Page 55 of Date Knight (Roll for Romance #2)

I knew Phil would hate me sending congratulations on his behalf– “Send them a middle finger emoji from me, would ya?” he would have said instead– and the spite I felt at responding in a way he’d hate did a surprising amount for me mentally.

Though that boost lasted only a few seconds before I was reminded that Chris was also in that group chat.

CHRIS

Hah, I knew that townie couldn’t hack it. Good try though, Amy. Better luck next time.

I felt my teeth grind together as I clenched my jaw, feeling like I might hurl my phone across the room.

In fact, Jack’s joke about me throwing things was probably the only thing that kept it in my hand.

Genuinely, what had I ever seen in Chris?

Had I been that desperate to make my friends happy that I’d been with a guy like that for months?

“Better you than me, Niamh,” I said to myself, then smiled as I saw the responses that followed.

MAYA

Genuinely Chris, you can be such a twat. Niamh, run away with me instead! Save yourself!

NIAMH

Don’t listen to him, Amy, he’s just kidding I’m sure. Give Phil and his nan our regards and best wishes. We’ll miss you on the big day.

AMY

Thanks Niamh, I’m sure they’ll appreciate that. Oh and Chris, here’s your response from both of us:

The other hard thing I had to do was face Phil at D&D.

I’d been mildly annoyed that he was coming at all– surely he wanted to give me some space after literally just breaking up with me?

– but once I accepted it I became determined to make him regret coming along.

Sure, I was the newest joiner, but it was my campaign now, too.

I was contributing to the story, I was enjoying spending time with everyone, and I’d be damned if I let his lack of ability to feel his feelings ruin that for me.

So I dug through my wardrobe until I found the outfit I’d been looking for: the sage green playsuit I’d been wearing the night he’d rejected me five years ago. The night he claimed he’d been so desperate for me he could hardly breathe.

He may have thought he was capable of shutting his feelings off, but I was coming at that shit with a wrench.

Jack rode with me, and we made a pit stop for snacks at the supermarket.

We rolled the windows down on the way and shouted along badly to Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” when it came on the radio, even if it didn’t quite ring true.

Then I walked into Fatima and Morgan’s house with my brother at my back, determined to be unapologetically present.

I could tell the moment I walked in that the others knew we’d split up.

Phil and Fatima were sat at the table having a chat, Grey and Chloe were playing video games on the sofa, and Morgan was coming out of the kitchen with a jug of water.

And the moment I stepped through the door, they all turned to look at me at once, everyone and everything going quiet.

I tried desperately to avoid eye contact with Phil, but he was looking at me with his mouth open– scanning me, actually– and I could tell he recognised what I was wearing.

I should have felt smug at the sliver of hurt I could see in his expression, but instead I had to force myself to keep up my smile.

I looked away from him before I could let my empathy get the better of me.

And plus, I’d brought a trump card.

“I brought cheesecake!” I said, holding up the two different flavours Jack and I had bought on the way there.

The others cheered, and I saw Morgan head back into the kitchen and open the cutlery drawer, but best of all, I watched as Phil’s face set into a hard line.

I set the cheesecakes in the middle of the table and put my things down in Jack’s usual seat– he’d suggested we swap so I wouldn’t have to deal with Phil– and then went into the kitchen to help Morgan.

“Can you give us a minute?” Phil asked just as Morgan was handing me a stack of plates. I spun around to face him, almost dropping the plates as I did, and narrowed my eyes.

“Is that really necessary?” I asked.

“Please, Morgan,” Phil said, looking over my shoulder, and I was shocked when that traitor tiptoed past me.

“Sorry,” she said. “Just shout if you need me.” Then she pulled the door shut behind her on her way out, and Phil and I were alone.

“Cheesecake?” he asked. “Really?”

“What?” I asked faux-innocently, shrugging as I put the plates down on the worktop. “I figured everyone would be hungry since you weren’t bringing anything, and this game is played at the least convenient time ever. So excuse me for acquiring sustenance.”

“Please don’t be like this,” he said, his face pleading.

“Like what?” I crossed my arms. Seriously? He was going to lecture me about reacting poorly?

“You know,” he said. “Petty. Vindictive.” I could guess the last word before he said it, but I urged him to stop before he did. “Childish,” he said anyway.

“Childish,” I repeated. “You think I’m being childish.”

“Um, yeah,” he said. “Bringing cheesecake. Turning Jack against me. Wearing…” He waved vaguely at my outfit but fell short of acknowledging it.

“I didn’t turn Jack against you.”

“Oh yeah? What did you say?”

I shook my head. “Honestly? Almost nothing. I didn’t tell him the worst of it. Not by a long shot.”

“Well, if looks could kill, then I would have dropped dead the moment he walked through the door.”

“Maybe you should leave then.”

Phil looked taken aback by that. “You want me to leave? My D&D game?”

“ Our D&D game,” I said. “And if you can’t handle being around me, then yeah, you should leave.”

I picked the plates back up and stepped closer to him, pausing when I was just a couple of inches away.

I was hoping the heat that usually pulsed between us would have burned off after the other night, but it hadn’t.

I could still feel every breath he took as if it were my own.

So I just used it the way I always had before this summer: as fuel for my hatred.

“Because I’m not going anywhere this time,” I said, pitching my voice low, trying to keep it soft and even. “I’m not running off to another city, or avoiding anything because of you. So if you can’t handle the outcome of your decisions, maybe you should make better decisions.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, and I refused to let the wobble in his voice mean anything to me. “You know why I did it.”

“And I don’t fucking care,” I said. “You’ve made your bed. Now you get to lie in it.”

Then I pushed past him and through the kitchen door, plastering the smile back on my face as I did. I had cheesecake to serve, and an upper hand to maintain.