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“What will it take for you to look at me? I miss your blue eyes.”
“They’re green,” I scoff, hurt he doesn’t know the colour of my eyes, even if he is half right.
I hear him move, getting more comfortable before he answers. “No, your eyes are blue with flecks of green. There’s more blue in them than there is green. You just have to look close enough.”
I spin around, trying to gauge whether he’s telling me the truth or not. His expression hasn’t changed. I glance at the mirror, trying not to stare at my eyes. It’s hard, and in the end, I do, seeing exactly what he sees. I swallow past the knot in my throat.
My nan always said to keep the ones who pay attention and know when you get your hair cut or buy a new pair of shoes. Those were the rare ones.
“What are your plans today?” I ask, averting the conversation.
“I’m actually going to meet up with the lads to play footy this afternoon. Do you want to come with me?”
As much as I want to watch him run around a football field in a pair of shorts, I have other plans.
“I’m sorry; I can’t. I messaged Jordan yesterday to tell her I would meet her today. She’ll be here in an hour or so.”
“She not pissed at you about Max?”
I laugh, remembering him asking her to call him if she fancied Lake for an hour as we left the café. I was torn between being mortified and amused when Lake started attacking him.
“She’s fine. She’s used to dealing with it, and she knew he was only joking.”
“I don’t know. He’s a lad.”
I glare at him, cocking my hip to the side. “So, if you had a girlfriend and another girl offered to join, you wouldn’t mind?”
“If that’s your way of asking me if I’ve had a threesome, then yes, but I was never in a relationship with those girls. Would I do it if I was in a relationship? Fuck no. I’d never let the girl I love be seen or touched by another person—girl or boy.”
I rub my chest at his confession of being in a threesome. That is information I’d rather he had lied to me about. And hearing him talk about loving a girl, even one who doesn’t exist yet, hurts more than I care to admit.
“I need to shower. I don’t want to be late.”
“Are you mad at me?” he asks, jumping out of bed.
I bite my lip as he walks towards me, his muscles tensing. He’s only in a pair of boxers, and they don’t hide the package beneath them.
I turn away when I’m caught staring, grabbing some jeans and a T-shirt. “No. Why would I be mad? What you do or don’t do doesn’t concern me.”
“It doesn’t?” he asks. The bite in his tone has me pausing to face him.
“No. We’re just friends, aren’t we?”
His jaw clenches as he lowers his head, the veins in his neck bulging. “So, if I went out and got with a girl, you wouldn’t care?”
I’d die.
“Why are we talking about this?” I whisper.
He runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up. “I don’t know. I just don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I tell him truthfully. I’m hurt, not mad.
“Good,” he tells me, before stepping forward and pulling me in for a hug.
I hug him back, blinking back tears. I’ve always played ‘what if’ when it came to him meeting a girl, and it always made my stomach cramp at the mere thought. I want him. And deep down, he’s mine, even if he doesn’t know it.
When I pull back, his face is close, his lips a breath away from mine. I blink rapidly, feeling my heart beat against my chest. There’s no way he can’t feel it. I feel my eyes droop when he runs a finger along my jaw.