Chapter 18
18
‘This isn’t a fair fight,’ I groan, yanking my darts out of the wood surrounding the board. ‘I’m an artist. You’re a professional athlete!’
Kieran raises his eyebrows. ‘We’re playing darts, Flossie. Athleticism doesn’t really come into it and it’s hardly my area of expertise.’
I gesture to the scoreboard. ‘I beg to differ.’
He shoots me a lazy grin. ‘Not my fault if I happen to be good at darts.’
‘Like you happen to be good at ping-pong? Seriously, is there anything you’re not good at?’
‘Many, many things. Small talk, art, public speaking, baking—’
‘I mean, any sport,’ I sigh, plodding back to him and heaving myself up onto the bar stool to the side while he stands up for his turn.
‘You think because I’m good at tennis, ping-pong and darts, I’m good at all sports? You have no idea what I’m like at rugby or cricket or swimming.’
‘Okay, what are you like at rugby, cricket and swimming?’
He grins. ‘Pretty good. I like golf too.’
‘Fuck’s sake.’
‘I’m also not bad on a horse.’
‘Of course.’
He clicks his fingers. ‘You know what, I’m terrible at ice skating.’
I snort. ‘Okay. When did you try ice skating?’
‘When I was about thirteen. We were skiing and I thought I’d have a go.’
‘Let me guess, you’re a really good skier,’ I grumble.
‘I’m all right,’ he admits, with a slow, sly grin. ‘Anyway, I was terrible at ice skating. Couldn’t master the gracefulness.’
‘You’re pretty graceful on the tennis court,’ I comment.
‘You mean manly and rugged, right?’
‘No, I mean graceful and elegant,’ I confirm haughtily, as he holds up a dart to take aim. ‘Powerful and aggressive, too of course. Good luck to your next opponent. I bet he’s quaking in his little boots.’
He hits a triple twelve. ‘I doubt it. He’s a little scary himself. His backhand is specially terrifying.’
‘Maybe picture him on ice skates,’ I suggest. ‘When I picture you on ice skates, it’s pretty amusing, like Bambi on ice, limbs skidding about everywhere. So you can do the same with the other guy and he won’t seem so scary anymore.’
‘I am this close to sacking Neil and putting you in charge,’ Kieran says, lining up for his next shot. ‘Your pep talks are much shorter and much more effective.’
‘Who says I’d accept the job?’ I say, folding my arms as he hits the fifteen. ‘I’m afraid I’m much too busy and important to squeeze in time to coach you.’
‘Shame,’ Kieran sighs, taking aim with his third and final dart. ‘We would have made a great team.’
He throws and hits sixteen. With a smug smile, he saunters towards the board to retrieve his darts. I roll my eyes, reaching for the glass of wine he bought me. It’s an Albari?o, which Kieran recommended I try. It’s obviously delicious. You know, it’s really annoying that he keeps being right about things. At some point, I’d like to be the one who knows something about anything, so he can be impressed.
As I take a sip of my drink, my eyes flutter up to see a cluster of girls huddled nearby, giggling and whispering, with their phones pointed in our direction.
‘We’ve been rumbled,’ I inform Kieran quietly, as he returns to our little table in the corner by the board to have a sip of his pint.
He follows my eyeline and then turns back to me with a shrug.
‘They’re not the only ones. The two lads on the table to your left have been taking videos and pictures since we got here,’ he says casually.
I glance over my left shoulder to find two more phones pointed at me. I scowl at them, swivelling back to Kieran and looking up at him, concerned.
‘Should we go?’ I ask reluctantly, unable to hide my disappointment.
I’ve been having so much fun this evening. On our walk to the pub, it started to cloud over and while the beer garden was packed with people, the inside wasn’t so busy. Since Kieran knew it was expected to rain tonight, he suggested we grab a table indoors. We’d spent all afternoon outside, so I was happy to chill in here and it’s been so nice and relaxed. He’s letting his guard down with me and the more I get to see behind it, the more I want to spend time with him.
