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MILES
“Yeah, mate, it was fucking sick,” I say, laughing in between sips of my beer. This is probably my favorite pub in the entire universe. It’s tiny, kind of concealed, and in the heart of Croydon, so you’d think it wouldn’t be any good at all. But they pull a good pint and the fish and chips could only be better if we were actually by the sea.
Plus, every couple of weeks they do a cocktail night and mix some of the best drinks I’ve ever had in my life.
“Is it true that American girls are easy?” Lance asks. He’s the third reserve goalkeeper, and kind of a dick. But he’s good to go drinking with. “I bet you saw some great tits.”
I laugh. “I sure did.”
“Go on, then. Tell us. How many birds did you shag?”
The other members of the team who we’re out with all lean in conspiratorially, waiting for my answer. I can’t tell them that I only slept with Olivia. That would do irreparable damage to my street cred. Worse, I can’t tell them that I didn’t even want to sleep with anyone other than her. They’d think I was utterly deranged.
I hesitate, looking at them each in turn as I try to figure out what to say. I really hope it looks like I’m building up the suspense instead of wavering. Then I just shrug and tap my nose and commit to the non-answer. “That would be telling,” I say.
“Come on, man,” says Geordie Joe, pouting. “You cannot leave us in suspense like that.”
I smirk and down the last of my pint. “Who wants a top-up?” I say to change the topic. At least three of the guys tip the last of their drinks down their throats and most of them put their hands up.
I take a headcount and slide over to the bar, pushing my way through a crowd of old men in flat caps and young people who look like they’re just learning how to be real people instead of teenagers in their parents’ basements. That’s why I like this place. So many pubs these days are way too full of themselves and too posh, filled with people with more money than sense. I guess you could say that about me too. But I like the vibe of this place more than anywhere with money. I like real people.
They remind me of my grandad.
There's a girl at the bar pulling pints. She can’t be more than twenty-one, and she has a gorgeous round face and blond hair that’s tied up in a high ponytail, drawing attention to her stunning green eyes. Once upon a time, I’d have flirted with her, never mind anything else. But since I’ve got back, I haven’t really felt like meeting anyone at all.
The truth is, there’s only one girl on my mind, and she’s thousands of miles away.
I put in our order, tip the girl, and return to the table to squeeze back in. Geordie Joe leans back over to me. “So if you won’t tell us how many were in your bed, will you at least tell us how many you kissed?”
I shrug again, laughing his comment off. It’s a hollow laugh, though.
I look around the table and realize with cold clarity that the act of Miles Hamilton is all they’ve ever known and all they’ve ever cared about. They’re not my friends. They don’t care about me. If I sat here and told them that I’d fallen in love and broken my heart, they would laugh me out of the room. They wouldn’t take me seriously at all, because all they want is for me to be one of the boys. A lad out for a laugh.
I feel like a rock’s been dropped inside my stomach, heavy and cold, pinning me to the spot.
“Didn't anyone ever teach you not to kiss and tell?” I say, making the rest of the table jeer, excited by our tension.
“Howay, man,” says Joe, slapping the table. “Don’t tell me the Americans made you no fun!”
“Man, you know that I could have any girl I wanted in this room right now,” I say, even though my heart’s not in it.
“Go on, then. Pick one,” says Joe, puffing up in challenge. The boys murmur their agreement around us.
“All right, then. I will.”
“That lass over there,” he says, pointing to a girl in a green dress who’s standing with some female friends, laughing, a drink in her hand. She’s blonde and gorgeous. Just my type.
“All right,” I say, rising slowly to my feet to the cheers of my teammates. “Watch and learn, boys.”
I swagger over to them, and all their faces fall into that panicked look of people who really, really do not want to get hit on right now. I smile. “I know what this looks like,” I say. “But I’ll give you a hundred quid each if you just go along with me, okay?”
“You’re Miles Hamilton, aren’t you?” says one of the girls, a brunette with a bob and shining purple lip gloss.
I nod. “Don’t worry. I’m not here for trouble.”
“Aren’t you always trouble?”
I draw on my chest with my finger. “Cross my heart. I just need one of you to walk out the pub with me, wait outside for like five minutes, and then you can do whatever you want with the rest of the day and you’ll all be a hundred quid up.”
