‘Average.’
‘Should you not have rested then instead of doubling down?’
Seb frowned at the phone screen. ‘You’ve met me, right?’
‘Technically, no. I haven’t. But I know what you mean. You’re stubborn. Sometimes too much so.’
‘I prefer the word driven.’
‘You would. But just changing the word doesn’t change the fact you don’t look after yourself as well as you should do sometimes.’
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘Ughhh. Why do I bother?’ I said, letting my head loll back on the sofa.
‘I do appreciate it.’ His voice was softer now and I pulled my head back up to look at the screen. ‘Honestly. I really do.’
I pulled a face and nodded.
‘So, I’ve been thinking,’ Seb started.
‘Oh dear. Is that wise?’
‘Smartarse. Shoosh.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Please,’ he asked, breaking out a smile that would probably get a lot of women to do a lot of things.
‘Hmm.’ I said, non-commitally, pretending it had had no effect on me whatsoever. Even though it really, really did.
‘What you said a moment ago. About technically not having met?’
‘Yes?’
‘How would you feel about changing that?’
How did I feel about that?
‘OK…’
‘We’ve been friends for ages, we speak most days and… I just think it’d be really nice to meet up and spend some time together in person. But I don’t know how you feel about it. Whether you’d prefer to just—’
‘I’d love to,’ I blurted. OK, so I guess that’s how I felt about it. Good to know.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Definitely.’
‘I mean, it’s not like a date or anything. I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to—’
‘No, I know,’ I replied, trying not to feel too disappointed that he’d been in such a hurry to point that out. The rational part of me knew that was just how Seb was. Upfront, honest. But the non-rational part of me, the part that had the crush on him, was now doing her best not to hurl herself into a corner and wail.
‘Oh Good. Right. I just… I didn’t want to scare you off before I’d even finished telling you the idea.’
Scare me off? You’ve seen yourself, right?
‘Ha! No. Nope. Not at all,’ I said, trying not to sound weird and, even to my own ears, failing miserably. ‘So, what is the idea?’