When he’s at ease in a situation, he’s chatty and funny and charming. When I first met him, I’d assumed that it was his looks and fame that made him so popular amongst all those celebrity women he’d been linked to, but now I can understand why just one night in the company of this guy here in front of me – the one asking me questions about my life, bantering over silly things, making me laugh with his quick-witted comebacks, flashing me dimpled grins that make me melt into the floor – would be enough for me to forget all my senses and throw myself at him. And with my slim experience of trying to go about my evening in the knowledge that I’m being watched and stealthily filmed, I can also totally understand why he’d be guarded, reserved and untrusting with strangers.
I shouldn’t be surprised that people have picked up on Kieran being here. Firstly, if you’re around Wimbledon during the championships, you’re going to be on the lookout for famous tennis players hanging around the vicinity trying to go unnoticed. Secondly, Kieran stands out just a tiny bit, what with his tall, broad frame and dazzling good looks. Thirdly, it turns out that our spontaneous rendezvous on Murray Mound wasn’t as private as I’d thought – Kieran had, of course, been recognised by a couple of people sitting above us and they’d taken photos and uploaded them to social media.
That third point wasn’t too good for Neil because he’d already told the press that Kieran missed the conference due to physio – but here was proof he’d actually been lazing around the grounds eating strawberries. When I tried to look at the comments as the photo gained traction online, Kieran insisted I put my phone away. I caught a glimpse. I was getting off fairly lightly so far. Most people just seemed to be wondering who the hell I am.
Anyway, I was glad for the incoming dark clouds that meant we could hide in here away from the busy beer garden, but the pub is now slowly filling inside.
‘I don’t want to leave,’ Kieran says, his eyebrows pulled together and his mouth turning down as he ignores our audience. ‘Do you?’
‘No. It’s just… distracting. You don’t care that people are taking photos and videos of you without your consent?’
‘I do care, but there’s not much I can do about it. Best to ignore it.’
‘I hope they don’t post these pictures on social media,’ I mutter, bringing my glass to my lips. ‘They might catch me at a bad angle.’
He tilts his head at me. ‘Not possible. You don’t have any bad angles.’
I blush furiously into my wine. He said that as though it was fact, not opinion, and now he’s continuing to speak as though he hasn’t just said something so lovely that it’s made my head spin and my whole body feel like it’s on fire.
‘Maybe if I was more approachable then people wouldn’t feel the need to film me stealthily,’ he’s wondering out loud, placing the darts on the table next to his glass. ‘That’s what my PR team has tried telling me anyway.’
I wince and he gives me a strange look.
‘What?’ he says, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. ‘What was that face for?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Flossie, I know when you’re lying,’ he informs me, quirking a brow.
‘No, you don’t.’
‘I do,’ he insists, stepping closer to me and waggling his finger in my face. ‘Your cheeks go this adorable shade of pink.’
Placing my glass down, I bite my lip and press my palms against my burning hot cheeks. ‘Are they all red? How embarrassing.’
He reaches out to wrap his fingers around my wrists and lower my hands from my face so I have no choice but to leave my cheeks on show for him to study, a small smile creeping across his lips as he does so.
‘No, it’s beautiful,’ he says softly. ‘Makes your freckles even more prominent.’
‘When I was younger, I used to try to cover my freckles.’
‘Why would you cover them? They’re…’ He trails off searching for the right word, knitting his eyebrows together in concentration. ‘They’re you. I like them.’
I smile bashfully, glancing over at the huddle of girls. ‘You’re making me go even redder for the cameras.’
‘Don’t think you’ve escaped my question, Flossie,’ he says, taking a small step back, his voice returning to a lighter, more playful tone. ‘Why did you make that face when I mentioned my PR team asking me to be more approachable?’
‘I wouldn’t fancy doing your PR that’s all.’
He quirks a brow. ‘Why not? I’m a great client.’
‘You skip press conferences, you refuse to do interviews no matter what journalists are saying about you, so you let their narrative stick, and you have moments of… embellished infuriation on court.’
He tips his head back and cackles with laughter, a sound that makes me light up from the very centre of my core. ‘Embellished infuriation! Now who’s the musical poet?’
‘I was trying to put it nicely!’
‘You may have a point. It can’t be easy for my publicists to turn embellished infuriation to my advantage in the eyes of the public,’ he says, his eyes drifting over my shoulder. His eyebrows shoot up and he leans in conspiratorially to me. ‘Although they may have it wrong about my approachability. Someone’s coming over to me now.’
