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She sighs, shaking her head ever so slightly like I’ve disappointed her. “I came over with pizza. We got drunk and played video games, remember?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples as a vague memory of getting wrecked — both with drink and at games — starts coming back to me like drips through a leaking roof. “Can I just sleep a bit longer? “I say. “We don't have training today.”
“No, you don’t,” she says, folding her arms and leaning against my doorframe to stare me down. “But you do have a performance-review meeting.” She glances down at her watch. “Twenty-seven minutes ago, actually.”
I let my mouth fall into a silent oh but don’t dare say anything else. We were having such a nice time last night, I think. I don’t want to spoil the mood by making her even angrier with me than she already is.
“How come you don’t have a hangover?” I ask, pointing at her suspiciously.
“I'm not a lightweight,” she says.
“I’m not a lightweight,” I echo indignantly. It’s a lie. I have been known to get slightly too drunk from an embarrassingly small number of drinks in the past. But we can’t have drunk that much last night, can we?
“Look,” she says, snapping back into business mode, “I'll call in. You have a shower. If you get up now, we can be there in thirty minutes.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say as she turns to head back into the living room. “Why are you here? I didn't give you a key.”
She looks back at me over her shoulder with an impenetrable expression, her eyebrows drawn tight and her lips pressed tightly together. “It was three a.m. by the time you stumbled into bed, and I was a bottle and a half of tequila down. I didn’t think driving home would have been my best idea.”
“You could have got a cab,” I say, rubbing my head once more like that might make the headache stop before peeling back the covers. I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes, and I get a whiff of myself as I sit up. She’s right. I definitely need a shower. “What time even is it?”
“It’s ten forty,” she says. “Which is why I didn't feel like it was worth going home. I'd only have to come back here again two hours later. And anyway, you’re not the only one who’s a sleepy drunk.”
“Okay, whatever.” I yawn loudly, dragging myself out of bed and peeling my shirt off.
“Whoa,” she says, holding up her hands as if to cover her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Getting in the shower,” I say, frowning in confusion. “You're telling me you’ve never seen a handsome guy’s chest before?”
“I have,” she snaps, still looking away, “but I wasn’t exactly expecting to see yours.”
“You could see a whole lot more if you came to bed,” I wink.
Her expression hardens and as her gaze flicks down to one of my shoes that’s lying next to the door, I feel an unwelcome shiver of dread that it might be about to get launched at my head. But it doesn't. She just stands still, staring at me as she tries to formulate the words she wants to say next. “Just get up and shower, okay? You stink.”
It’s only when she brings her own fingers to her temples to rub them that I realize she isn’t getting out of this quite as easily as she’s pretending to.
She closes the door hard as she leaves, barely giving me another look. I quickly strip off the rest of my clothes, tossing them onto the floor before slipping into the shower. As the hot water envelops me, I can't help but think about Olivia sitting in the other room waiting for me.
Perhaps my comment about her coming to bed was taking it a little too far. After all, she’s shown little to no interest in me beyond what's written in her contract. She might have turned up as my hot date last night, but absolutely nothing about our relationship could be described even remotely as romantic.
That realization comes to me with an uncomfortable twist in my stomach. Would I want it to be? I'm not really a romantic. God knows I've slept with enough girls to last me a lifetime, but that’s just a bit of fun. For the first time in my life, I find myself contemplating a real relationship. I just don't understand why these stupid thoughts have to be about a girl who doesn't care about me in the slightest.
I don’t even care about her that much either. There must be something in the air round here that’s making me crazy. It must be the effect that moving halfway round the world has on you. I don’t want a relationship. I’ve never wanted a relationship. And I definitely don’t want one with Olivia. I must just be horny and lonely. That makes sense.
It makes more sense than actually having feelings, anyway.
Taking a deep breath of steam, I shut my eyes and turn the shower off. The room is misty and hot as I step out, and I shake my hair dry, trying to push all my thoughts away. I don't feel like thinking about this anymore. I’ve done all the thinking I want to do today.
I pull on the cleanest kit I can find, and when I join Olivia in the living room, she’s completely ready to go. Somehow, she’s making wearing yesterday’s clothes look good. In fact, if she hadn’t told me she’d spent the night on my couch, I don’t think I’d even know.
“Come on,” she says, clapping her hands to rush me. “We’re late.”
“You said it.” I shove my feet into my shoes and grab my bag, hoping that everything I need is still in there. I didn’t take anything out, so I should be good. She watches me like an eagle as I do, but as she heads to the door, I say, “Wait, hang on.”
She raises a tired eyebrow as I dash to the kitchen to down a couple of ibuprofen. I have a feeling I’m going to need it. “Okay, let’s go.”
She drives too fast to the club, trying to make up some of the time we’ve lost. She’s concentrating hard on the road, so I take my chance to watch her for the whole ride. She has a determined frown on her face, and it makes me second-guess my thoughts from earlier.
