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“Why are you with him if you don’t really like him?” she insisted, poking him in the shoulder.
Oliver sighed. “I do like him, actually. He’s fit, he’s nice, a really good shag. He likes me well enough.”
“Only he’s not Gabriel,” Leo said, a wry smile over his fizzy water.
Understanding dawned on Coco’s face, and Oliver rushed to stop her from saying anything. “That isn’t it. It really isn’t. He and I are just taking things slow. I don’t want to get in over my head like I did last time.”
“But you said your therapy went well,” Coco pointed out. She paused to take a drink of her martini. “And wasn’t that the problem last time?”
Oliver shrugged. “Part of it, yes. Part of it was me not knowing how the bloody fuck to behave in a relationship.”
“I think you’ll actually like him,” Leo told their friend. “He’s pretty brilliant, and he looks at Oliver like the sun shines out his arse. It’s a shame, really.”
Oliver pulled a face, but he didn’t say anything more as he saw Sam walk in through the door. He gave Coco and Leo a firm glare before waving him over, and was greeted with a short, swift kiss as Sam took the remaining seat at the pub table.
“Well, well, heiscute,” Coco said before any introductions were made.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “Christ. Coco, this is Sam, Sam—the ex-housemate I am now regretting inviting over to our lovely country.”
“Lovely and dreary,” Coco said, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, likewise. I’ve been waiting for this quite some time now. I kept telling Oliver I was looking forward to meeting the people who knew him back when he was nearly American.”
“You’re an arse,” Oliver muttered as Coco laughed.
“He was pretty American, let me tell you,” she said with a huge grin. “He had, like, nine guns and every piece of clothing he owned had an American flag on it. He also didn’t offer me tea ever at all.”
“You are a filthy, rotten liar,” Oliver snapped with a grin. “I always offered tea.”
“But the guns and flags?”
“Well,” Oliver said loftily, “when in Rome.”
Sam threw his head back, howling with laughter and the entire table fell prey to it. Sam slung his arm around Oliver’s shoulders, pulling him in for a short kiss. “This is why you’re fantastic. Have you lot been here long?”
“Nah, just one drink in,” Coco said and hopped off her chair. “Come on, Ollie. I need a refill. Sam? What are you having?”
“Pint, love. Ta!”
Coco grabbed Oliver’s hand and dragged him up to the bar before rounding on him. “Break up with him.”
Oliver gaped at her. “What? Come on darling, he’s not that bad. Honestly, he’s…”
“Oh, I know,” she said, waving her hand. “He’s actually amazing. But he’s head over heels in love with you and if you don’t feel the same way, you need to end it. If you’re not there by now, you won’t ever be, and that’s not fair to him…but I think you already know that.”
Oliver bowed his head. “Yeah.” He took a slow breath and let it all out in a rush. “Buggeringfuck.”
She laughed and grasped his shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t know how the hell you get yourself wrapped up in shit like this, but will you trust me, please? If you care about him at all, you need to stop before he gets in any deeper.”
Oliver’s face pinked, but he knew she was right, and it was awful. But he was an adult, he was mastering his problems and emotions, and he knew he couldn’t allow himself to string Sam on any longer. It was only fair.
“I’ll go back to his tonight and end it.” He leaned his head on her shoulder and sighed. “How’ve I got on this far without you?”
“I don’t know, but I’m surprised it’s not a bigger disaster than it is now,” she said with a grin, then ordered drinks to take back.
The rest of the evening was massively subdued as Oliver knew what he had to do. Every time Sam touched him, leaned in for a kiss, or smiled in that absurdly affectionate way he did, Oliver felt his gut twist harder. Breaking up with Gabe had been the most painful thing he had ever done, but it was in the middle of learning his sibling had come close to overdosing, and the knowledge he would be moving back to London.
This was the first time he’d be participating in something so adult. Something so responsible, and something that wasn’t about him.
