Nineteen
Friendly Fire
MIA
I’M CURLED UP ON Austin’s ridiculously plush sofa, one of those oversized sectional masterpieces that feels like being swallowed by a cloud.
I am scrolling idly through titles on Netflix, and I’m half-watching, half-daydreaming. My feet are tucked under me, and there’s a faint hum of contentment buzzing in my chest.
Austin’s in the kitchen, claiming he’s “making snacks,” which, in his world, probably means assembling a charcuterie board that could win awards. Honestly, the man could put a Michelin-starred chef to shame with the way he approaches appetizers.
The intercom buzzes suddenly, cutting through the quiet hum of the flat.
“I’ll get it,” Austin calls out, his voice carrying easily from the kitchen. He appears a moment later, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and what looks like a cutting board covered in artfully arranged cheeses, crackers, and fruit in the other.
“Expecting someone?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him as he sets the board down on the coffee table.
His frown deepens as he walks over to the intercom. “Not that I know of.” He presses the button. “Yeah?”
A familiar voice crackles through.
“Mate, it’s Callum. Open up. It's time to watch the mighty Gunners spank Spurs.”
Austin groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re kidding me.”
“Huh?” I ask, curiosity piqued.
He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s Callum and Michael. We were supposed to watch the London derby tonight. It completely slipped my mind.” He pauses, guilt creeping into his expression. “I’ll buzz them up and tell them to leave. This was supposed to be our night.”
I wave a hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. Let them up. I’d like to meet your friends.”
Austin hesitates, his fingers hovering over the intercom button. “You sure? They’re . . . a lot.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He gives me a look that’s half-warning, half-amused before pressing the button.
“Come on up,” he says into the speaker, then turns back to me. “Seriously, Mia, they’re a handful. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door, and Austin opens it to reveal two men carrying six-packs of beer and grinning like they’ve just hit the jackpot.
“Oi oi!” The taller one, who I assume is Callum, sings-songs as he walks in. He’s got an easy smile and the kind of casual confidence that makes you think he could charm his way out of a speeding ticket.
“Alright, dickhead?” The other one—Michael—greets as Austin steps aside to let them in, muttering something under his breath.
Their attention shifts to me almost immediately.
“And who’s this?” Callum asks, his eyebrows shooting up as he spots me sitting on the sofa.
“This is Mia,” Austin says, his tone a mix of pride and warning.
“Ah,” Callum says, drawing the syllable out like it’s some big revelation. “The infamous Mia.”
“Infamous?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Infamous,” Michael confirms with a grin, plopping down on the sofa beside me like we’re old friends. “Austin’s been holding out on us, but don’t worry—we’ve pieced things together.”
“Don’t listen to them,” Austin says, rolling his eyes as he grabs the six-packs from Callum and heads to the kitchen.
“So,” Callum says, sitting on the other side of me, effectively boxing me in. “How do you put up with him? Does he have some secret charm we’re not aware of?”
“Oh, he’s plenty charming,” I say sweetly, watching Austin out of the corner of my eye. “When he wants to be.”
Callum lets out a low whistle. “She’s got your number, mate.”
Austin returns with a couple of glasses and a bottle opener, setting them on the coffee table with a look that’s both fond and exasperated. “Play nice, Callum.”
Michael cracks open a beer and leans back. “So, Mia, are you into football, or are you just here for moral support?”
“I like football,” I say, shrugging. “Played a bit at school, actually.”
Both of them freeze, turning to look at me like I’ve just announced I’m fluent in six languages.
“You played?” Callum asks, looking genuinely impressed.
“Yep. Midfielder. Not to brag, but I was pretty decent.”
Michael shakes his head, grinning. “Mate, she’s putting us all to shame.”
The game kicks off shortly after, and to their surprise—and maybe a little to Austin’s, too—I’m completely invested. I shout at the ref when there’s a bad call, groan when a player misses an open shot, and cheer louder than anyone when Arsenal finally score.
“You’re not just into it,” Michael says during halftime. “You’re into it.”
“What can I say?” I reply, smirking. “Old habits die hard.”
Austin slides closer to me on the sofa, draping an arm over my shoulders. “She’s full of surprises,” he says, his voice low and amused.
The second half is just as intense, with Callum and Michael shouting at the TV like they’re coaching the team themselves. Austin, ever the calm one, simply leans back and lets the chaos unfold, occasionally casting me a look that makes my heart do weird, fluttery things.