As he fixes a polite smile on his face, I swivel on my stool to face the incoming fan and find myself face to face with—
‘Zoe!’ I exclaim, my stomach knotting in horror.
‘Hey, Flora,’ she says timidly, glancing from me to Kieran and back to me again, ‘I hope you don’t mind me interrupting.’ She beams up at Kieran. ‘I’m just such a huge fan and I keep seeing you at the flat. We’re bound to bump into one another eventually. I thought I’d take the opportunity to introduce myself.’
‘You know each other?’ Kieran says, his shoulders easing.
‘Zoe lives next door,’ I say in a strained voice, my face flushing with heat.
‘Oh, right, hi, Zoe. I’m so sorry about the reporters on the road,’ he begins, holding out his hand to shake hers warmly. ‘I hope they haven’t been bothering you too much.’
‘It’s no problem,’ she says with a breezy wave of her hand. ‘Congratulations on your win today. It was a fantastic match and you played so brilliantly.’ She gives him a winning smile, her eyes bright underneath her full fluttering eyelashes. ‘I’ve got tickets to Centre Court for the semi-finals. I have no doubt that I’ll be watching you play then.’
He smiles modestly, glancing down at his feet and back up to her again. ‘That’s very kind of you to say, Zoe, thank you.’
‘I… have to go to the bathroom,’ I croak, sliding off my stool and making my way through the bar to the loos. It’s getting very crowded in here now, as the rain grows heavier.
I glance back at Kieran and Zoe as I get to the door. They’re already engaged in a lively conversation. My heart sinking, I push the door open and lock myself in a cubicle, slumping down on the toilet and burying my face in my hands.
Of course he’s chatting easily to Zoe. She’s a lovely person to talk to, warm and inviting, with her sparkling pearly-white smile and striking eyes. Bet he’s noticed how good her figure is in that outfit too, her flawless skin and model figure on display in a burnt orange silk top and high-waisted white linen shorts. He’s always dated models and actresses and amazingly glamorous women who were born to stand out. Women like Zoe.
Not like me.
I can’t believe she waltzed over like that. Am I so small and insignificant that she thinks what she did doesn’t really matter? Does she think that it’s been a few months now, so we can shrug it off and pretend it didn’t happen? I’m not okay with that. I know there were two people in that bed and it was Jonah who was in the wrong. He’s the one who had the girlfriend, he’s the one who broke his promises. It’s not like she had any loyalty to me. Just because we’d had a few nice conversations didn’t mean we were friends. But it still really hurt to know that she didn’t insist Jonah break up with me first to spare me that betrayal. She willingly went along with it, in the full knowledge that I was being humiliated. She was part of the act that made me a fool.
For her to stroll up to us in a pub so brazenly fucking hurts.
I take a deep breath and remind myself how far I’ve come since January. She doesn’t need to matter to me. But Kieran does, and sitting here feeling sorry for myself in a toilet cubicle isn’t helping anyone. I can’t be so intimidated by her beauty and style that I physically exclude myself from my own date. I think it’s a date. He hasn’t explicitly said that, but he did hold my hand on the way here. That has to make it a date.
Making my way back through the pub, my heart sinks when I see Zoe is still there with Kieran. They’re playing darts together. Stopping a few metres away, I’m unable to approach any further. My feet won’t seem to move. I watch Zoe step up to the mark at Kieran’s encouragement, take aim and throw the dart. It hits bullseye. She shrieks and his jaw drops with amazement before she jumps up and down excitedly, throwing her arms around his neck in celebration. I feel a pang in my chest so sharp, my eyes well with tears. I have to get out. I push my way through a startled group of people huddled by the door, tripping over my feet and throwing myself out the door.
It’s now pouring with rain and I don’t have a coat, but I don’t care. My chest feels tight and I need to be in the fresh air. Closing my eyes, I take a few moments to breathe slowly in and out, allowing the rain to soak through my clothes and dampen my hair. Then, hugging my arms across my body, I start to walk down the path out the pub.
‘Flossie!’
I start at his voice, turning to find him right behind me, a confused expression across his face as he hunches in the downpour.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks, baffled. ‘You’re soaked! What’s wrong?’
