Chapter 3
RICHARD
What am I doing?
We order fresh drinks and then find a table.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join your friends?” I ask.
“Nope. I’m happy here. With you.” Angus smiles, and for some reason, the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter.
I try to keep my stare on his handsome face and stunning green eyes, but it keeps sliding to the way his very tight T-shirt stretches across his pecs and curves around the tops of his biceps.
It’s impossible not to notice how well built he is, which makes sense, considering he said he was here with the Barbell Society.
“What do you do?” I ask.
He laughs. “I’m a student.”
I didn’t need reminding of that. There are no rules against chatting with students. I’m not doing anything wrong. We’re having a drink together and talking. Does he feel sorry for me? I’m sure he’ll go and catch up with his friends soon.
I pinch my eyes shut and take a breath before opening them and focusing very firmly on his face. “I meant at the Barbell Society.”
“Oh! We lift weights, mostly, but we also do more general workouts. Cardio and stuff.”
And look great. I bite my tongue. My gaze trails downwards again, taking in his thick lips, clean-shaven, rounded jaw, his wide, corded neck, those powerful pecs and bulging biceps.
Dear God, he’s so perfect, his likeness should be chiselled out of marble and put on display for the whole world to admire. I should not be ogling him.
“Have you ever noticed what’s odd?” he asks.
I snap my stare back to his eyes—they are so damned pretty and vibrant—and shrug. “No. What?”
“Every other number.” He grins.
I blink, and then a laugh breaks through my dour mood. “That was a terrible joke.”
“Made you laugh, though, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I have plenty more bad maths jokes where that came from.”
I gulp my whisky, which goes down smoothly. “Maths isn’t your major, is it?” If it were, I’d have taught him more than once.
“Accounting and Business. I went down the economics pathway in my second year, which is why I had the pleasure of having you as my lecturer for the Mathematics for Business and Economics unit.” He leans his chin onto his hand. “You were an excellent teacher. I enjoyed those lectures a lot.”
Am I imagining it, or did his voice get lower and huskier?
Heat flushes through me. I should make an excuse and walk away.
Now. But where would I go? To a lonely hotel room?
I can’t go home. I’ll need to collect my things eventually, but I don’t want to spend the night there.
Fuck. My marriage is over. I tug my hand through my hair.
“It blindsided you, didn’t it?” Angus asks.
I straighten and frown. “What?”
“Your wife, cheating on you.”
I sigh. “Yes. I thought we were happy. I’m not going to claim we had a perfect marriage—”
“—Who does?”
I half-smile. “Exactly. But I didn’t realise she was unhappy or unsatisfied, let alone enough to sleep with someone else.” Why am I telling him any of this? “I don’t want to think about my failed marriage. Tell me another maths joke.”
Angus raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“All right. Why was six afraid of seven?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because seven, eight, nine.”
I groan at the pun and then laugh despite myself. “That was terrible.”
“Hey, I set your expectations from the start. I told you they were bad jokes.”
“You did.” But I appreciate them, perhaps a little too much. “Tell me another?”
“Either you’re a glutton for punishment, or my jokes aren’t as bad as you’re making out.”
“It’s the former.”
“If you say so.” Angus takes a long glug of beer and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s an innocent action, so why do I find it sexy? “Okay, this one isn’t strictly a maths joke. Who’s in charge of a pencil case?”
I can guess the punchline, but I shrug innocently.
“The ruler.” Angus sniggers and then drinks more beer.
“You were right.”
“About—?”
“You are good company. Thank you.”
“Only good?” He bats his lashes.
“Great company.” Although I feel a little guilty for being able to laugh, considering a few minutes ago it felt like my world was falling apart.
It still is falling apart. My marriage is over. My wife has been unfaithful. Angus has brought a ray of sunshine into an otherwise overcast day.
“Do you want another?” He nods at my empty glass.
I know my limits. Two drams of whisky will make me tingly, but won’t get me drunk. Not that I would drive, but I wasn’t intending on going anywhere in my car tonight anyway. I need to find a hotel room. I should have probably done that before I found a bar, but I wasn’t thinking rationally.
Am I now? Probably not. If I were, I wouldn’t be having a drink with a student at the university where I work. I wouldn’t be ogling his physique or marvelling at how pretty his eyes are.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks something on it.
“Problem?” I ask.
He smiles and puts it away. “No. Just my friends letting me know which bar they ended up in.”
