Abs holds his hands out like he can’t fathom how selfish we were being when we kept him from our fun. “Why the fuck would you leave me out?”
“You want to be involved?” I ask Abs, but I’m looking at Pi. It’s not that I don’t find Harry attractive, it’s just that . . . No, actually it is that. I’m not attracted to Harry. In the slightest. I have no interest in this arrangement. At least not while I’m this sober.
“Of course I want to be,” Abs says.
“Help,” I mouth to Pi.
“What about Orlando?” Pi pleads.
“Huh?” Abs literally scratches his head. “Well, I guess we could video call him, but it’s probably best kept between teammates, no?”
Pi looks at me and forms the silent words, “What the fuck?” I hear his Australian accent in my mind.
“You two are gossiping about someone on the team, aren’t you? I don’t want to be left out. I always fucking get left out.” Abs places his hands on his hips.
“Gossiping?” I say.
As Pi shouts, “Yes! Gossiping. Of course we were gossiping. What else would we be doing?” The nervous laugh he finishes on should be Abs’s final clue, but he hasn’t seemed to notice.
“Who is it, then? Who’re you talking about?” he demands. “Oh, fuck, were you bitching about me?”
“No, no. Uh . . . Gadget, actually,” I say and immediately regret my choice because now we’ll never get him to leave.
“Greaaat,” he says, drawing out the word. His eyes grow wide with excitement, and he stretches out his fingers in front of him like he’s limbering up. “What’s Mr Perfect done this time?”
Pi pushes his best friend by the shoulders towards the entrance whilst clicking his tongue. “We’ll tell you, but I still need to shower. Meet you downstairs in ten minutes, okay?”
“I’ll save you a seat.”
“And one for Eggs.”
Harry flashes both of his middle fingers before leaving, and Pi shuts the door. He turns to me, his eyes travelling down the length of my body. I step forward, collapse the menu, and toss it onto the bed. I’m soft again.
“Do you . . .” Damn, how do I say this without sounding pathetic? “Wanna continue where we left off?”
He takes longer to answer than I can almost bear. “Yes. I do.” I try to keep my expression neutral. “But maybe we should wait until after dinner. I want to shower, and . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
Abs is unsuccessful at bagsying us seats with the rest of the team. They all sit at a long table beside the window and most are already tucking into their starters. Pi and I are ushered to a separate two-seater table next to a roaring open fireplace. Someof the lads see us being placed together like a couple on a date and wolf whistle.
“Can I get you some drinks, fellas?” a waitress asks us. Her name tag reads Marie.
“Two Diet Cokes, please. A surf and turf with a side of mac ’n’ cheese . . .” I glance over at Pi. “And a ten-ounce sirloin, well done, with mash, not chips,” I say.
Marie seems impressed. What she doesn’t realise is that we always stay in this particular chain of hotels and the menu rarely changes, and while I’ll happily give anything a go, my Australian friend here will opt for the same thing each time.
“And what’re you having, Pi?” I add.
Marie laughs and collects the menus that we haven’t even bothered looking at.
“Am I that predictable?” Pi says as soon as Marie’s left.
I pretend to think about my answer. “Yeah.”
“Damn.” He scratches his moustache. “When did you decide you wanted surf and turf?”
“I guess I didn’t know what I wanted until the words were on the tip of my tongue.”
“I’m forever in awe of how . . .” Pi looks over to the cracking fire. “Off-the-cuff? Impulsive?” He shrugs. “How little you think about things before you do them. I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that I’ll internally debate myself over the tiniest decisions, sometimes for years, before I make a choice. You’ll rock up somewhere and you’re like, ‘Yeah, I’m feeling like eating a cowanda lobster.’ I respect that. I wish I had that kind of spontaneity. I have to read the menu in advance and agonise over every single option, and even then I panic.”