‘I… I have to go home. You go back in, enjoy yourself,’ I say bluntly.
‘Flossie,’ he says, grabbing my wrist and stopping me from going, ‘I won’t enjoy myself without you there. Please, tell me what’s happened? Did someone say something to you? Did you read something online? I told you not to look at it.’
I shake my head, sniffing. ‘No. It’s nothing like that. It’s… it’s too embarrassing. I can’t tell you.’
‘Yes, you can,’ he states matter-of-factly, raindrops trailing down his cheeks and through his stubble, dripping from his sculpted jaw.
Fucking hell, he’s even more beautiful in the rain. His skin is glistening and his shirt is growing so damp it’s plastered to his body, accentuating every curve of his defined muscles. I can guarantee that he’s not thinking anything like that about me. I imagine my make-up is running down my face by now and I resemble some kind of wet, miserable panda.
My heart in my throat, I resolve to tell him. I mean, we’re standing here in the rain because of me and he can tell I’ve been crying, so I’m not going to be able to pretend it’s nothing. And I don’t want to lie to him.
‘Jonah cheated on me with Zoe,’ I say quietly, unable to look him in the eye.
I hear him inhale sharply. ‘That Zoe? The one I was just talking to? Your next-door neighbour Zoe?’
I nod dismally. ‘Yes. I came home and found them together in our bed. She apologised and I know it was his fault, not hers, but… I’m not her friend.’
‘Yeah. I can understand why.’
‘I’m sorry for storming out like that,’ I stammer, chewing my lip. ‘I wish I could be stronger. But it’s so hard when I compare myself to her.’
‘Flossie, what are you talking about?’ Kieran asks, and I hear something like amusement in his voice, which digs the knife even deeper.
Maybe he finds this so pathetic, it’s funny to him.
‘She’s so bright and beautiful and fun and smart. She has everything going for her, and I know that it’s hard not to be attracted to her because, hello, she’s perfect, but I just didn’t want to stand there and watch you… flirt with her. You’re, you know, this famous tennis star slash model—’ he snorts as though I’m joking, but I mean it so I don’t laugh ‘—and it makes sense for you to be with someone like Zoe, in the same way it made sense for Jonah to want her. It makes me resort to feeling as small as I felt back then.’
‘Flossie.’ Kieran steps closer and reaches out to gently lift my chin with his fingers, so I’m looking up at him, the two of us blinking like mad through the rain. ‘I’m so sorry for putting you in that position.’
‘It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.’
‘I was talking to her, not flirting with her. I only want to flirt with you.’
Shutting my eyes, another tear falls and I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. ‘But Zoe—’
‘Zoe is beautiful, yes,’ he states, before using his thumb to sweep away the tear that’s mingling with the droplets running down my cheeks. ‘But that doesn’t mean you’re not. Because you are beautiful. You are so, so beautiful.’ He pauses to swallow, his throat bobbing as I bring my eyes up to meet his. ‘When you’re in the room, Flossie, there’s no one else.’
I’m crying again, but happy tears now.
Fucking-happiest-ever tears.
Salty tears that I can taste as he captures my mouth in a kiss so slow and deep, I finally understand what it means for someone to take your breath away.
Time stops still as we stand pressed up against each other in the pouring rain, his mouth moving against mine, his fingers tangled in my wet hair. His other hand slides around my waist and presses into my lower back, allowing me to lose myself entirely in this Hollywood-grade kiss and arch into him, tilting my head back as my arms wrap around his neck and his tongue brushes against mine, sending a roll of shivers down my spine and a surge of heat lurching through my body.
When we eventually break the kiss, we’re grinning goofily at each other, our faces damp from the rain. He looks even more mesmerising with droplets on his eyelashes, his hair plastered across his forehead, the skin of his cheeks flushed and dewy. I have to kiss him again, and he reciprocates, moving his arms to lock around my waist and squeezing me tight as I cradle his face, crushing my lips into his.
‘We should really get out of the rain,’ I say eventually, wiping the drops from his forehead and running my fingers through his hair.
‘Yeah, I think that would be wise.’ He laughs, the rain only getting heavier and louder. He quirks a brow. ‘So, what do you think? My place or yours?’