15. No. 19 Join a team
fifteen
August
Yeah, I’m an arsehole. I get that. I’ve been the one to tell people on numerous occasions, I’m not trying to pretend I’m anything else. But still, I do feel guilty, which might explain why my leg is bouncing at roughly one hundred times a second.
“Jesus,” Eli gripes, grabbing my thigh and squeezing almost painfully to stop the incessant movement. “What is wrong with you?”
We’re sat on his sofa, a rugby match on the TV. It’s Wednesday and the pub is closed, and I purposefully kept the day free so we could hang out because it’s been too long, and because I have much to talk about.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I snap. Then, when he gives me a flat, disbelieving look, I scrunch my face up in guilt. “Something happened,” I mumble.
“With Bea,” he says as a fact rather than a question.
“What makes you think it’s anything to do with Bea?” I ask defensively.
“Because you’ve been falling over yourself to do nice things for her or spend time with her.
Not to mention you jumped Ross Purcell for her honour, and she’s delightful and pretty and for some inexplicable reason, she seems to like you.
It would make sense if you were going to be an idiot, it would have something to do with her. ”
Well, that is all very true, but my sense of pride has taken a hit, so my defensive shields are up, and I have a rebuttal on the tip of my tongue when he carries on.
“Don’t bother telling me you didn’t do something stupid; you’ve been jittery since you got here and the only thing I’ve ever known to make you jitter is having to admit you’ve made a mistake.
So, just fess up so we can talk it out, then we can turn on the PlayStation because this game is fucking shoddy.
” He takes a sip from his can of Diet Coke, mutes the TV, and turns to face me on the couch, looking at me expectantly.
Yeah, Eli is the best person I know, which is why it’s so fucking hard disappointing him. And he’s going to be disappointed. “We kind of got off together,” I say quietly.
Eli grins, excitement and happiness for me lighting up his green eyes, and it just makes me feel worse. Slapping the back of his hand on my chest, he shakes my shoulder. “Yes, August! This is great. How did you leave things with her?”
“I should go,” I mumble, leaning forward and burying my face in my hands.
He grabs my wrist to pull me back to him, a frown replacing his earlier excitement. “No, don’t go. Talk to me, what’s going on?”
“No, that’s what I said to her,” I explain. “She made me come in my shorts and then I stood up and told her I had to go.”
He looks like a polaroid, staring at me unblinking, eyes slightly narrowed like he’s trying to figure out what I just said. It takes several long seconds for him to say anything. “Please tell me there were some other words before that, like a thanks for the orgasm or a promise to call?”
“Nope,” I say. “I just left.”
“Oh August.” He sighs, shaking his head.
“I panicked,” I defend weakly.
“Why?” He elongates the word, clearly exasperated by me.
“I like her,” I admit, slumping back on the sofa. “But I can’t pursue this.”
“August—”
“I don’t want to pursue this,” I interrupt his sympathetic reasoning. “If we got together, everybody would be talking about it.”
“Maybe for a while,” he agrees. “But soon something else would distract them and tongues will wag about someone else; it’s the circle of life.”
My head is shaking. “And when she gets bored of a quiet life in the country and decides she’s going to move on to the next venture, they’ll all be looking at me again with those pitying eyes and condescending arm pats.”
“August—”
“Because she will, you know. She has this list of everything she wants to do and a lot of it involves leaving the village.” Not everything, of course.
There were definitely a few items on that list that I would just love to help Bea out with, right here.
But things like seeing the Great Pyramids or catching the Northern Lights are not going to happen in Port Doone.
“August—”
“I don’t want a relationship, anyway,” I continue, pointedly ignoring his attempts to interject. “I’m perfectly happy on my own, and starting something up with the girl across the road is a bad idea.”
“Are you done?” Eli says, loud enough to cut me off. “Because the smell of bullshit is starting to make me queasy.”
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s not bullshit.”
“No, you’re right,” he says patronisingly. “I believe you’re worried about all those things, but what you’re really doing is letting the past ruin your future.”
I shuffle uncomfortably on my seat. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“I know, because you haven’t talked about it for three years.” There’s that disappointment I hate. “How’s the debt collection agency been?”
I grind my teeth, glaring at him as my pity party starts feeling like a rage rave. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But it’s what’s holding you back, August, and you came here to talk about Bea.
” Eli manages to look both stern and caring, his eyes soft, lips pressed into a thin line.
