“You’re annoyingly productive,” I grumble as he pulls out a T-shirt and a jumper.
“That’s coming from you?” He raises an eyebrow. “Probably the most productive person I know. And I’m not even beingthatproductive—I just wasn’t the one drinking last night.”
“Yeah, but you look unfairly good this morning for someone who was up so late.”
“I look good?”
I freeze.Shit.
“As if you don’t already know that,” I scoff, trying very hard not to blush. “Don’t fish. And thanks for bringing me home.”
I think I see his hand flex on the drawer for a second before he turns round, jumper in hand. “Hey, I promised I would. I always will.”
We walk the familiar streets to the park near his house, waving at other dog walkers and trying to keep Crunchie from eating every piece of discarded food he finds. The second we let him off the lead, he explodes into motion, sprinting laps around us and barking like a lunatic. He looks more like a puppy than a ten-year-old Labrador. I wish I had half his energy this morning. Or that I could be as excited about anything as he is about the abandoned tennis ball he’s just unearthed under a tree.
“Did I do anything stupid last night?” I ask abruptly. My memories are hazy, and now that we’re out of the warm cocoon of Sam’s kitchen, the gnawing anxiety from this morning is creeping back in.
Sam glances at me as we turn left at the park’s edge, Crunchie bounds past with both a stick and a tennis ball in his mouth. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate, watching the flowers just beginning to push through the damp soil.
“I mean… did I say anything stupid? Make a fool of myself?” I keep my eyes on the path. “I can’t actually remember much. I remember talking to Ben about his trip to see his brother, dancing with Claire, and sort of talking to Bobbie. And then… nothing. Next thing I know, you’re handing me a glass of water in the kitchen.”
Frustration bubbles up.
“It’s so stupid of me. Ineverdrink that much. I don’t know why I did. I’m such an idiot.”
I hate feeling out of control. And right now, not knowing exactly what I did last night is the ultimate out-of-control feeling. But part of me knows exactly why I did it. Because I wanted to be ‘fun’ for Bobbie. I never used to care about what other people thought, or that nobody had ever asked me out. I can’t work out when that changed. Maybe when all my friends started getting boyfriends and girlfriends and I felt like I was left out. Unwanted.
But then Bobbie came along, and he choseme. And being singled out felt amazing.
Sam grabs my hand, giving it a firm squeeze.
“You’re not an idiot. You’re allowed to drink too much sometimes. It’s part of growing up. We do stupid things, and then we learn not to do them again.”
His voice is so even, so calm, that it makes my own thoughts slow down.
“And in terms of what you did last night?” He shrugs. “I can’t really tell you that much—I wasn’t with you the whole night. But no one came running to me saying you were doing anything stupid. You were with Bobbie a lot, though. He wanted you to stay over, but I took you home.”
My stomach clenches.
Sam takes the tennis ball from the dog and throws it across the park. He seems oddly tense.
“Promise you won’t hate me for this?” he says, still not looking at me.
I frown at how serious he sounds. “I could never hate you, Sam. You’re my best friend.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t really like Bobbie that much.”
I pause. That’snotwhat I expected him to say. “Why not?” I ask carefully.
Bobbie’s mentioned before that Sam doesn’t like him, but Sam’s always been perfectly civil. No outright hostility, no arguments. Just… neutral. I always assumed Bobbie was exaggerating.
“I don’t think he’s good enough for you. And at parties, I always feel like he’s giving you a lot to drink.”
He still won’t look at me. Just keeps throwing the ball for Crunchie, eyes locked on the dog as if this conversation isn’t happening.
A weird, bitter feeling creeps into my stomach. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to defend Bobbie. And Sam’s had ages to tell me this, I don’t get why he’s chosen now. “I think I find my own drinks.” I force a laugh. “You’re just being protective.”
