CHAPTER 1
Marlon
DECEMBER
I openmy apartment door to an angry face. “What the fuck are you doing here, you absolute wanker?” Clara may be a foot shorter than me, but she’s terrifying as all hell.
I’m usually quieter and less confrontational than my older sister—hard not to be—but she’s getting on my nerves. “Evening,” I say, jaw tight, trying to stay calm. “Didn’t know you were the curfew police.” I toe off my boots and try to shove past her into the living room, but she blocks the way. Seriously?
“Reverse curfew, maybe.” She snorts. “IwishI could force you to stay out longer. Did you even try to go for drinks?”
Moving in together seemed like a great idea when we first talked about it. Convenient. Nice, even. Ha bloody ha, the joke’s very much on me. I had no idea her meddling would be worse than mum’s. “In case it’s escaped your notice, I have a job that I need to be in shape for.” And if my luck runs out, being in shape still won’t be good enough. Not only do I get to play for Westfield FC, arguably the best football club in the country, I also get to do it right out of the youth team. In the starting line-up. I’m very aware that stories like mine don’t usually exist and I have been very lucky, so I’ll be damned if I screw it up by being irresponsible.
Clara pokes me in the chest with one of her perfectly done nails. “You always say that. But even budding little footballers need a bit of fun sometimes. All your teammates do! You can go to bed early when you’re, you know, fifty. Not twenty-one.”
I push past her into the living room and drop onto the sofa. An ungodly amount of junk food is piled on the table, trash TV paused on the telly. She follows me, of course, and I sigh and look up at her. “Look. Clearly, our ideas of fun are very different.” I gesture at the food, pointedly, and she huffs. “I know people love dates. But I don’t. I don’t want to sleep around, and I don’t want to go on these forced dates. I’d rather make sure I win a title or two.”
“Forced!” Frustration oozes out of every one of Clara’s pores. “You are the most ungrateful little—” She takes a deep breath. “I set you up with amazing women. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. Tens, every single one of them. You should thank me on your knees to be blessed like that.”
She’s not wrong. The women she’s found for me to go on dates with were objectively, undeniably lovely. But they weren’t for me. I don't consider dating fun. Small talk is exhausting at the best of times, and then the pressure to flirt on top of it? No thank you. I’m not interested in any of it right now. That includes the kissing.
“You won’t find hookups on your stupid training ground,” she says when my silence apparently stretches for too long. “How do you ever expect to have sex, with this kind of attitude?”
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh god. Please. Stop.”
And, miraculously, she does. She sits down much too close to me, invading my personal space, and runs her hand through my hair. “Mar,” she says, unusually soft. “Hey.”
“Don’t.” That’s the worst part; she might sound mean, but she’s actually quite lovely. She doesn’t show her love the way other sisters might do, but she means well. When she’s abrasiveand overpowering, it’s easy to dislike her. When she shows me she’s willing to stop, when she gives me an out, it all gets much harder.
But of course she doesn’t stop pushing. “Do you regret telling me about that?”
About me being a virgin? “Yes. So Much.” This is why I rarely get drunk—I get too honest and things spill out that should have stayed inside. I grab the remote from under an empty hamburger wrapper and switch to a sports channel, fully aware it will piss her off.
She snatches the remote back and turns the telly off, so I’m left to stare at my blurry reflection on the dark screen. I put a nice shirt on for this date, and she didn’t ask me a single personal question. How, exactly, is this supposed to be fun?
Clara nudges me with her shoulder. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
I let my head fall back against the headrest with a groan. “Absolutely not.” If I’d known how terrible the evening would become once I got home, maybe I would have stayed out longer with Annie.
Clara, of course, ignores me. “I’m almost out of ideas, Mar.”
“You could stop,” I suggest weakly, but my protest falls on deaf ears. She’s a steam train.
A lock of ash-blonde hair falls into her face as she leans forward and puts a hand on my forearm. “I want you to be happy, you know. You only ever sleep and play football; that can’t be healthy.”
“Yes,” I say drily. “Sleep and exercise are well known for being detrimental to your health.” She gives me a disdainful look, which I ignore. “I don’t like the forced connections. I don’t enjoy meeting strangers. I’m not good at it. I’ve never had a spark with any of them, and while I’m sure other men would be over the moon with your setup, I’m…not.”
She’s silent for a beat, so I plough on. “Please. No more blind dates. You’d do me such a favour. I don’t care about these women, okay? All I want is to focus on my career.”
“So…” She looks at me expectantly. Does she need me to spell it out for her? I’ll do it. If that means it’s finally over.
“No more dates with women.” I try to inject some authority into my voice but I’m sure I fail.
Clara nods slowly. “Because you want to be celibate.” She pulls one knee up and rests her chin on it, a playful spark in her eyes.
I have to fight back a grin. “Because I'm exhausted,” I correct. “And I don’t need that right now. I don’t need a woman in my bed.” I shudder again at the mental image, though I probably shouldn't. The women Clara has put in front of me were all beautiful, each in her own way. But the thought of doing…well, anything…with them, it feels wrong. Probably because I have so many other things on my mind.
Clara’s silent, then she sighs and leans her head against my shoulder. “So…no more women.” Her hand sneaks over and grabs mine, squeezing lightly.
