3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
I was a ball of nerves out on the wind-swept water with my crew the following morning. Thank goodness we were doing a gentle, steady-state piece ahead of the regatta at the weekend, which didn’t require much from my conscious brain.
The act of dipping my blades (known as oars to the non-rowing world) into the water, connecting with my legs, pulling through with my arms, then pressing the handles down to pop them out, had long ago become habitual. I was well past ten thousand hours, so all I had to do was set a decent pace for my crew behind me and remember to pay attention to my coach’s occasional megaphone-enhanced commands from the narrow dirt towpath where she cycled beside us. Which meant I had plenty of time for my mind to process other things.
Like the text messages I’d exchanged with Andrew the previous evening.
Miri 21:15: OMG, Andrew!
Miri 21:16:
Yep, just one minute later.
Miri 21:16: Sorry. Probably no need for the exclamation mark.
And yes, I spelled out exclamation mark like the loser millennial I am. Then I freaked out because, why the hell had I sent that?
I put my phone down, then apparently immediately picked it up again, which I know because the time stamp on the next message was exactly the same as the one before. How am I this tragic?
Miri 21:16: I think I’m freaking out. How is this going to work? What are we going to tell everyone?
I’d then managed to put my phone down for longer than ten seconds, mainly because I’d had the longest shower of all time, and when I checked it again, Andrew had replied.
Andrew 22:01: Don’t freak out. Breakfast after training?
His message was so calm. So assured. But it contained no hint as to why he was doing this, and none of it made any sense!
Miri 22:07: We need rules of engagement.
Andrew 22:07:
He messaged straight back – yay!
Andrew 22:07: Are we going to war?
Miri 22:07: You know what I mean.
Andrew 22:08: Go to sleep. We can plan our battle strategy in the morning.
Miri 22:08: Urgh, fine.
Miri 22:09: P.S. you’re annoying.
Andrew 22:09: Night, Miri. Sleep tight. X
A smile spread across my lips at his use of my name, his equally dorky millennial punctuation, the X that, even in text message form, had made my insides squeeze. I'd tried to sleep, but sleep had evaded me, so instead I’d lain awake replaying our brief kiss, then imagining other things we might do …
But in the pit of my stomach sat a weight so heavy even the endorphins couldn’t lift it because fake dating Andrew also meant lying to everyone we knew. And I hated lying.
At the end of our morning training session, we put away our boat and blades, then headed to the locker room, my attention still half on Andrew.
‘Breakfast?’ Hazel asked, looking hopefully at us, her question finally snapping my brain into the moment.
‘I’ve got an early meeting,’ said Livia, disappearing into the showers.
Ottie shook her head mournfully. ‘I’m trying to be financially responsible; this whole student thing really sucks.’
We nodded sympathetically, but I never went to university, so I wouldn’t really know.
Hazel turned her puppy dog gaze on me—her last resort. ‘I … um …’ Embarrassment flushed my features as I pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie. ‘I’m meeting Andrew for breakfast.’
They stared blankly at me for a long moment.
‘You’re really dating, then?’ Hazel said eventually.
I coughed awkwardly as I picked up my bag, then gave them a half nod, even lying by gesture feeling horrible.
Ottie cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, perhaps sensing my hesitation. ‘Hmmm.’
‘Breakfast tomorrow?’ I suggested, my heart in my mouth, then I dove for the exit, not waiting for their answers.
I ducked through the pedestrian gate out onto the street and hurried towards my café. Andrew’s crew had come off the water before us, and I didn’t want to keep him waiting, but as I crossed the piazza, nervous energy balled in my stomach. What on Earth should I say to him? How should I greet him? What rules should I suggest? Did he think me overly dramatic for insisting on rules?
I pushed open the café door and spotted him at a table by the window overlooking the river. The café sat underneath the terrace of the bar above, and it was packed already, the clientele mostly professionals conducting breakfast meetings and people like us grabbing sustenance after a workout.
The comforting scent of freshly baked bread, coffee, and sweet pastries washed over me, and the familiarity calmed me a little as I waved warmly to my servers before joining Andrew. But the roiling in my stomach returned in full force as I sat, so I ran my hands over the rustic wooden tabletop, then turned my eyes to the wildflowers in the jam jar between us. Anything to delay looking into his eyes.
