But so was hope.
Sam & Diane
October
CHAPTER7
Ryan
“I’m probably not goingto be back tonight.”
I had no idea why Rowan was telling me this. He was a grown man, and I definitely wasn’t his keeper. My theory was that he had something he wanted to talk about and wasn’t sure how.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to ask.
Rowan Reeves was a good bloke. His reputation had been tarnished in the press recently, but the press was often wrong. He trained hard, had his head in the right place, and had grown out of that phase most footballers went through when they thought they were a god.
I’d missed that phase. I hadn’t stomped through night clubs and trendy bars expecting women to fall at my feet just because I’d signed a piece of paper and wore a pair of football boots a couple of times a week, mainly because I’d preferred to come home and work on whatever project we were collaborating on. Sex was great, but I’d discovered that older women who were focused on their work lives made for great no-strings regular hook-ups, and I had no aversion to being someone’s boy toy.
Rowan was now trying to be Dee Jones’ Man-Toy. It was a source of entertainment, as she couldn’t stand him to start with. We’d shared a pre-season training event with the women’s squad, which Dee was on, and at one point she and Rowan had been lost while orienteering, presumed dead in a murder-murder event. They’d both survived, and now Rowan was spending most of his time either at hers or pining after her.
“Do I need to know where you’ll be in case of emergencies, or should I just assume you’re with Dee?” I peered up from my laptop.
Rowan was wearing his standard sweatpants and hoodie, designer stubble covering his jaw.
He shrugged, which meant he’d be at Dee’s. Or out with Dee. Or trying to impress Dee by kicking a ball around with her nephew.
It would be something to do with Dee, and I had Dee’s number, so if there was an emergency, which was unlikely, I’d be able to get hold of him, should his phone be broken or dead – or he was still waiting for his new phone and sim card to start working.
“Assume I’m with Dee. Do you think she’s interested?” He scratched his head. “I mean, it doesn’t matter if she’s not…”
I raised a brow. It really did matter if she wasn’t. “She hasn’t tried to get a restraining order against you yet, has she?”
He shook his head, more at me rather than the idea of the restraining order. “No. But I just… forget it.” His Geordie accent got thicker, which meant he was feeling emotional. I’d sussed out my housemate’s key tells.
“I think she likes you, Ro.” I put my laptop down. “When she was here the other day, she seemed like she was interested.” I wasn’t bullshitting him; she had seemed interested in him. Her eyes had followed him around the room like he was tastier than chocolate or ethically sourced sushi, or whatever she was into.
“You think so, man? I kind of want her to be, you know?” He tried to tidy-up his hair which he’d ruffled completely out of style. “What’s happening with your woman?”
“My woman?”
Rowan nodded. “Yeah. The one you hook-up with.”
I shook my head. “She’s nothing serious. I don’t have time.”
He gave a shrug. “Whatever, man. I’ll see you tomorrow. Nate said he was coming round tonight. Tell him I’ll catch up with hm tomorrow. He doing okay?”
Nate Morris was doing okay, considering everything that had happened in the last year of his life.
“He’s doing fine. Funeral was yesterday. The girls are with his parents for a few days now.”
“He’s had it fucking shit. Can’t believe he’s managed to play so well.” Rowan had moved to the massive mirror on the wall facing the window to sort his hair out. “Maybe I shouldn’t see Dee tonight and we should all hang out here.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” He folded arms and gave me the same look he gave defenders who were being a bit too full-on trying to block his runs to goal.
“Because if you don’t go and see Dee, you’re going to spend the whole evening talking about Dee, or checking your phone to see if she’s messaged you, which is going to piss me and Nate off. Meet us at Kitty’s for breakfast.” Kitty’s was a café a few blocks away, owned by none other than Kitty herself, a tiny whippet of a girl who somehow knew the team’s head nutritionist and managed to create menus that we didn’t have to feel guilt over.
