“Me neither,” he says. “Like, I have, but they’ve always been girls, and also not one of my best friends, and I don’t really know what to say afterwards. I just sort of awkwardly leave, and then I never see them again.”
I nod in agreement. My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Taxi’s two minutes away.”
“I’m glad we did this, though.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m glad it was you.”
Fuck it. I can’t let him walk away like this. I’d never dream of doing what I’m about to do to anyone else, but it could be my only opportunity.
I shove him against the wall, wrap my hand around his nape, and bring my lips to his. Before they meet, Pi’s eyes grow wide in surprise, and he huffs out the cutest little laugh.
My phone vibrates in my pocket again. I ignore it. We continue kissing. The desperate efforts of a last kiss. It rings.
I pull away from him. “Fuck.”
It’s the Uber driver.
Pi puffs out an enormous sigh and opens the front door. “See you Monday, cunt.”
I thumb his bottom lip. “Later, princess.”
Chapter 23
Finn
Sunday 8th March 2026
It’s been three weeks since Pi and I fucked, and not a millisecond has gone by where I haven’t thought about him.
Neither of us has mentioned it, and around each other we’ve been as normal as normal can be. We haven’t let it affect practiceor matches, or even how we interact in the locker room. The only thing that has changed is the number of sneaky glances I throw him in the showers. But I see him looking at me too, so we’re even Stevens there.
Whenever we make small talk now, we chat about our girlfriends, or the match we’re about to play or the one we’ve just finished, or the Six Nations, or, in true British fashion, the weather. Things seem to be going well with Pi and Georgia. Not that I can say the same about Megan and me, but that’s nothing new.
The sun’s dazzling through my windscreen, birds are chirping, tree blossoms are . . . blossoming, and if I listen carefully, I can hear the distant sound of lawn mowers. Spring is decidedly in the air.
It’s our first home game since Valentine’s Day andthatfateful evening with Pi, and I’ve arrived at the stadium forty-five minutes early.
He won’t be there. Of course he won’t be there. He has a girlfriend now, and they’re still in the honeymoon stage of their relationship.
He won’t be there, and I shouldn’t feel disappointed when he isn’t. He simply has more willpower than I do. Or his relationship is newer and more exciting than mine. Or he’s just a better person than I am.
He won’t be there, and that’s okay. It’s good, actually. I’m glad he’s happy with Georgia. He deserves happiness.
I park my car near the back of the building and make my way inside. Sometimes there are cameras capturing the players’ arrivals, but I’m too early even for them.
He won’t be there, Eggs. Don’t get your fucking hopes up.
My footsteps echo louder in the emptiness of the stadium. I stroll to the end of the away stands, past the out-of-use kiosk, down the little corridor, and I square breathe my runawayheartbeat steady for a minute or two before I push open the door to the old lice room.
He’s not here. Fuck. The room’s vacant. He’s not here.
I knew he wouldn’t be. He is, after all, better than me. But still . . .
I step inside, shut the door behind me, and move to the corner where boxes containing drink-fountain syrups are stacked. They’re all either miles out of date or empty, and they won’t take my weight for long, if at all, but I need to sit down. I’m about to perch my ass when . . .
“You came?” Pi gets up from the floor on the other side of the cordoned off waste chute. He pulls his AirPods out and tucks them back inside their tidy little case.
“You came!” I reply.
“I . . . uh—”
