Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
MURPHY
It’s Sunday morning and I’m staring at the ceiling in Sophie’s flat, arms behind my head, feeling like I’ve been hit by the most glorious truck of my life. A Sophie-shaped truck. One with wild hair, a filthy laugh, and legs for days that have been tangled with mine all weekend.
I can hear her humming in the kitchen, opening drawers and moving about like she’s not the reason my thighs are sore and I can’t think straight.
I grin at the ceiling.
Saturday night was... yeah. Fucking brilliant. We were both wrecked after, in that lazy, satisfied way. And the way she curled into me afterward, murmuring half-asleep jokes and tracing circles on my chest, like it was the most natural thing in the world? I was gone. Fully, stupidly gone for her.
I roll out of bed, pull on my joggers, and pad into the kitchen. She’s got her hair pulled into a curly messy topknot, still wearing one of my hoodies and some sleep shorts that should be illegal. She’s got two mugs on the counter and the smell of coffee makes me groan happily.
“Morning, Sunshine,” I say, leaning on the counter.
She gives me that smug smile that makes me feel like a schoolboy. “Morning, Sex God.”
I nearly choke laughing. “Sex God? That what we’re calling me now?”
“Only because calling you ‘Sweaty Beast Who Made Me Scream’ doesn’t fit on a coffee mug.”
I grin wide. “I can get one custom made.”
She pushes one of the mugs toward me and I take a grateful sip. We drink in silence for a bit, just smiling like idiots, and I don’t even care how soppy I probably look.
Eventually, I glance at my phone. “I should head back soon. Boys are meeting for Sunday hang. Pint and a fry-up situation. You’re still coming over later, right?”
Sophie nods. “Yeah, I told Mia I’d stop by hers first and then I’ll come find you.”
“Tell her to bring cake. Or Jacko. Jacko with cake. Actually, just Jacko and his cake.”
She laughs, setting her mug down. “I’ll see what I can do.”
By the time I get to the pub, the boys are already at our usual corner booth, sprawled out like they own the place.
Dylan’s brooding over a Guinness, probably thinking about his dad.
Jacko’s got three plates in front of him, all stacked with food, and Ollie looks as though he just woke up in the clothes he wore out last night.
“The fuck happened to you?” I say to Ollie, sliding into the booth.
“I slept in the rookie’s bathtub. He locked his bedroom door.”
“I said you could have the couch!” The rookie yells from the other side of the table.
“You also said you were gonna eat an entire jar of pickles at three in the morning and then passed out on the couch, mate.”
I shake my head, laughing as I steal a piece of bacon off Ollie’s plate. “You lot are savages.”
Jacko glances up from his mountain of food. “I baked this morning.”
“Of course you did,” I say. “What was the occasion?”
“Sunday stress bake.”
Dylan mutters into his pint. “What are you stressed about, mate? We won the last two games.”
“Exactly. That’s when things start to fall apart.”
“He’s got Bake Off anxiety,” Ollie stage-whispers. “Thinks Paul Hollywood’s gonna show up and judge his croissants.”
Jacko glares at him but doesn’t deny it. “They’re not croissants, they’re kouign-amann, they’re French. And I brought some.”
Ollie perks up. “You what? You brought pastries and didn’t open with that?”
Jacko pulls a Tupperware box from his bag as if it’s some kind of treasure chest and the entire booth descends into chaos. Ollie grabs one and moans exaggeratedly. “Marry me, Jacko.”
“I’m flattered,” Jacko says dryly, “but I’m not sure you’re emotionally stable enough for commitment.”
“True,” Ollie says, mouth full. “I cried over a TikTok last week.”
Dylan’s watching the chaos unfold, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth, but he still looks distant.
I lean in. “You okay, Winters?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Thinking about your dad or about how Jacko might actually be the best baker this side of Mary Berry?”
He laughs quietly. “Bit of both.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence while Ollie and the rookie fight over the last pastry. Jacko just watches them, his expression smug.
“So,” I say, stretching out, “Sophie stayed over last night.”
That gets their attention.
Ollie grins. “Did you convince her with your legendary charm?”
“More like my legendary endurance.”
“Please stop,” Dylan says, face twisted.
Jacko raises an eyebrow. “She didn’t look like she’d put up with your nonsense.”
“She doesn’t. That’s why it works.”
They all groan but it’s good-natured, and I’m smiling because yeah, it does work. Sophie’s got this way of calling me on my shit while still looking at me as if I’m something worth keeping around. I’m not used to that. I like it more than I thought I would.
Dylan gives me a look. “You serious about her?”
I nod. No jokes, no deflection. Just honesty. “Yeah. I am.”
There’s a beat of silence before Ollie grins. “God help her.”
“She’s strong,” I say. “She’ll survive.”
Jacko raises his glass. “To Sophie. The bravest among us.”
We all clink our glasses together, laughing.
And in the back of my head, I’m already thinking about tonight. About seeing her again. I’ve been a lot of things in my life; a loudmouth, a player, a walking disaster on tequila nights. But with her? I want to be better.
And that’s a fucking terrifying, wonderful thing.