The doorbell rings again, more insistent this time.
I follow her out of the bathroom, watching the sway of her hips in that navy dress. No, we didn’t cross the line yet. But we sure as hell blurred the shit out of it.
* * *
While the journalist scribbles her notes, I turn to Theo, who’s perched on the arm of her mustard chair. Her hair’s up in the usual high ponytail, all shine and swing. Hard not to think about pulling it backwards, while I…
It’s going smoothly. Theo’s been a revelation. Sweet, thoughtful, the perfect girlfriend. A performance so convincing it’s making me question my sanity.
‘That’s it,’ the photographer coos. ‘Now Theo, lean in a bit. Like you’re about to tell him a secret.’
Theo moves closer and her knee brushes mine. The contact lights me up from the inside, hunger licking through my system – that low, dirty pull I’ve been trying not to feed. Her eyes meet mine, and my chest goes tight in that way it does around her. As if she’s reaching into something I didn’t give her permission to touch but let her anyway. I’ve never felt something even remotely like it. And fuck me, for half a second I want to kiss her and stake my claim right there in front of the whole damn crew.
‘Perfect!’ The camera clicks rapidly, and the photographer seems happy.
‘Now Finn,’ the journalist asks, ‘tell me again what drew you to Theo initially?’
I’ve answered this question three different ways already. Each time, I’ve dug deeper, said more than I meant to. Some form of truth is seeping out between rehearsed lines.
‘Other than she’s the prettiest girl in Scotland? Her competence.’ I don’t break eye contact with Theo. ‘She walks into a room and everyone knows she’s got it handled. And she doesn’t take any of my shite.’ I pause, watching her pupils dilate slightly. ‘I love how she sees through the rugby rebel act.’
‘Mmm, that’s sweet.’ The journalist keeps writing in her old school notebook, phone recording on the table beside it. ‘And Theo, explain again what made you forgive Finn after the scandal?’
Theo’s smile softens. She finds my fingers and holds my hand. ‘He’s so much more than his persona or his mistakes,’ she says. ‘He owns them, he’s trying. That’s rare in a man.’
My chest locks up. She’s so bloody good at this. I almost believe she means it.
‘One last shot,’ the photographer announces for the third time. ‘I want you both on the sofa. Finn, sit normally. Theo, could you sit on his lap? I want you to look at him as though he’s the only man in the world.’
We rearrange ourselves. Theo settles on my thighs, angling her body towards mine. Her hand rests on my chest, right over my thundering heart. She must feel it, the way it’s trying to break through like it’s charging a try line.
‘Now look at each other,’ the photographer instructs. ‘I want to see the connection. The intimacy.’
Theo’s already watching me, blue eyes wide and unguarded. For nearly two hours, I’ve been telling strangers how much I adore this woman. How she grounds me and makes me want to be better. How there’s no one whose opinion matters more to me, no one I want to make laugh more than her.
And as I stare into her eyes, the words echo back with weight I didn’t expect. The truth burrows under my skin. I wasn’t faking a single syllable.
‘Super!’ The camera clicks again. ‘The chemistry between you two is electric.’
I disagree. It’s not electric. It’s a fucking power grid meltdown.
Theo’s gaze drops to my mouth for a fraction of a second. Her lips part slightly. The hand on my chest curls, fingers bunching my shirt. A tiny, involuntary movement.
Real. That was real.
Unless it wasn’t. Unless she’s just that good.
Too good for me in a million ways.
‘I think we’ve got it,’ the journalist announces, and closes her notebook with a satisfied snap. ‘You two are absolute gold. The redemption angle, the forgiveness, the moving in together – it’s a perfect escapism story for our readers.’
Narrative. Story. Fiction.
Theo’s hand falls away from my chest. The loss is physical, cold rushing in the second she lets go. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my body’s still reaching for her.
‘Thanks for being so generous with your time,’ the journalist adds. ‘The feature will run next week. We’ll send copies, of course.’
Theo stands, smoothly transitioning into hostess mode. ‘Can I offer you both another coffee before you go?’