“I love you, man, but you’ve got to live your life and stop getting caught up on the past. You can’t change what has happened, but you’re in control of what happens next. ”
I deflate, my anger leaving me but doubts sticking in my gut. “She deserves better than me.”
“What?” Eli jerks back like I’ve struck him.
“She’s gorgeous and like sunshine personified. I’m just a cloud who’ll dull her shine.” I look at the ceiling feeling the weight of my own disappointment like an anvil on my chest.
My best friend in the whole world, the only guy I open up to because I trust and respect him like no other, falls forward on a snorting laugh, his head landing on my chest where he continues to laugh into the fabric of my t-shirt.
I roll my eyes and grumble at him until he’s composed enough to sit up.
“Oh, sweet baby boy, that was an adorable metaphor. Wordsworth would be proud,” he guffaws.
“Shut up.” I shove at his shoulder, my cheeks heating.
“Wait, wait, wait, I’ve got the perfect argument. She’s sunshine but you’re August, and what’s August without a little sunshine.” He holds his hands out, very proud of that little ditty.
“You’re a dick,” I grumble.
“Oh, come on, that was good!” He grins madly.
I can’t help but laugh a little, feeling lighter after talking to Eli. “I’m not like her ex,” I say, just finding excuses now.
“What, the boring dick pic sender? I should hope not,” Eli smirks.
“I mean I don’t look like him.”
He looks at me, confused for a moment until realisation dawns and he gives me a frustrated glare. “Because you don’t have abs?”
“I have abs,” I say, feeling insulted even though it was the exact point I was making. “They’re just well insulated.”
“Okay,” Eli says on a sigh. “I’m only going to say this once and then we’re going to move on like it never happened, you ready?”
“Okay,” I say cautiously.
He levels me with a serious stare, one hand coming to my shoulder and squeezing lightly. “You, August Zelig, are hot. Solid 8.5 out of 10. If you were into dudes, I would totally want to bone you.” He pats my arm and smiles.
“Who says you’d be boning me?” I raise a brow at him.
He turns back in his seat, shaking his head and looking comically scared. “Oh, I’ve seen what you’re packing, no way you’re coming at my arse with that thing.”
I laugh, shoving at him, which he retaliates, and we end up wrestling until I have him in a headlock rubbing my knuckles over his chestnut hair.
“Get off, you overgrown ape.” He tickles my sides, which makes me shriek and we pull apart, panting and grinning. “I love ya,” he says.
“Love you too.” I mumble the words because they never come easy to me, but I know how important they are to Eli.
“And you deserve to be happy, August.” He turns serious and maybe a little sad, which pulls at my under plucked heartstrings. “You should be with someone who makes you happy.”
I dip my head to catch his eye again when he looks down to his leg crooked up on the couch cushion between us. “Hey.” He looks at me. “Same goes for you, you know that, right?”
He plasters on a fake smile and straightens his shoulders. “Of course, I’m a catch.”
“Yeah, you are,” I agree and slap his leg. “Alright, let’s get you kicking my butt at Call of Duty over and done with.”
This isn’t a date. Like I’ve already said, I wouldn’t be spending time with my parents on a date.
This is Quiz Night. Did I decide on a clean and ironed shirt rather than my usual t-shirt?
Maybe. Are these my best jeans that I’ve never worn on a job so have no paint or sawdust on them?
Sure. Did I actually shave so the thick stubble is gone?
Stop asking annoying questions. This is not a date.
I’m just knocking on Bea’s door to remind her it’s Quiz Night, in case she’d forgotten.
That’s all. I tug at my dark blue shirt so it’s not quite so tightly tucked into my belted jeans and swipe up my forearms so both my rolled shirtsleeves sit above my elbows.
Not a date. Despite what my racing heart and fluttering belly are trying to tell me.
I knock on the door and wait. I can hear Bea’s voice as she approaches, like maybe she’s talking on the phone.
When she opens the door, her eyes go wide at seeing me on the other side, and I take her moment of surprise to drink her in.
She’s in another pretty summer dress, this one a lilac colour with straps that tie at the back of her neck and a low neckline dipping temptingly between her breasts.
The white strappy shoes she has on have a little height to them and her hair is loose and wavy around her shoulders.
“August,” she breathes, still surprised by my presence. I can’t say I blame her as I ghosted her for three days after she rubbed off on me and I nutted in my jeans like I was fifteen years old.