Chapter 2
Marlon
All right, Marlon. You can do this. I stare up at the King’s Head’s pub sign and steel myself.
It’s just a date. One that I had hoped might not happen after all, but it turns out Clara was merely being surprisingly considerate for once and held off while Westfield was going through a rough patch.
Right after our first win, she was back with her shenanigans, relentless as ever.
But I can do this. I may have thought about this constantly ever since Clara told me two days ago, but I’m a grown man and a millionaire and I can do this. I can have a date and kiss this unknown woman. Maybe even go further.
People do it all the time. It can’t be that difficult.
The pub isn’t our local, but it’s still in Islington and we’ve been here before. It’s the first time Clara has set my date in a pub, and I wonder if that’s Clara being charitable towards me for once. I'm a lot more at ease here than I do in all those swanky restaurants.
Determined, I push open the door and am immediately engulfed in warm, beer-heavy air.
The grizzly-looking barman gives me a nod in greeting and I glance around.
I’m early and based on the age of the other patrons, my date isn’t here yet.
It’s cosy, all exposed wood beams and brassy appliances, an open fire burning towards the back of the room. My nerves ease a little.
I order a diet coke and a bowl of double-cooked chips. I’m not hungry, necessarily, but it will give me something to do with my hands.
If it were up to Clara, I’d use my hands for other things.
Ugh.
I settle at a small table right next to the fireplace and soak up the warmth.
December in London rarely means enjoyable weather and tonight is no different.
It’s good to have some reprieve from having to be outdoors all day.
Slowly, I sip my coke and take deep breaths.
I need to calm down about this whole thing or this will turn into yet another disastrous date.
Some of the women Clara set me up with were clearly mostly into the idea of dating a professional footballer and therefore put up with my stammering, but some didn’t enjoy the show I was putting on for them. I can’t blame them; neither did I.
With this being the last one, maybe I should go out on a high.
Make this a good one and be done with it.
It has to be doable. And maybe losing my virginity will finally remove some of my stress.
Because even if Clara had never found out about the whole thing, there is still a certain stigma associated with it.
A stigma I don’t buy into, but I also wouldn’t want it to come out and make me the butt of jokes in the dressing room.
But it doesn’t matter. I consciously unclench my jaw and munch on a chip. It’s fine either way. If I already build this night up to be the solution to my problems, it’s doomed to fail. I’ll … take it easy and go with the flow.
Which is the opposite of how I usually approach things, but it can’t hurt to try, surely.
I can totally be loose and fun. I shake my shoulders and roll my head, then can’t help myself and double-check that my collarless, light grey shirt still fits well.
It’s getting warm and I open the buttons at the wrists and push the sleeves back a little. Still relaxed. Still super chill.
I’m about halfway through my food when the pub’s door is suddenly ripped open and everyone in the room looks up.
Given that it’s past our agreed meet-up time, I suspect this might be my date, and wow.
She certainly seems keen. I quickly wipe my greasy fingers on the napkin and comb through my short hair with my fingers, then put on a welcoming smile.
But instead of a beautiful woman, Freddie walks in.
Freddie Bloom.
My teammate.
I know he lives in the area too, close to the stadium like me, but I’ve never seen him in here. What a coincidence to run into him today.
He spots me and beams, that crooked grin I’ve seen a million times over the six years I’ve known him, and I relax.
It’s nice to see him. We’ve played together since we were both fifteen, have shared countless rooms on the road, even thrown up together when we got too adventurous with alcohol we couldn’t handle.
And we got promoted to the first team together, which has made this new, stressful, amazing experience all the better.
Freddie gets a pint at the bar, then saunters over to me. “Hey.” He plonks down in the wooden chair opposite me and pulls off his beanie, revealing an always messy dark mop of hair.
“Hey yourself.” I smile and raise my coke in greeting. “I’m waiting for someone, but feel free to sit here until then.” I’d much rather chat with him than my mystery woman, but I can’t stand her up because he makes me more comfortable. So I should probably let him know.
“Oh, shit, I’m not that late, am I?” His brows furrow and he pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket, then relief flits across his face. “Barely fifteen minutes—hope that’s still okay?”
I shrug, confused. Why would I care when he gets here? “I’m sure it is,” I say anyway. “You’re also meeting someone here?”
