‘Hard pass. But have fun, ya prick.’ I give Scottie a whack on his back.
After they leave, I slump onto the couch, phone in hand. My thumb hovers over Theo’s name. I want to text her, but what would I even say?
Sorry I nearly kissed you for real when we’re supposed to be faking it?
The screen goes dark, and I toss it aside. This is getting far too complicated, and she’s not interested. She’s polite, professional, and probably plotting my murder in her sleep for messing with her. I keep telling myself the ache in my gut is the sugar from the Irn Bru, and that I didn’t want to follow her home and ask what the hell just happened.
Instead, I do what any emotionally stunted man does when things get too real: fuck all.
Time to get all that liquid out of my system. I squeeze past strangers in the narrow hallway, mumbling ‘sorry’ and ‘shift yer arse please’ until I reach the toilet door. It’s locked.
‘Finn Lennox. Thought you’d bolted.’
The blonde girl in the sequins. What’s her name? Tara? Tina? A T-name that isn’t Theo. She staggers toward me, glass empty but smile full. Sequins catch the dim light, winking as if she’s in on some joke I haven’t heard.
‘Just waiting for the loo,’ I say, nodding towards the door.
‘I saw your girlfriend leave.’ She inches closer.
Her perfume hits me first, some decadent stuff. I don’t care. I want to smell Theo.
‘You two beefing?’ she asks.
‘Nope.’
Her hand lands on my chest. ‘Don’t tell me you’re actually dating her.’
The wall bumps against my shoulders as I step back. ‘We are, aye.’
She laughs. ‘Doesn’t look like the type who’d let you blow off steam the way you need to.’
Her body leans into mine like she’s already made the decision for both of us. Not a single mixed signal. Only sex on a plate, ready to snack.
‘You’re way too hot to be pretending not to want this.’ Her fingers trail down my stomach, hovering at my belt.
Six months ago, I’d have her jeans around her ankles in the cupboard by now. Even last month, I might’ve flirted back.
But tonight?
All I can think about is Theo’s face when she left. The panic in her eyes. How fast she pulled away.
I can’t fuck this up.
To my surprise, my dick agrees. Couldn’t be less interested as Sequin Girl leans in.
‘Don’t,’ I say, my hand firm on her shoulder. ‘Already taken.’
‘Are you serious?’ Her eyes widen. ‘I’ve seen you handle two at once, so…’
‘Stop it.’
She takes a step back, her face is twisted between offence and confusion. ‘Your loss.’
The bathroom door opens and some bloke stumbles out. I slip past him and lock the door behind me. Silence floods the room and presses in. I turn on the tap, full blast. Let it roar, just so I don’t have to hear the thoughts racing around in my skull. I stare at myself in the mirror. Same face. Same front. Same broken bits stitched behind the eyes.
Theo walked away. And that blonde? Didn’t care, just wanted a show. Neither of them meant to gut me. But it lands like they did.
It starts in my chest. A slow, sick compression. The water keeps running, but there’s not enough sound to cover what’s clawing its way up. I grip the sink. Palms clammy, neck damp, pulse kicking like it’s trying to escape my throat. This used to happen when I was a boy. After the shouting, not during. Afterwards, when my mum didn’t speak to me, didn’t look at me. When it was over. When it was supposed to be fine.
