With a sigh, I put the watering can down and lean my forehead against the glass. It’s cool despite the warm air outside and helps me focus. There’s no point lingering in the past. At least being away from Freddie for so long made it easier to build a barrier. Protect my stupid heart.
Okay. Right. Freddie may not care what I have to say to him, but I might as well look good when I face him. Paolo introduced me to some skincare routines and products that, unsurprisingly, have never come up in the Westfield dressing room, and I like what the stuff does to my skin. It may be forever milky white, with no chance at a tan like Paolo, but I still look better than I did before. More put together.
Knowing I have time, I treat myself in the shower, lather up, use my new gua sha, exfoliate, the whole shebang. I even put conditioner in my hair, which apparently it needs, now that it’s grown out a little. When I eventually get out, I’m almost at peace. Almost in a place where I can be calm and fearless. I put on lotion while my skin is still a little wet, just like Paolo taught me, and then I wander into my room naked, towelling off my hair.
I love having an ensuite bathroom, love not having to share with Clara and trying to work around her hair-curling marathons, love not having to put clothes on just to be decent.
A quiet gasp tears me out of my thoughts, a tiny sound, half bitten-off, but still loud in the otherwise silent room.
I lower the towel and there he is, on my bed, tanned and freckled and boyishly handsome. Freddie bloody Bloom, staring at me like he’s never seen me before.
Oglingme.
I’m going to kill Clara. Why on earth would she send him into my room instead of the living room? I take back every positive thing I ever thought about her meddling. This is taking it a step too far.
Freddie’s eyes are a little red, as if he’s recently cried, or maybe had an allergic reaction, and they still haven’t made their way to my face. His gaze rakes over my body, lingers on my chest, and I clear my throat pointedly.
I stay where I am, though, and I drop the towel. He’s seen me naked hundreds of times. No need for pretend coyness now. Besides, if it throws him off to see me like this, it might work in my favour. Give me a chance to even the playing field.
Finally, he looks up at me, lust in his brown eyes, but it’s the sadness underneath that catches my attention. Softens me involuntarily. “Hey.” His voice is smaller than I’m used to but I won’t let it get to me.
“Hey.” I make sure to keep my shoulders back, my spine straight, then I cross my arms. “What are you doing here?”
Panic flits across his face and he blinks twice. “Did Clara not tell you?—”
“That you would be stalking me in my room without my knowledge? No, she didn't.” My tone is cool and he flinches. I almost feel sorry for him, but this is what I need to do to protect myself.
“Shit.” Freddie squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to—I also didn’t want to stare, I know I have no right to—you’re just—” He gestures vaguely but doesn’t look at me. “So damn beautiful. Hard not to look.”
The compliment makes my insides tingle but I shut it down immediately. I can’t let this get to me. I need to put an end to this, no matter how difficult he makes it for me. “So I’ve been told.”
That makes me sound equal parts arrogant and pissed-off, but only one of them is put on. The vehemence of my fury surprises both of us, I think, sitting deep in my stomach like burning coal.
Freddie clearly has no idea how to respond and silence settles between us. “I’m back,” he says eventually, a complete non sequitur. “From Sweden, I mean.”
“Yes.”I can see that, I want to add, but it feels a bit cruel. And despite everything, I don’t want to be cruel. I just want to be done so I can move on. Maybe I should make this easier for him. But I…can’t. So I wait.
“I was hoping to talk to you.” There’s none of Freddie’s usual bravado in his tone and I almost feel sorry for him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
You were avoiding me first, is at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. Being childish won’t do either of us any good. So I shrug, more nonchalant than I feel. “Been busy.”
“Yeah.” Freddie clasps his hands in his lap and looks down at them. “Clara told me. Congrats.”
Oh, God. Talk about irony. I didn’t tell Clara about Paolo breaking up with me, if you can even call it that, because I didn’t want to deal with her response, and now she’s passed on incorrect information to Freddie. Which means he thinks I’m in a happy, committed relationship.
If only. It would make everything so much easier. Maybe I should just let him believe it’s true, as an easy way out of this mess.
We could have been so happy. The two of us, we could have been so good together. The memories of our first night will live with me for the rest of my days, that first time I ever felt cherished and admired and like somebody worth wanting. I would have given almost anything to keep it.
Except football, of course. Except my career—our careers.
And now we’ve both lost this potential specialness.
Freddie stays silent for another beat and I walk over to my closet so I can put on some clothes. It gives me an excuse to not have to look at him for a bit, and it also removes the weirdness of my full nudity. Freddie is so obviously unhappy, I think as I put on boxer briefs and reach for a plain grey T-shirt. It does something to me I don’t want.
We need to be just mates and that’s hard to do when I can’t even look at him without wanting to pull him into my arms.
After I’ve put on some running shorts, I figure I can’t avoid the confrontation any longer. There’s no point dragging this out unnecessarily. A deep breath, and I turn back to him. “So, was there anything in partic—” I start.
