Page 3
“Hi, Tom.” I straighten up, taking in the sight of my best friend’s older brother.
Whilst I’m currently wearing slogan jumper that says “But first, Coffee”, he’s dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. In the month since I last saw him at Kath’s house, his hair’s gotten longer, curling around his ears, but he hasn’t gotten any less attractive, as evidenced by the freckles still firmly in place on his nose. The crush that I’ve silently nursed since thirteen, when I was a skinny kid with braces and he was a cool sixteen-year-old on the football team, comes flooding back. I clamp it down as I try to gracefully adjust my bag.
I don’t manage to do either thing effectively. Apparently some of those teenage hormones are still going strong.
Kath told me Tom had moved to the area two weeks ago. Of course I bump into him in the midst of my pity party instead of my commute to work. I’d sell my soul for some eyeliner right now, and maybe some better clothes.
“It’s lovely to see you,” I tell him. “Collecting pizza?”
“Um yeah.” He tilts his pizza box at me. “And nice to see you too.”
Of course he’s getting pizza. We’re currently blocking the door of a pizza restaurant.
I will the ground to swallow me whole, and then throw my shoulders back with fake confidence, pretending I’m still in my cute dress and not my ratty jumper. “I love this restaurant. Who needs chicken soup for the soul when Italians invented cheese and sauce on dough?”
His brown eyes fill with concern, and he glances around. “Your soul needs nourishing? What’s happened?”
Tom always was protective of me and Kath.
“Oh nothing serious, just an unbelievably awful date,” I explain. “It was the eighth date in a row where I strongly considered going to the bathroom and never coming back.”
“I’m sorry. That sounds brutal.”
“Yep, I’m trying to resurrect my failed evening with pizza, chocolate and wine.”
He pulls a bottle out of his bag and waves it at me. “Want to commiserate together? I was planning on watching a film and drowning my sorrows after a long week of lesson planning before term starts. But I’d much rather share wine and trade stories.” Tom puts the bottle back into his bag and gives an awkward grimace. “It’ll have to be at yours though; I’ve only just moved in and don’t even have a sofa yet, so the plan was to sit on the floor with my laptop. A bit tragic, really.”
I look at my bag of snacks and then back to him. Six foot one of distracting man and tousled brown hair. My pulse does this ridiculous little skip, because I really want to say yes. Maybe too much. And he wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it, would he? Tom’s been a fixture in my life for years; birthday parties, family barbecues and teenage sleepovers. We’re comfortable together, but we’ve just never spent that much one-on-one time with each other.
You know what? Fuck it. Tom’s great company, and I want to spend the evening with him. He always makes me laugh and I deserve to laugh at least once tonight, and to chat to someone who might actually be interested in what I have to say.
And a night in with my childhood crush? Totally normal. I’m cool. Totally cool. Really, really cool. Very cool.
“Sure.” I smile. “Let me collect my pizza.”
Two minutes later, we’re walking side by side down the street.
“So.” I nudge his shoulder. “How are you enjoying our neighbourhood?”
“Well, let’s see. My bedframe collapsed on move-in day, I’m still using a cardboard box as a bedside table, and the curtains are missing so the neighbours definitely know what brand of cereal I eat at midnight. But otherwise I’m loving it.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re basically living like a student again.”
“Correction”—he holds up the bottle of wine—“a classy student. The stuff I drank at university could be classified as paint stripper.”
By the time we reach my building, he’s telling me about how his neighbour’s cat keeps sneaking into his flat through the open window, and how he might have accidentally agreed to help someone assemble a bookcase. Tom’s always been like that, five minutes in any direction and he’s acquired new friends.
As I let us in the front door, I try not to dwell on the fact that spending time with Tom is usually easier when Kath’s around to distract me from noticing things like how great his smile is.
“What film did you want to watch?” Tom asks. He shucks off his shoes and untucks his shirt, making me feel marginally better about my outfit.
“I hadn’t decided,” I say over my shoulder, as I hunt for the wine glasses. “I feel like I need something palate-cleansing after that date. Maybe action.”
“Gladiator? Remember when we watched that when we were kids?”
Wine glasses located, I fill them. Generously. “I seem to remember that you were meant to be ‘babysitting’ Kath and me, and somehow we ended up doing whatever you wanted to do all evening. Didn’t we play football and then watch your choice of film?”
“I needed a consolation prize for being made to stay in with my fourteen-year-old sister and her friend instead of going out with my mates,” he teases me.
