“I’m not answering that.” I spear her with a reprimanding look.
“That good, huh?” She chuckles. “At least tell me how big it was.” She grabs hold of the near empty wine bottle, holding it up. “Tell me when to stop.” As she runs her hand along the glass horizontally, her eyes get wider the longer I remain silent. “Seriously? Jesus, girl, how are you still walking?”
“Aanya,” I lob a dish towel at her.
She ducks out of the way, adopting a pout. “Fine. Don’t let a girl live vicariously.”
“From what I’ve seen, you don’t seem to have issues inthat department,” I point out, reminding her that I live across the hall and have seen the men and women coming and going from her flat.
“Yeah, but they aren’t rugby players. From what I’ve seen, he’s got quite the reputation.” I’ve seen those same articles, but I’m having a hard time reconciling the man I met in the pub—the man who looked so vulnerable sitting on the grass of an empty pitch—with who the tabloids say he is. “Are you still seeing him?”
I shake my head but can’t meet her eyes. “It was a one off. I didn’t recognize him from his roster photo because he had long hair and a beard. It won’t be happening again.” I plate up our dinner, careful to keep the presentation pristine and snapping some shots to post to my stories before handing her the Tuscan shrimp pasta I threw together.
“That feels like a crime. You said you had a connection that night at the pub, that even while you were talking the chemistry was electric. Can you really just let that go?”
“It’s non-negotiable. I’m his boss, and it’s inappropriate.” I take a bite of my pasta, nearly groaning as the flavor bursts across my tongue.
“Doesn’t that just make it hotter?”
I point my fork at her threateningly. “I’m going to kick you out and change the locks if you don’t stop pointing out the obvious flaws in my logic.”
“Fine. I’ll drop itfor now.” She holds up a noodle-wrapped fork in surrender.
I guess it’s all I can really ask for. I haven’t known Aanya long, but in the short amount of time I’ve come to know her, I’ve realized she’s someone who’s fiercely loyal and who will bend over backward to make sure the people she cares for are taken care of. If she’s pushing me in one direction—even if that direction is one I can’t go—it’s only because she cares about me. And after a lifetime of not really knowing the feeling of friendship with another woman that wasn’t rooted in some fucked up sort of competition, it feels nice.
The nights she burst into my apartment using the keyshe had made for‘emergencies’are what I always dreamt of when I would long for the feeling of girlhood. Aanya is the closest I’ve ever come to having a best friend, and even still, there’s a lingering fear that her friendship came too easy, that there couldn’t possibly be no strings attached, and any day now, the red bottom is bound to drop.
The fear is hard to shake, but I didn’t want these nights to ever end. It’s the only socialization I get, after all, stolen moments with a neighbor during the thirty minutes I take to eat. It’s this and visiting Dad… At twenty-seven, that fact rings a little sad.
Aanya is scarfing down the last of her pasta when she jumps up. “Alright, get dressed. We’re going out!”
“I can’t. I still have so much work to do,” I say with regret.
“Too bad. It’s Friday, you need to have a fun night out, and I’m playing a gig. Maybe you’ll meet a footballer this time, shag him in the loo too, make it a ritual.”
I choke on a laugh. “I’m sorry. I really have a million things to do.”
She settles her hands on her hips. “Alright, I’m doing it. I’m pulling the ‘I saved your arse and you owe me’card. Now, go get changed; something sexy, because I’m not taking no for an answer, and I really want you there.”
The genuine pleading look in her rich brown eyes does me in. “Fine. But only if you dedicate a song to me.”
The smile that brightens her face warms me more than the full bottle of wine we demolished, and I think to myself that seeing her happy, this person who forced me under her wing, was worth the late night of work I’ll have to do once I’m back home.
“Don’t look,but the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen just walked in,” Myles says with hearts popping out of his eyes. “Actually, maybe hide under the table or something. I don’t want her to notice you instead of me.” He starts pressing on my shoulders, trying to shove me under the high top we’re sitting at.
“You’re an idiot,” I laugh.
“I’m just making sure the odds are in my favor here. Your supernatural blue eyes tend to steal focus. I don’t need my future wife seeing you before me.”
It’s a ridiculous sentiment, because Myles, like many professional athletes, is a walking Men’s Health magazine—tall and built like the rugby player, lightly golden skin, with dark blonde hair and moss green eyes that make women trip over themselves.
Plus, he’s worried for nothing, because my mind is still stuck on the woman I met the last time I was in this pub, still stuck on baby blue toenails, honey eyes and her razor sharp mouth.
“Don’t worry, mate. I have no intention of dating at the moment.” Not unless a certain brunette decides to admit to a particular tryst in this very pub. Otherwise, I’m good.
“I thought you were over Olivia?” He sips on his pint,but his eyes don’t stray from the woman who walked in for long.
“Oh, trust me, I am.”
