Chapter 11
“So let’s hear it. How’d it go?” Camden asks as I stride out of my bedroom, scratching my abs and beelining for the coffeepot.
“How’d what go?” I grumble, pushing the messy snarls of hair out of my face.
Having longer hair has made me far more sympathetic to women. It’s high fucking maintenance, and it’s not lost on me that I can no longer just roll out of bed and head out for the day. Now I have to tame the mane on a daily basis.
But at least I’m not identical to Cam anymore.
“How was the other night? I’m looking at the pictures right now.”
I pour my coffee and exhale, shuffling over to his seat at the breakfast bar.
Without asking, I snatch his mobile from his hands and flop my elbows down on the counter, lazily scrolling through the photos.
Santino had sent me some links but I didn’t want to click on them.
Knowing my brother is trolling the net has me curious, though.
I’m relieved to see there are no shots of Belle chucking the wine in my face.
And there are no shots of us going inside the hotel to visit Sedgwick.
The photos also aren’t a glowing review of our fake relationship.
We are clearly in the midst of a quarrel, but the kiss that comes after the sequence of fighting shots looks somewhat redeeming.
The best shot is one of us back in the restaurant when she’s eating her dessert.
I’m laughing at something and her eyes are practically twinkling with delight staring back at me.
If there wasn’t photographic proof, I’d hardly believe we looked at each other that way.
“Harryn?” I groan. “They came up with a couple name for us already? This is fucking ridiculous.” I pause and try the word out a few more times in my head. “Harryn is the best they could do?”
“It’s probably your beard,” Cam says over a mouthful of cereal, like a twelve-year-old boy with it dribbling down his chin.
“What did you expect? You’ve been whoring yourself around London like a champion stallion for the last few months and now you’ve been seen with the same woman two nights in a row. They see wedding bells in your future.”
I scoff, “This arrangement is going to be the death of me.”
“Why do you say that? Belle’s not so bad. I thought you fancied her once upon a time.”
“I did. I still do…a bit. But as a shag and bag type.”
I hand his mobile back to him and hitch myself up on the counter, grabbing my coffee for comfort.
“I see.” Camden stands up from his seat and stretches, a purple bruise colouring the inside of his bicep just below his ink—a result of his match yesterday, I’m sure.
“Congrats on your goal the other day.”
He gives me a small smile. One that looks polite and slightly uncomfortable. “It’s no big deal.”
I frown, watching him walk around me to the sink and placing his bowl inside. “Of course it’s a big deal. This is your first season with Arsenal. You’re killin’ it, broseph.”
“Yeah, but still. It’s just a game.”
Just a game? What? Is he nuts?
“Why are you being weird right now?”
“I’m not being weird,” he defends. “I just don’t think we have to talk about football all the time.”
“What the hell else would we talk about?” I honestly haven’t a clue. We used to talk about women, but now that he’s wifed up and I’ve got a ball and chain attached to my neck, that pretty much just leaves football for discussion.
“We could talk about how you’re doing. Maybe…your…feelings.” He looks like he regrets the words as soon as they spill out of his mouth. “Just forget it,” he rushes.
I roar with laughter, my stomach tightening with each exhale. “There’s no way I’m forgetting that. Did you just ask me to talk about my feelings?” I chuckle some more, completely disturbed by this entire exchange. I squint down at his groin. “Oh fuck, Cam! Your vagina is showing!”
He shoves me so hard I nearly fall backwards off the counter.
“My balls are right where they belong,” he seethes. “And they were emptied last night. How about yours?”
My good humour is lost at his low blow. “Mine are blue and likely to shrivel up and die before this month is over.”
Cam gives me a knowing nod, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “I’m genuinely curious how you’re going to handle this.”
“I don’t know. Fuck me, I wasn’t ready for Deep Talk this early in the morning.
” I moan, tucking my hair behind one of my ears and taking a sip of hot coffee.
“Santino emailed me the list of events we have to attend and the more I read, the more it felt like a bloody noose tightening around my neck.”
“But you said you like Belle.”
“I do, but not for anything long-term. So I can’t go there. I won’t hurt Indie like that.”
He frowns. “What does Indie have to do with it?”
“She’s your girlfriend. You’re in fucking love from what I and the rest of the world can see. I’m not going to fuck over her best friend and make life complicated for everyone. I like Indie too much to do that.”
He shakes his head. “Indie wouldn’t give a toss! She’s always moaning about how you two can’t get along. Maybe this would fix that?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be a long-term fix. Therein lies the problem.”
He scoffs, “It sounds to me like you’re searching for excuses. Belle’s not some young, innocent bird you’re taking advantage of. The first night I started things with Indie, I picked her up at a club and she left Belle there with some random bloke like it was a normal weekly occurrence.”
I set down my coffee, trying to hide my level of shock. “Really?”
“Yeah, Indie says Belle isn’t into commitment.
I think she’s a bit of a party girl, Tan.
” He moves back over to his stool near where my legs are dangling.