“You should join them.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s who you came out with tonight. Not a miserable and boring lecturer.”
“You’re not boring.”
“But I am miserable?”
“You tell me. It’s understandable if you are. Considering. Anyway, miserable or not, I’m happy hanging out with you. Unless you’d rather I leave?”
I should tell him to go. My head is one hundred per cent yelling at me to put an end to this situation. “No.” Wrong answer.
He widens his smile. “Great. I’ll get another round in.” He stands and heads to the bar before I can get another word in.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from Ashley.
Ashley: Come home so we can talk.
I stare at her words. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. An apology, maybe? Would I accept it if she gave me one? Would it make any difference? Would I change my mind about getting divorced?
“Well, that’s a serious face.” Angus sits and places a drink in front of me.
I down it in one. Tingly. It’s a pleasant, warming sensation. “My wife messaged me. She wants me to go home so we can talk.” I’m painfully aware of the raw hurt in my voice.
Why am I sharing her message with Angus?
Knowing my luck, my wife’s infidelity will be all over campus by noon tomorrow.
Yet I believed Angus when he said he wouldn’t gossip about me.
He has a kind, sincere air about him. Perhaps that’s why I’m still sitting here, with him, instead of running home to my wife—I suck in a breath—my soon-to-be ex-wife.
“Do you want to?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “My dad cheated on my mum.”
Angus sips his drink, watching me with his piercing eyes.
“She forgave him, and he did it again. And again. And again.” I sigh.
“Is that something your wife knows about?”
“Yes. And she still cheated on me.” Bitterness and a side helping of anger replace the hurt in my voice. I clench my fist. “If she wasn’t happy, why didn’t she talk to me? We could have worked things out, or at least tried. But now… now… How can I ever trust her again?”
Angus stays silent. What is there to say?
“I told her I want a divorce.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. It’s over.” Anguish floods back in. Tears prickle my eyes. My throat is sore with held-back emotion.
“Do you want to get out of here? Go for a drive or something?”
I tap my glass, which is empty except for the melting ice. “I shouldn’t drive.”
“I have a Land Rover.”
“Really?”
“It’s not as fancy as it sounds. I’m a farm boy. And I’m sober. I always go for a drive when I need to clear my head.”
“Does it work?”
“Always.”
I shouldn’t go for a drive with Angus.
“I promise I’m a good driver.”
“All terrible drivers say that.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m not one of those. You’re safe with me.”
Fuck, why does that statement make me quiver with need? This is the point in the conversation where my brain should take control of my mouth and tell him I need to go. “A drive sounds fun.”
“Great. Let’s go.” Angus stands.
“Aren’t you going to have your drink?”
“Nah. I’m good.” He grabs his jacket and jerks his thumb towards the door.
I follow him onto the street, through the city centre and out the other side, to a low-cost multistorey carpark, a short walk from the university campus. He leads me to an old, battered, mud-stained Land Rover, which I stand and gawp at.
“Told you I was a farm boy.” He twirls his car keys around his finger and then unlocks the car. “Get in.” He slips into the driver’s seat and shuts his door with a hollow thunk.
After a few more moments of staring, I get into the passenger seat. The upholstery is well-worn, and the padding is lumpy.
“Sorry, it’s not the most comfortable ride.”
“It’s fine.” I glance over my shoulder, into the back.
Rather than a traditional face-forward seating configuration, there are side-facing bench seats on either side, which look like they can be flipped up to make more space. Scraps of straw and hay litter the textured, metal flooring. He really is a farm boy.
“It’s roomy,” I say lamely.
“Yup!” He winks and then throws the Land Rover into gear.
I quickly discover that the suspension is about as comfortable as the seats, as Angus drives away from the city.
The best thing about living in Leeds is that you’re never too far a drive away from the countryside.
It has all the comforts of a big city, with plenty of green on your doorstep.
Before long, we’re driving down winding roads.
Angus is a good driver. Despite plenty of twists, turns, blind bends, hills, and dips, I never feel unsafe.
Like me, he plays music as he drives. I know some of the songs.
When he sings, it’s hard not to join in. He glances at me, grinning, when I do.
“Wind the window down if you want. I don’t have anything fancy like air conditioning.” He pats the steering wheel lovingly.
I do so—I can’t remember the last time I was in a car with a manual winder—and let the wind whip through my hair. Mum would call it ‘clearing out the cobwebs.’