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‘Fine. Not for a while. Probably last year, when I was at uni, I guess. Probably Freshers’ Week.’
‘All night?’ I press, and he shrugs, looking a little less sure of himself. When he sighs in defeat, I giggle into the palm of my hand. ‘It’s okay, we’ll just be boring old biddies avoiding the party lifestyle together.’
‘I don’tavoidit.’
‘Yeah? That’s why you’re hanging out with someone from work at a coffee shop instead of being out with your friends living it up, or with the mystery lady who’s not your girlfriend?’
He grumbles under his breath, half-formed and half-arsed insults, making a show of scowling melodramatically. I laugh, trying to ignore the little somersaults my heart is doing inside my chest.
Just because he’s cute, just because it feels like itcouldbe a date …
It’s not.
‘She’snotmy girlfriend, for the record,’ he tells me after a beat. ‘And not much of a mystery lady. She was …’
Unlike when I pushed him to talk about uni, I immediately want to back down from this topic, regretting bringing it up at all. What should it matter to me if Lloyddoeshave something going on with another girl? It’s not like we can – not that wewantto date each other, I correct myself hastily.
‘You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to bring it up. It’s not any of my business, anyway,’ I say.
It’s not.
But Lloyd takes a deep breath and says, ‘She’s the intern I dated last summer.’
Oh.
Now, I kind ofdowant to know, but in that sick, uneasy way that will only make me feel worse in the end. I want to know what made her so special that he was so heartbroken when it ended, and why this girl made Lloyd think it was better to pretend we’d never met when our paths crossed again.
I wait, and Lloyd looks apologetic – torn – before continuing. ‘Last year’s cohort invited me out with them a lot, and she … I mean, she was flirty, and I flirted back. I liked her,a lot, so after a couple of weeks I asked her out. We were spending so much timetogether and the whole thing was such a rush, I – I fell for her, hard. And Ithoughtshe felt the same way, but at the end of the summer …’
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a look of such dismay on Lloyd’s face that my heart aches for him.
‘She liked me, but not in the same way I liked her. Mostly, she liked that my dad owned the place and I knew everything about the company, and I’d drop everything to help her out with something.’
A horrified gasp rips from my throat. ‘She used you to get ahead?’
‘Sounds worse than it was.’ He quirks a smile, and it disappears fast, sliding away as he shrugs one shoulder then the other. ‘Shedidlike me. Wanted to date me. It wasn’t all as calculating and cold-hearted as it sounds, but … she still did it. And still called things off at the end of the summer before she went back home. She’s back in London now working for some consultancy firm and kept reaching out, wanting to pick up where we left off. I only met up with her to tell her I wasn’t interested.’
I’m too busy reeling to say anything. So instead, I reach out to give his hand a quick squeeze, trying to convey all the things I can’t say – that it sounds awful, and I can’t imagine the audacity of this girl to haveused him like that, dumped him, and now want to rekindle things. And that I understand, now, why he pushed me away that first week and felt like he had to protect his reputation.
I wouldn’t have done that to you, I want to say, but the words stick in my throat.
Lloyd’s fingers shift slightly beneath mine, not pulling away but simply acknowledging the comfort. The corner of his downturned mouth draws up a little, his eyes softening, the green flecked with the golden reflection of the lights above us.
‘Kinda screwed up my approach to dating a little, though,’ he announces suddenly, with a self-deprecating laugh, slipping his hand away from mine. ‘I kept getting a little paranoid that girls would care more about the Arrowmile stuff than aboutme, so I haven’t dated anyone for more than a couple of weeks at a time since.’
He grins, like it’s all a great joke he can laugh at now, but I can tell he really believes that.
I roll my eyes. ‘Fletcher, I said it once and I’ll say it again –you sell scooters. You’re not the hotshot you think you are.’
‘Not with you to keep me honest, at least.’ He laughs, winking at me, and I have to swallow down the smile that threatens to steal across my face. Talkingabout an ex, about dating … It feels too intimate, given our (albeit very brief) history.
I tuck myself a bit tighter into my seat, scooting back against the wall again. The band are taking a break; pop music filters out of the speakers instead, louder than it should be for a coffee shop, but quiet enough to allow for conversation without needing to shout across the table. It’s still packed, although the crowd has shifted and changed, people having come and gone in the time Lloyd and I have sat here poking at our shared slices of cake and talking.
Fork poised for the last chunk of carrot cake, I ask, ‘Do you mind?’
‘Go for it. I’m not much of a carrot cake guy myself.’ He claims the last of the chocolate fudge, which I’ve only nibbled at.
‘Why’d you get it then?’
