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The sun is beating down outside, making us both squint as we step into the fresh air. Whatever last night was, it’s fading into a weird and vague memory, fueled by badly placed lust and maybe one too many cocktails. Not that it was all a mistake exactly. It was fun.
It just needs to end here.
I unlock the car but hesitate as I open the door. “That’s the end,” I say to him over the car. He gives me the blankest look ever in return, which for him is really saying something. “Of us,” I clarify. “Of any ideas you might have about making this a repeat event. It was fun, but never, ever again.”
“So, you did have fun?” He raises a cheeky eyebrow and I sigh.
I can’t exactly deny it. He made me feel so special and so good all night, and even if I wanted to hate him for it, I can’t. It was good, even if I didn’t want it to be.
And on top of that, I finally got through to human-being Miles. All this time, he’s been giving me the act of Miles, a guy who doesn’t care about anything except women and sport — and making himself look like an idiot for it. He’s been pretending to be the clown for so long that I didn’t think anything real was left in him. But last night…
There was a vulnerability in his eyes, like a plea for someone to see him for more than the things he’s trapped himself into being. And he gave that piece of himself to me.
Despite everything that’s wrong with this situation, that’s a precious thing that he’s given me. He’s shown me that he’s a real person and given me the best night I’ve had in a long time.
And he’s also about to get me fired, so even though it makes me feel nauseous, I have to put my foot down. I have to trample on any stupid thoughts I might be having about taking this further, because there can be no further. I like my job and my life the way it is. There’s no space for a rogue element like Miles.
“Yes, I did. And I’m pretty sure you did too. But this is the end of it, okay? It can’t happen again. It makes both of us look bad.”
“But it made both of us feel pretty good, huh?” There’s that ridiculous grin again, the kind of lopsided one that makes him look like a puppy, especially when his hair flops down into his face like that. I can’t deny that it’s cute.
“I’m not going to argue with you, Miles,” I say swinging the door open to flop into the car, every muscle in my body aching from our athletics. “It was good. And now it’s over. End of story, okay? I won’t let you lose my job for me.”
He slams the door behind him as he gets into the car too, pouting like he thinks it might make a difference, only for his face to fall when he sees that I really mean it. “Okay,” he sighs.
“Cheer up,” I say, turning the engine on. “You’ll find another girl soon enough. I might even let you out and everything.”
“Yeah,” he agrees moodily, my joke falling flat.
We spend the rest of the car ride in silence, and when we get to the club, Miles all but runs away from me. And though I’m pretty sure this is just him moving on, I can’t help but wondering whether, now that I’ve seen that he has human emotions too, his disappointment is perhaps genuine?
CHAPTER 12
MILES
The ball hits me squarely in the stomach, and I swear Raphael did that on purpose — again. That guy’s really got it in for me. So maybe I'm not exactly playing my best today, but there's no need for him to be so awful to me. Anyway, I've scored more penalties this year than he has, so frankly I don't know what he’s complaining about beyond some kind of petty jealousy he has of me.
Last week, Olivia was distracting me because I was on edge with her endless watching over me. My distraction today is still because of her, but today I can’t stop thinking about the way she felt. The way she moved underneath me. The way kissing her felt like perfection, and how the way she touched me made me feel an ecstasy unlike anything else. Seeing her at the club opened up a whole new side of her to me. She always makes herself look so stern and businesslike, but dancing with her was the most fun I've had in all my time in America. She should let her hair down a little more often.
And I want to help her do it.
She just doesn’t want me.
“Come on, Miles. Hurry it up!” shouts Coach Jacobs. “We’re doing penalty shootouts over here.”
I jog over to my teammates, none of whom particularly seem to like me. Raphael glares at me; he’s definitely the leader of the pack, and unfortunately I seem to have made a mortal enemy of him.
And that means everyone else has decided to stand against me too. None of them really understand me. Sometimes I crack jokes in the changing room, and it feels like I'm speaking an absolutely different language to them. Not only that; sometimes they can't even understand my accent, so they just stare at me with these blank, empty looks. I don't fit in here at all.
Not that I've ever been too concerned about fitting in, but at least with the Canaries I knew everyone was going to laugh at the punchlines.
Somehow, the line manages to shift around me, and I end up behind Raphael who shoots me another dirty look and mutters, “Bring it on, big boy.”
I don’t bother dignifying him with a response. He is playing a good game today — even if I don’t like him, I have to give him that. He is a great player. He’s fast and agile, and he’s strong at both offense and defense. He’s a real asset to the team. Watching the Macaws play, I wonder why they even wanted me at all.
Not that I’m complaining. Without them, I'd never have met Olivia.
"Shit,” I swear as I miss the net.
