“What does that mean?”
“That if you could read my mind, you’d have known an hour ago that I’m craving a bowl of pasta from Rosa’s.”
“I don’t need to read your mind to know that. You bring it home twice a week.”
“You want to go home?”
It wasn’t remotely close to what I wanted. I was as hungry as him, and for once, grabbing takeout and returning to the same four walls, even with him, held little appeal. “I don’t want to go home.” I reluctantly disentangled myself from him and stood. “I want lunch. Let’s go.”
I held out my hand. He took it as if I’d grown mutant paws, but I ignored his surprise. I didn’t need reminding that we rarely went anywhere together, let alone out for lunch, and the closest we’d come was when I‘d brought Freddie into the Fox and Sam had waited on us.
Freddie.
I sighed and tugged Sam’s hand. “Come on.”
We walked to the all-day Italian bistro that was halfway back to the flat. It was busy with wanker bankers, but we found a table by the kitchen, which suited me just fine. I had no desire to sit near some handjob with an iPad and a bad suit.
Sam passed me a menu and sniggered. “You have such a mean mug.”
I couldn’t deny it. “People annoy me.”
“No, they don’t. Your reactions to them annoyyou.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Does to me.”
“Huh. Maybe it’s you that’s annoying.”
“If you say so.”
I didn’t. Sam had never annoyed me in his life. It was always,alwaysme that irritated—
Fuck.
I threw him a scowl and took the menu. “Stop talking.”
He shrugged and dove into his menu for no reason whatsoever as we both knew he’d have thepenne al salmonelike he always did, while I picked my way through the list, trying everything twice.
Oh, the fucking irony.
Still haunted by my encounter with his mum’s deep-fat fryer, I chose the broccoli fettuccini with garlic and chilli. My soul cried out for garlic bread and carbonara, but I hadn’t hit the gym in days, and sluggish carb comas depressed me.
Depressed me more.
Whatever.
We ordered the food and sat close together, heads bowed as we leaned in like we did at home. Sam smiled. “This is nice. Feels almost normal.”
“Normal?”
“Yeah. Like other people. Not that I don’t love holing up at home with you.”
“Would you go out more if you didn’t have me to look after?”
“I don’t look after you.” Guilt flashed in his gaze. “I’ve been a proper stroppy fucker for weeks.”
I snorted. “One, you sound so fucking Yorkshire right now I can’t even. Two, just being there is looking after me. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life alone when I left my club. It was like I’d forgotten how to make friends... if I’d ever really known.”