‘You seem nervous,’ Andrew said in a low, gentle voice, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table, ducking his head a little to try and snare me.
‘I …’ I still couldn’t meet his eyes, and realized I’d started playing with my napkin. I dropped it, then inhaled deeply. ‘I guess I am.’ As soon as I admitted it, some of my tension eased. ‘It’s so sudden and public and I’m not a natural liar.’ My eyes flicked up as my mouth ran away with me. ‘And it’s … you !’
Disappointment flashed across his features. ‘You want to call it off?’
‘No!’ The word was out so fast it took even me by surprise.
He raised his eyebrows and a smile ghosted his lips.
I flagged a server to cover my awkwardness. ‘But we need rules, and a consistent story.’
He nodded, although I wondered if the quirk of his lips was teasing, and I wrinkled my nose.
‘What can I get you?’ asked my perky new hire.
We ordered lattes and scrambled eggs on sourdough, like the good little athletes we were, and then, once the server was firmly out of earshot, I took a deep, centering breath and folded my hands in front of me. ‘Rules.’
Andrew inclined his head, then waited for me to continue.
‘That’s all you’ve got? This was your idea!’
He gave me an indulgent look, then reached forward and covered my hand with his. As our skin connected, a spell wove between us, around us, through me, the warmth and reassurance chasing my unease away. This wasn’t so bad. Andrew and I had been friends for years. What was I even worried about?
A movement in my periphery caught my eye, and I glanced sideways to find Theo looking through the window, staring straight at us. Right. Theo. Guilt seeped through me at having been caught with Andrew, and then I realize that Theo being there was probably why Andrew had taken my hand. Theo stormed off, and as I turned back to Andrew, I saw him afresh, noticing that he’d showered, changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and smelled good enough to eat, while I, on the other hand, was a mess. I hadn’t showered, my hair was wind-whipped, and my face was probably still red from the training session. Not that Andrew seemed to care. And why the hell did I care? He’d seen me looking this way six days a week for the last who knew how many years.
The server put our food in front of us, and Andrew began to pull away, but I caught hold for a beat, not wanting to lose his touch, and he stilled. His hand dwarfed mine—even though mine were big for a woman—and I loved the scratch of his calluses against my skin. All rowers had them, hard won after months of living with painful blisters.
I pulled away with a slight shake of my head, puffing out a breath as I picked up my fork, forcing myself to focus. ‘Holding hands is fine,’ I said, trying to sound businesslike, then hurrying on without giving him a chance to reply. ‘Hugs … I mean, we hug anyway, so that’s fine. So long as that’s okay with you?’
He nodded, his eyes watching me with an intense expression I’d never seen on him before. Warm but guarded.
‘It goes without saying that we should keep this between ourselves—we’d never live it down if the others found out, especially after what happened with my coach …’
A tinge of concern marred his features. ‘Of course.’
‘And pet names are a no,’ I said quickly, not wanting to dwell on the past.
He cracked a smile. ‘But I’d been so looking forward to calling you Buttercup .’
I reared back, the mere thought of him calling me that in front of our friends making me squirm. ‘ Buttercup ?’
The skin around his eyes crinkled as he picked up his cutlery. ‘Buttercups are beautiful.’
I shook my head vigorously. ‘Hard no, or I’ll have to call you Sugarplum or Honeybun or … Booboo! ’
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. ‘Which would it be?’
I lifted a coquettish shoulder. ‘I guess we’ll never know.’
He put down his cutlery, rested his forearms against the table’s edge, then watched me for a beat. ‘What about kissing?’ he said nonchalantly, and I nearly choked on my latte. ‘I don’t want it to be weird, but we should try to be convincing. Natural.’
Oh my God . My insides clenched in the most vicious way, and I wondered if every one of my organs was failing in synchrony, but then I realized the pulse pounding in my ears indicated things were still ticking over, if a little faster than average. ‘Okay,’ I breathed, and the word pulled the air tight between us, while the way he looked at me leeched all moisture from my mouth.
Fake. This. Is. Fake! And don’t freaking forget it.
I coughed, then imagined we were discussing the weather as I said, ‘Dates.’
Andrew nodded enthusiastically. ‘We should go on them.’
‘When?’ I laughed.
‘Good point. If the opportunity arises, then.’
I inclined my head, inwardly delighted. ‘Dating other people?’
A frown dug deep furrows in his brow. ‘Hard no.’
