“Did you tell them that?”
“… No.”
“Any reason?”
“Because I’m a coward,” I said, draining the last of my pint and pushing the empty glass towards Bacon.
He sighed and took the glass, sliding it into the dishwasher behind the bar. “You’re not a coward, Eggs. You’re just… daft.”
“Thanks?” I wasn’t sure that was any better.
“What’re you afraid of? ’Cos nothing scares you, except when it comes to relationships. Then you run faster than a cat from a bath.” He kept working as he spoke, and I appreciated that. It was easier when I didn’t have to look him in the eye.
“I don’t know. I guess, that they’ll figure out they work better as a couple and decide they don’t want me? Or they’ll realise what a pain in the arse I am and decide I’m not worth it.”
“Stop that!” Bacon said, hitting me on the hand with the soggy bar rag.
“Ew! What the fuck was that for?”
“I’m not having none of this ‘woe is me, I’m not worth it’ bollocks. You’re awesome and you know it. And if people have an issue with you, that’s their fault not yours.”
“But—”
“No fucking buts,” Bacon said, smacking me with the rag again. It was gross. “You’ve never let anyone get to you this much before, and I don’t get why you’re so determined to prove to yourself they don’t want you.”
“It’s safer, I guess,” I said quietly, fixing my eyes on the speckled tiled floor behind the bar. “Can’t get hurt if there’s nobody around to hurt you.”
“Let me ask you this: when was the last time you let anyone get close enough to hurt you in the first place?”
“I don’t know.”
“Getting hurt is part of life, like dodgy politicians, bad refereeing, and taxes. You can try avoiding them but doesn’t mean you’ll manage it. Sooner or later, they’ll be part of your life. It’s how you deal with them that matters.”
“You’re totally over that penalty decision against Leicester last season then?” I asked with a grin.
“Erikson was fouled and everyone knows it. We should’ve made that final,” Bacon said darkly. He shook his head and waved his hand at me, the disgusting bar rag only a few inches from my face. “Anyway, this isn’t about me, dickhead. This is about you trying to run away from the best thing that’s happened to you, besides meeting me.”
“We’re not even together, Bacon! How can they be the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”
“Fine,mightbe the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” he said pointedly. “And excuse me for trying to help you shag two men with thighs bigger than my head. Jesus fuck, Eggs. Thefact they wanted you to keep in touch is proof enough they want you.”
“I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Well, you did, so suck it up, buttercup.” He put both his hands on the bar and glared at me. “Look, you’re right. This could go totally arse up in six months and it’ll hurt worse than stepping on a plug in bare feet and you’ll wish you never met them. But it might not. And you’re sinking that ship before she’s even had a chance to get out the harbour.”
“I suppose.”
“No suppose about it, that’s what you’re doing. Also, if they wanted to only be a couple, don’t you think they’d have done it by now?”
“Honestly? No. They’re horrifically unaware of their feelings.”
“That’s rich coming from you. I don’t think you’re allowed to judge anyone considering how allergic to emotion you are.” His head snapped around. “Oliver Bates, you get your fucking hands off my TV!”
“Or what?” he yelled.
“Or I’ll tell your mum exactly what you was doing last weekend when you were supposed to be helping her redecorate her sewing room.”
The whole pub went silent, watching the pair of them. Ollie puffed up his chest for a second, then deflated like a burst balloon and slunk back to his seat. “That’s what I thought,” Bacon said. “And that goes for all of you. Keep your bloody hands off my TV unless you wanna start paying the bills. My pub. My TV. My choice.”