Freddie looks at me like I’m stupid. “Yeah? Obviously?”
“Okay?” We’re miscommunicating and it’s kind of funny. I grin at him. “Meeting anyone fun?”
He cocks his head and gives me a look. “I hope so.”
Okay, it’s getting confusing. “What, is Hadidja working overtime again?” Freddie’s girlfriend is working on a degree in … something. Microbiology? Chemistry? She works in a lab and often stays longer than planned. She’s smarter than both of us combined and fun, too.
Freddie leans forward and gives me a weird look. His hoodie is skewed, one lace hanging out, the other tucked inside his neck. “Mate,” he says. “Are you for real? Did Clara not tell you?”
“My sister?” What on earth is he talking about?
“Yes?” Freddie laughs and rakes a hand through his hair, making it stand on end even more. “I can’t believe her, what’s she like? I’m here for our date, dummy. She set it up.”
Date.
He says it so casually I almost miss it, but my brain snags on the word. I stare at him, trying to figure out if I misheard him. Because he can’t mean what I thought I heard. Not a date. Not my date. My final one. The last one that Clara set up.
Clara.
Bollocks.
Freddie laughs again and the sound is so familiar, it instantly calms me. “Your face!” He pulls a grimace, pretending to be dumbfounded, and looks so goofy that I can’t help but join in. “Okay, so she clearly didn’t tell you. Damn, man, that’s rough. She’s expecting you to raw dog this thing?”
Clara and Freddie have met, of course. So have our families.
It’s inevitable when you always turn up at the same youth tournaments and rainy home games that no-one else attends.
But I didn’t know they were talking. About…
me. That’s not a nice thought, and I swallow.
Still, I’m sure I’m getting some things mixed up here.
“So she wants you to, what? Be my wingman? I’ll have you know I’m not that pathetic.
” Although maybe I am. But Freddie doesn’t need to know that.
One corner of his mouth hitches up and his dark eyes sparkle with amusement. Something twitches in my stomach. “Dude. I’m the date.”
I laugh again, but it dies down quickly when he doesn’t join me.
I knew he was, I realise. I knew it the second he waltzed through that door like he owned the place.
But I’m only now allowing the thought and for some reason I’m not panicking.
It …doesn’t make sense. “But,” I say and try to put my confused thoughts into some semblance of order. “But look at you, you’re—”
“Attractive?” Freddie suggests, smiling coyly at me. “Athletic? Charming? Successful?”
I give him a stern look. “A guy.” The twinge in my stomach is back at that undeniable truth. “And one who’s pretty full of himself, at that.”
“Guilty as charged,” Freddie says cheerfully, apparently not bothered by my insult. He’s always been the more confident one. “Glad we’ve got the basics covered.” He reaches across the table to snag a chip from my bowl.
I slap his hand on instinct and am stunned when that millisecond of touch leaves my fingers tingling. I am losing it. Maybe I’ve already lost it. Am I having a stroke? A heart attack? Something is certainly off in my body. Am I breathing normally?
“Mar.” Freddie reaches out again, this time to take my hand in his. I think he tries to calm me, but all the gesture does is send my pulse racing even more. “Look at me,” he says. “Calm down.”
Ah, yes, the magic words. Calm down. The solution to all of life’s crises. “I can’t calm down,” I say, surprised by how normal my voice sounds, “when you’re sitting here and telling me we’re supposed to be on a date.”
“We are on a date.” The look in Freddie’s eyes has softened, a warm glow now rather than the amused sparkle from before. “Look, there’s food and drinks, and I’m even holding your hand.”
Right. That.
I wrench my hand away. Why didn’t I do that sooner?
“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Why on earth would he pull a stunt like this when he has a woman like her?
A soft smile curves his mouth and I can’t look away.
“Honey.” He says it kind of pityingly, but the only thing I can focus on is the word itself.
The pet name. We’ve called each other plenty of names over the years, but never…
this. The sudden change does something to me that I’m not sure I want to delve into.
“Have you ever heard of a beard?” Freddie asks.
I hadn’t, until this point, and I frown. “I’m guessing you don’t mean the facial hair.”
Freddie’s smile is soft as he looks at me. “Lavender marriage?”
“Is that…related to the beard?” I’m probably missing something here—something very obvious, from the way Freddie smiles—but neither of those terms make sense to me.