We drive in silence for a while. The sort that makes you notice your own heartbeat, lets your mind wander, and conjures up unwanted memories. A slamming door. A phone that never rings. A man I stopped calling ‘dad’ long before he died.
Nope. Not going there.
I roll my neck and watch Duncraig’s houses blur past.
Her phone shuffles some old pop song I don’t recognise. Girl voices with syrupy harmonies. So that’s her vibe? Interesting.
‘Who’s this?’
‘The Shangri-Las.’
‘Sounds like a girl gang with matching eyeliner.’
‘Pretty much.’ Theo lets another real smile sneak in as she drums her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song. ‘So… Your teammates seem okay.’
‘Och, they tolerate me.’
‘Because you’re such an amazing flanker?’ she quips with faux awe.
‘That’s for them and Coach to decide. But I know that I’m good, aye.’
I glance at her profile. The determined set of her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows, and the lifting tip of her nose. ‘You kissed me in front of all of them and the press, Theo. That’s gutsy.’
‘As I said, it was hardly a kiss.’ She sighs. ‘Oh, boy. This is going to be tougher than I thought.’
‘C’mon. It could be worse. You could be stuck with Scottie. He farts in his sleep.’
That startles a laugh out of her. It’s a good sound. Good against dark memories. And I want to hear more of it.
‘I got the one who only makes a tit of himself when he’s awake. A real treat.’
I grin despite myself. And I got a feisty wee girlfriend.
Chapter 5
Theo
There are worse people to fake-date I guess.
Finn takes my coat with a little bow like he’s auditioning for Downton Abbey. I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that sneaks in. I’m trying not to drop my clutch while we’re performing our perfectly-faked, lovey-dovey reunion date.
Then he shrugs off his own coat and?—
Oh.
Right.
That’s not what I expected.
I mean, I’ve seen him shirtless a lot. He’s half-naked in most of his Instagram photos, thirst-trapping it hard. But this is worse. It’s not so much his white, crisp, annoyingly well-fitted shirt. It’s the contrast. The pink hair. The tattoos creeping past his rolled-up sleeves. His tailored, navy trousers and the Air Jordans. He looks intentional. A man who draws attention with purpose.
Finn is making an effort for Operation Dummy Pass, and I’m oddly proud.
To be fair, I am, too. I’m wearing the black polka-dot wiggle dress I bought in a vintage shop in London. Sweetheart neckline, cap sleeves, cinched waist. Cute, but comfortable. Nice, but not over the top.
‘Shall we?’ He presses a hand to the base of my spine.
It’s barely a touch, nothing but soft pressure. I bite down on the reaction and lock it behind my teeth. My shoulders stay squared. As if that’ll stop the flutter in my stomach.