By the time the game ends, Arsenal narrowly win, and the living room feels like a war zone—empty beer bottles on the coffee table, throw pillows strewn everywhere, and a palpable buzz of excitement still lingering in the air.
“Well,” Callum says, standing up and stretching. “I think it’s safe to say Mia’s officially one of us.”
Michael nods in agreement. “Definitely. Welcome to the club.”
Austin smirks, pulling me closer. “She’s already in a club of her own, thanks. And it's pretty exclusive.” He announces as he kisses my forehead.
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
Austin gets up and begins clearing up, shoving empty beer cans into a bin bag while muttering under his breath about grown men who can’t aim for a bin.
He looks ridiculously handsome even when he’s annoyed, his sleeves rolled up, his hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it during the game. Honestly, it’s distracting.
Meanwhile, Callum and Michael have made themselves at home on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table like they’re the king’s of the castle.
They’re staring at me now, looking far too smug for my liking.
“So, Mia,” Callum begins, smirking like he’s about to uncover some deep, dark secret. “We’ve heard plenty about you, but this is the first time we’ve actually met you. Feel free to explain why you’re willingly engaged to this idiot.”
Austin groans from the kitchen. “Do you two ever take a day off from being insufferable?”
“Nope,” Michael says cheerfully, leaning forward. “Come on, Mia, spill. You’ve got to admit, this fake engagement thing is absolutely mental.”
“Michael!” Austin snaps, glaring at him.
“What? She knows we know.” He shrugs, entirely unfazed.
I laugh nervously, running a hand through my hair. “Well, it’s not fake anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Callum says, waving his hand dismissively. “We’re thrilled for you, but we need details. Like, how did this whole thing even start?”
I glance at Austin, who’s still cleaning up, clearly trying to ignore them.
“Well, a few years ago he moved into the flat opposite mine,” I say, deciding to keep it simple.
“We started chatting, became friends . . . and, well, one thing led to another and I was asking him to be my fake fiancé. Then, it became not so fake.” I say, looking at Austin who is gazing back at me.
“That’s it?” Callum says, raising an eyebrow. “No dramatic meet-cute? No accidentally knocking him out with a frying pan or something?”
I chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’ve got to give me more than that,” Michael presses. “Like, when did you realise you actually liked him? Was it when he walked around in just a towel? Because I’ve seen that, and honestly, I get it.”
I burst into a fit of giggles and Austin groans again, his face flushing as he stalks back into the room. “Can you two not embarrass me for five minutes?”
“We’re just trying to figure out how Mia puts up with you,” Callum says, smirking.
I grin. “He grows on you. Like mould.”
Michael nearly chokes on laughter. “Oh, I like her.”
“You two are exhausting,” Austin mutters, collapsing onto the armchair with a sigh.
Callum’s smirk fades slightly, and he leans forward, his tone turning more serious. “Alright, jokes aside, Mia. We’ve known Austin a long time, and he’s a decent bloke. A bit moody, sure, but an all round good guy. So, just . . . don’t hurt him, yeah? We just want him to be happy.”
The room suddenly feels heavier, and I glance at Austin, who’s watching me with a small, unreadable smile.
“I’d never hurt him,” I say softly, meaning every word.
Callum nods, satisfied, and Michael claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “Right, well, that’s enough of the serious stuff. Back to teasing.”
Austin shakes his head, clearly unimpressed. “I’m kicking you both out. I’m knackered, and I have an early breakfast meeting tomorrow.”
“Fine, fine,” Callum says, standing and stretching. “But Mia, it was good meeting you. Don’t let this idiot screw it up.”
“I’ll do my best,” I reply with a laugh.
THE BATHROOM IS FILLED with the warm, rich scent of lavender and the sound of water softly sloshing against the sides of the tub.
Candlelight flickers on the walls, casting a golden glow over Austin’s perfectly sculpted shoulders.
I’m leaning back against his chest, my body nestled between his thighs as the water laps at us.
I let out a contented sigh, my head resting against his collarbone. “This is nice,” I murmur.
“Mmm,” he hums, his lips brushing against my temple. “It’s even better now that you’re not running around my flat like a madwoman.”
I swat at his thigh under the water and the movement causes water to slosh onto the floor. “I wasn’t running around. I was . . . tidying.”
“You were muttering about hair dye and threatening to murder a woman named Brenda,” he says, his tone laced with amusement.