‘Agreed.’
His frown lifted.
‘When should it end?’
He flinched.
‘I mean, I don’t want to take advantage.’ Shit, that sounded sexual. ‘I mean … what if you meet someone you actually want to date?’
His frown returned, and I panicked. Had the taking advantage thing offended him?
‘Let’s cross that bridge if we get to it,’ he said a little curtly, then softened as he continued, ‘and in the meantime, let’s just be open with each other.’
I nodded dumbly because the word if was taking up all my brain power. If we get to it? If? Andrew and I had been friends for years, but nothing this intimate had ever taken place between us. We’d rarely even eaten alone together—more often surrounded by our crews—so that, by itself, would have been a little disorienting, but this …?
I’d always been attracted to Andrew on some level, from the first moment I’d laid eyes on him, but he’d never made a move, had firmly friend-zoned me, and then he’d started dating someone else. Then I’d started dating someone else, and since then, we’d never really been single at the same time, although in my case, my relationships could more accurately be described as a string of flings with men who were very much not keepers.
Andrew, on the other hand, seemed to only date super humans. He’d split up with his latest girlfriend a month or so ago, some heiress to a financial fortune who’d set up a sea of charities. She wasn’t a rower, so I’d only caught glimpses of her from a distance, but I got the feeling she’d wanted to spend more time with him, and he was always at the club. I couldn’t blame her. If he were truly mine, I’d want to lock him in my bedroom and never let him out.
But he wasn’t mine. He saw me as a friend, and was only doing this to make Theo jealous, which was ridiculous because I’d only dated Theo on account of a dry spell, my vanity had appreciated his attention, and there was no one else available.
I should tell Andrew, should end it, should release him from whatever this arrangement was, but as I finally resolved to do it—at least the first part—he looked at his watch, then pushed back his chair. ‘I have to get to work.’
‘I’ll walk you out,’ I said, pushing back my own chair and deciding not to say anything. The moment had passed, so clearly the universe didn’t want me to end it just yet.
Andrew pulled a couple of notes out of his wallet and dropped them on the table. ‘Andrew!’ I protested. ‘Breakfast is on me.’
‘Nope,’ he said with a determined shake of his head, stepping to the side and ushering me in front of him. ‘It’s our first date; I’m not letting you pay, and it was delicious, as always.’
I smiled, a glow of warmth spreading out through my chest. It was always so gratifying when someone complimented my businesses because my businesses were a part of me, a reflection of my personality in some way. ‘Oh, fine, but the next one is on me.’
He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, but I didn’t push, too distracted by his holding the door open for me then wrapping his fingers around mine, my breath catching in my throat, part of me nervous we’d be seen. Which was silly, seeing as being seen together was exactly the point.
We headed towards the back of the building, to the external metal stairs that led to my apartment’s front door, and the parking lot where Andrew had parked his truck. This side of the building was not scenic, but I’d done what I could, flower-filled planters lining the sidewalk and stairs.
We came to a stop beside Andrew’s impossibly clean blue truck, and tension crackled between us. I bit my lip, looking down at his fingers, and then he drew me slowly towards him.
His expression was hopeful when I looked up into his eyes, and the edge of vulnerability tugged at my heartstrings. I’d rarely seen him look anything but the picture of quiet confidence.
He bowed his head, and my heartrate rocketed. Were we really doing this? My brain somehow gave my neck the instruction to angle my head up towards him, and then he put his hands on my waist and pulled me all the way against him, and then his soft, warm lips were on mine, and I sighed into his mouth and forgot about anything but him.
I expected it to be quick like the last time, but he lingered, so my hands lifted to his back and slid down the muscular ridges on either side of his spine. His lips played with mine, sucking gently, the feeling erotic enough to short circuit my brain, diverting all available blood south and making me moan just a little. And then I was deepening the kiss, opening my mouth to him, hungry for more, but he went rigid and pulled away with a cough, averting his gaze as hot, cruel shame rushed through my guts, embarrassment turning my face some shade of puce I was glad I couldn’t see.
Familiar voices across the street drew my attention—the women’s novice crew—and I wanted to cry. That was why he’d kissed me, to convince our audience, not because he’d wanted to.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What was wrong with me?
‘Miri, I—’ His voice was tight, uncomfortable.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered, unable to look at him. And then I fled.