Nineteen years old
Kath
Our centre, Shona, signals for a set play and I move into position.
The second the whistle blows, I feint left before sprinting right, catching the ball mid-jump.
One quick pass across to Shona, a cut into the circle, and—perfect timing—the ball lands right in my hands under the post. I line up the shot and smile at the satisfying swoosh of the ball going through the net.
Shona high-fives me, and we jog back to our starting positions.
A piercing wolf whistle comes from the balcony along with a shout of “Nice shot, Ford.” Startled, I look up and spot Sam leaning on the railing, backpack on his shoulders.
I haven’t seen him since he left for university months ago.
He’s tanned from the Florida sun, broader than I remember, and his hair has lighter blond streaks again.
Sam finished his term a week earlier than me and flew back to the UK for the break.
We only get this one weekend together before he heads to Yorkshire with his dad and then straight back to the States.
One weekend isn’t enough. But it’s better than nothing.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Shona whispers, as I hand her the ball. Her dark hair is sticking to her forehead, and I know mine’s doing the same. And that I have my bright red sports face on. It’s not an attractive face.
“Nah,” I say. “That’s Sam, my friend from school. He’s visiting from America. He’s at uni there.”
She raises her eyebrows appreciatively. “Bring him out tonight.”
My stomach twists oddly at the way her eyes are looking him up and down, but I paste a smile on my face.
“I was planning on it. Got to give him the full British university experience.”
The whistle goes again, and I dart forwards. Head in the game, I chant to myself, head in the game. After three more points in our favour, we win the match 10–7.
“Now I see why you keep refusing dates from the football guys.” Shona grins at me after we’ve finished shaking the hands of the other team. “I wouldn’t date them either if I had a friend like that.”
I blush. “We’re just friends,” I reiterate.
And I haven’t been refusing dates. I just don’t really fancy any of the guys that ask me out.
“Well, he’s really hot.” She nudges me conspiratorially as we start walking over to the edge of the court.
“Don’t inflate his ego.”
“What about my ego?” I hear, and give a squeal as Sam pulls me into a hug, dropping his backpack and swinging me around.
“Ah yuck. I’m all sweaty—don’t touch me.”
But despite my words I lean into his touch. I’ve missed his hugs. I’ve missed the easy familiarity, the faint smell of chlorine that clings to him and the warmth of his skin. I’ve missed… well, everything about him.
“I think I’ve touched you more than a few times when you’re sweaty,” Sam whispers, breaking my train of thought. My cheeks heat as I push him away. Where’d this confidence come from?
“When did you arrive?” I try to mask how flustered I am by readjusting my ponytail.
“About half an hour ago, someone gave me directions to the match. I thought it might be fun to catch the end. I mean, you’ve seen me swim enough times; it only seems fair that I watch you too. You guys were awesome, by the way.”
“Yeah, we were.” Shona turns to high-five our wing attack, Flo, who’s just reached the top of the stairs.
“Oh sorry, let me introduce you. Guys, this is Sam.” He nods at them as I go around the group introducing one after another.
“Shall we head back to mine?” I grab my bag. “I want to shower, then we can grab something to eat before we head out.”
“Perfect.”
Ten minutes later, I push my way into my room, dropping my kitbag with a sigh as Sam flings his backpack onto the bed and drops down after it.
“Tired?” I tease, reaching around until I can unhook my towel from the door.
“Maybe.” He cracks open an eye. “Just need a power nap. Travelling makes me sleepy.”
“OK, well, you can power nap while I shower. Then we can get some food and head out to join the girls at a bar or something before we go to a club?”
“Sounds good.” He pulls the spare pillow over his head to block out the light.
I chuckle as I head down the corridor to the bathroom. I’ve missed my best friend. The daily texts and occasional video chats are no replacement for the person currently waiting back in my room.
After scrubbing myself to oblivion in the shower, I change as quickly as possible, desperate not to miss a single minute with Sam. I all but skip down the hallway, only to find him asleep on my bed.
“Come on, sleepy.” I shake him awake. “Let’s get some dinner and then we can head out with the others.”
He grumbles into the pillow before standing and stretching.
“Lead the way,” he tells me around a yawn.
Sam may have only been back for less than an hour, but somehow it feels like nothing’s changed.
All the distance has melted away, and it’s like hanging out with my best friend after school again.
Or… Maybe it’s not quite the same. There’s a new frisson of energy.
Were his eyes lingering on my chest a bit longer than usual?
Was he just looking at my mouth? And why do I want him to?
We end up at the cheap Italian restaurant on the corner, and Sam orders a mountain of spaghetti bolognese.
“Carb-loading?” I steal a forkful before he can protest.
“Please. This is strategic fuelling for a big night of… not drinking.”
“Living on the edge, Champ.”
He grins and nudges his water glass against mine. “Pirate’s code. Hydration clause.”
“How’s training?” I take a bite of my pizza.
“So many 5 a.m. alarms,” he groans. “But it’s amazing. I love the team.”
He tells me more about his new teammates as we eat.
I know of most of them through his texts, but somehow hearing him talk about them makes them click into focus.
Austin isn’t just ‘the roommate with a drawl’ anymore, he’s the one who’s oddly obsessed with motivational quotes and keeps taping them to Sam’s locker.
Seb’s the quiet one who shows up with spare snacks and the exact right film rec when Sam’s brain is fried.
AJ is, in Sam’s words, a “flirtatious liability” who once set off the fire alarm trying to flambé pancakes at a team brunch and then flirted with the RA to avoid a fine.
I wonder what Sam’s like around them. I want to belong to this life that’s starting to belong to him.
We split a tiramisu because the menu bullied us into it. He lets me have the last spoonful without comment.
“Ready?” He pushes back from the table.
“Ready,” I lie, because suddenly the idea of a crowded bar with Sam at my side feels like awfully like a test I haven’t studied for.