“They’re married to their careers. Indie was resistant to me at first, too, but it’s partly why we work so well together.
We both travel a lot. Our careers are important and we respect that about each other. ”
I’m not sure what to make of all of this.
When I think back to the night Belle and I flirted so heavily at Old George, I will admit that’s the vibe I got from her.
I’m quite accustomed to sussing out the birds who see me as husband material and the ones who see me as shagging material.
But I’m always wary of going back for seconds because women will say they want casual and then change their minds after a few shags.
Their vaginas are directly wired to their hearts.
My dick is directly wired to my dick, like an infinity sign with a constant revolving movement. Shag and bag. Shag and bag.
However, Belle is a doctor. She’s crazy fucking smart and loads more mature than the women I’m used to. Maybe she is some female anomaly I’ve been mistakenly turning away from.
“Well, none of this matters,” I reply. “She bloody well hates me. She’s pretty clear, especially when she says those exact words to my face.”
Camden laughs. “She’s not overly subtle, is she? But can you blame her? You gave her the impression you didn’t want a shag and then started fucking anything with legs.”
I glower at him. “You were right there beside me not long ago.”
He smiles and shakes his head, slapping a hand on my shoulder.
“I know I was. But you’d be surprised how great regular sex with the same person is.
It gives you a chance to…fine-tune things.
Find brand new buttons.” He winks and shoots me a dirty look that has me holding back the vomit climbing up my throat.
“You can’t talk to me about Indie like that.
Ever. She’s…like a sister to me now. Just…
no.” He continues leering at me like a creep.
“I’m not kidding. We can’t talk girls anymore.
Ever.” I lean down and grab him by the shirt collar, hitching my voice to be wildly dramatic.
“Promise me, Cam. Promise me right now!”
He laughs. “I promise you, drama queen. Just promise me you’ll consider it. Maybe by the time I get back from my match this weekend you and Belle will have found a way to make some fun out of this arrangement.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen a tiny glimmer of hope since the dark storm of Belle clouded my life.
Typically, my showers after work are consumed by thoughts about the cases we have going on at the hospital.
I use the quiet time in my bathroom to mentally decompress from the day’s challenges.
Right now, we’re preparing for a mother who’s coming in next week for selective laser ablation.
It’s a treatment used to treat twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, or as Dr. Miller likes to affectionately call them, The Thief and The Giver.
Essentially, one baby absorbs more blood than its sibling.
With this technique, we go into the uterus using a tiny camera and are able to separate the blood flow between the two babies to help them both get an equal share.
It’s a fascinating procedure that I should be consumed by.
Instead, all I’m thinking about as I stand under the pounding water, aggressively rubbing shampoo in my hair, are the texts Tanner sent me this morning. A stupid smirk flicks across my face.
Tanner: Do you mind if I pop by tonight to discuss Santino’s email?
Belle: Yes
Tanner: Yes you mind or yes I can come over?
Belle: Yes I mind. I just cleaned and I don’t want you dragging in the clap.
Tanner: Hey, that’s all cleared up now.
Belle: I’m going to be sick.
Tanner: Oh come on, take a joke.
Belle: STDs aren’t funny. I’m a doctor. I would know. I’ll show you pictures sometime.
Tanner: Seriously, I’ll bring food. Whatever you want.
Belle: Fine but this doesn’t count toward the massive favour you still owe me.
Tanner: Duly noted.
Fuck.
I hate Tanner. I really hate him. But mostly, I hate my attraction to him.
That dumb, boyish smirk and the way he shakes his head from side to side to get his hair out of his face.
And that stupid sweatband I’ve seen him wear around his forehead when he’s on the pitch makes him look like a complete man-child.
But he did not look like a child when he was naked in my car the other night. And he did not feel like a child when he was pressed up against me in the alley two nights ago.
He certainly kisses like a man.
My thoughts darken to how much more we could have done if we would have been alone. So the thought of him coming over to my flat tonight while Indie is away evokes ideas.
Indie’s suggestion to torture him while we go through this whole facade sounds like a fun sort of challenge. However, I can’t seem to quiet the small voice in my head that feels insecure around him.
Tanner blatantly rejected me that night at Old George.
Perhaps the chemistry I felt with him was all one-sided?
Perhaps he doesn’t even find me attractive?
I’m certainly different than the women he’s been banging more recently, that’s for sure.
Yes, he’s a scruffy manwhore who you’d think would shag anything that walks, but he’s also a famous footballer.
They have stunning women throw themselves at them all the time.
“Bloody hell!” I exclaim, stepping out of the shower and towel drying myself off.
This sense of uneasiness reminds me of Sunday mornings as a child.
My mother paraded my brother and me down the stairs for our father’s inspection before we went off to church.
Our outfits had to be just so, our hair had to be just right, and our mannerisms had to be completely devoid of anything resembling a human.
I loathed that feeling of being scrutinised and I refuse to let Tanner Harris put me back in that place. I need to know if he sees me that way or not. And if I get to torture him a bit in return, all the better.
It’s time to take the power back.