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“Ander.”
JJ’s reflection appeared next to me, flanked by Niccolò, who squeezed in on my other side.
“What is this? Cosy chat time?” My words came out more sharply than I’d intended, but JJ just shook his head at me, placing his hand on my arm.
“Ander, listen to me. I saw you out there, and I’ve been thinking about all the things you told me. I…I’m going to ask you a question. Take your time thinking about the answer because you need to be honest with yourself. I don’t even need to know the answer, but I wantyouto have it. Promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”
I stared at him, our eyes meeting in the mirror. “Uh. Yeah. Okay. What’s the question?”
His gaze flicked to Niccolò, and Niccolò gave a short nod. He stood up on his tiptoes, speaking into my ear. “My offer’s still open if you ever want to take me up on it. But I think you might find your answers closer to home. Take care of yourself,bello.”
What was that supposed to mean? There was no time to ask him to clarify because he flashed me a quick smile and then disappeared out of the door.
JJ released my arm and turned, leaning back against the sink next to me. He bit down on his lip, clasping his hands together, and when his eyes met mine, I realised that whatever he was planning to ask me was going to be far more than a simple question.
“I think…” He paused, exhaling a long breath. “Have you considered that your feelings for Elliot might be more than platonic?”
Nausea returned with a vengeance, and I rubbed my stomach.
“What?” I whispered, my mouth falling open. “Elliot?”
“Don’t answer. Just think about it.” Lifting his hand, he squeezed my arm again. “I might be reading things wrong, but I—” Cutting himself off with a shake of his head, he grimaced. “No. Never mind what I think. Just…youthink about it. And if the answer is yes, you need to tread carefully. You owe it to yourselves to be honest, but you’re both my friends, and I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, he swept from the room, pausing only to spritz himself with the complimentary scents and shit that were in a basket close to the door, closely guarded by a bored-looking man. I collapsed forwards, my head falling against the mirror.
My best friend’s name played on repeat in my head.
Elliot. Elliot.Elliot.
He was my best fucking friend.Notsomeone I was into. My feelings for him were 100 percent platonic. Always had been, always would be.
I closed my eyes against the flashes in my brain, but it didn’t stop them from coming, one after the other, an incessant assault that I had no hope of escaping.
Flash. A kiss in a bar in Bournemouth.
Flash. A body moving under the club lights.
Flash. A long, lean torso bared to my gaze, up on a stage.
Flash. Light blue eyes meeting mine.
Flash. Soft fucking lips pressing against someone else’s mouth.
Bile rose in my throat, and I dived for the nearest stall, slamming the door shut behind me. I staggered forwards and dropped to my knees, uncaring of the state of the floor. My vision blurred, and I blinked rapidly, curling my body over and leaning my head against the wall, waiting for my nausea to subside.
I remained there for a long, long time.
9
“You’re quiet.” Liam’s brow furrowed as he came to a stop beside me at the edge of the AstroTurf pitch. I handed him my bottle of water, giving a non-committal grunt that I hoped he wouldn’t ask me to elaborate on. Sadly for me, he didn’t take the hint. After downing the rest of my bottle, he crumpled it in his hand and then threw it on top of my hoodie, which was lying at the side of the pitch with our bags, before turning to face me fully. “What’s up, mate? You can talk to me, y’know.”
I stared down at the artificial grass as if it could provide an answer to the tangled mess in my brain. “It’s nothing.” I could feel my friend’s eyes boring into the side of my head, but I kept my gaze fixed on the ground.
“Ander—”
The sound of the whistle blowing stopped his sentence in its tracks, and my head snapped up to see both our football coach, Bryan, and our team captain, Travis, shooting Liam and me impatient looks.
“Holmes. Loveridge. This isn’t social hour, lads. Heads in the game.” Bryan tapped his watch. “Back to it.”
