“Hmm . . .” She scrunches up her face as she dislodges some food trapped between her teeth. “Always use protection, you know, just in case.”
“Of course. I’m never without my little Swiss army knife.”
She holds out her hand for me to shake.
I have to rub peri peri sauce off my fingers first, but I grab it and pump it twice. “Deal.”
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Eggington.”
“Likewise, Ms Irving.”
“Love you,” she says.
“Love you too,” I reply.
Megan smiles, takes a bite of her wrap, and glances up at the overhead lights. I’m not as bold as she is. I’ll save my daydreaming until later tonight, when I’m fully alone.
“Honesty, yeah? No secrets?” she says after swallowing her mouthful.
I don’t answer. Instead, I pretend I’m still chewing, but she sees right through it.
“He’s not just some guy, is he?”
I can’t reply with words, so I simply shake my head.
“Teammate?”
It takes me a few seconds before I nod once.
“Am I gonna have to cycle through every Cent before you confirm who it is, or are you going to tell me?”
Why do I feel like I can’t speak his name?
“Oh, wait,” she says, placing her palm on my sleeve. “I think I know.”
My stomach flips. Double-chicken wrap and hot dog surge up my throat. I might throw up if she says his name out loud, and I have no idea why.
“Is it a certain moustachioed boy who runs around saying ‘ripper’ and ‘bogan’ all the time?”
Okay. I breathe a sigh. I can talk about him if we just don’t mention his name. “You cannot tell anyone. Not even George, okay?”
Megan punches me on the arm, hard. “No fucking shit, Sherlock.”
“Then, yeah, it’s him.” And suddenly the nauseated feeling is replaced by butterflies.
Um . . . whoops.
“He’s cute.” She nods. “I see why you picked him.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Well, he’s a wing, isn’t he? He’s like the prettiest guy in the Cents.” She thinks about what she’s said as though in her language a mullet and ’tash combo translates to pretty. “Apart from Mathias Jones, of course. But he’swaaayout of your league.”
“Fuck you,” I say, but she’s right. Pi’s also out of my league, in every sense of the word. Not only is he better looking than me, he’s a better player. Smarter and faster too. We fill different positions—I’m a forward and he’s a back—so I can always admire him from afar. Also, even though I’m taller than him by a good four inches, his dick’s bigger than mine. Go figure.
Megan smiles and balls up the paper from her wrap. She wipes her mouth on a napkin. “Just try not to fall in love with him.”
I roll my eyes. Of course that’s never going to happen. I’m twenty-four years old and I’m still yet to understand the true meaning of falling in love. Maybe I’ll never know it. Maybe thewhole falling in love thing doesn’t actually exist. It’s a myth, or I have a heart of stone.
