s party so I could make new friends and stop emotionally leeching off him.
“Anyway.” I pushed off his doorframe for the second time that day. “I’ve got to get back to the gym for a client. I only came to give you your doughnut.”
Sam wiped his face, expression a blank study. “Thanks. Have a good day.”
As if. After that conversation, I was going to have the worst day ever.
Sam
“Why did you invite him to a singles night if you want to get in his pants yourself?”
I groaned, already regretting that I’d chosen Céleste to confess my woes to. “It’s not even a singles night. I just mentioned that there’d be lots of singles here.”
